She waved away my threat. "You can barely sit up. You don't have the strength to pull out a shotgun, let alone the cajones. You want to exchange threats, I'll bring Snickerdoodle over and park her in your kitchen."
Snickerdoodle was Pearl's evil goat, the terror of Grandpa Ed's barnyard. Her offspring were devil's spawn. They hated me and my truck. Snickerdoodle scared the bejeesus out of me, but I'd never admit that to Pearl.
I fell back against my pillow. "I probably have the goat flu as it is. This feels worse than human flu."
"Goats are too smart to get the flu. That's for chickens and pigs." Pearl shoved a green Gatorade toward me. "You need fluids."
My stomach cramped. I pointed a trembling finger at my window, hoping to get Pearl off the subject of fluids. "A woman was in Mrs. Boyes's house while you were out. An out-of-towner. The nephew invited her in and she looked around like she was taking inventory."
"Martha Mae's house? Of all the nerve.” Pearl dropped the Gatorade on my bed and stomped to the window. "Who is this woman prying into poor Martha Mae's house?"
"I don't know," I said. "She looked like a movie star. Except wet."
"Everyone's wet today." Pearl glanced back at me. "Are you sure you saw this woman? Not another hallucination?"
"Pretty sure." I struggled to push myself up and collapsed against my pillow. "The nephew let her in. She looked around and then left."
Pearl turned back to the window. "What's a movie star doing in Martha Mae's house? What did she say?"
"I'll go over and ask Mrs. Boyes. As soon as I'm over this flu."
"Don't get sassy with me." Pearl tapped her chin. "I wonder what Gertie Sweetley will say about this. She's Martha Mae's best friend, but a terrible gossip. We do the bingo together."
"Maybe you should ask her yourself."
"Is this nephew staying for Christmas?"
"I hope so." I closed my eyes. "Casey said Mrs. Boyes's back is out."
"Casey said?" Pearl whipped around. "What does Casey know about this?"
"I asked her to go check on Mrs. Boyes. Because of… you know, what I thought I saw."
"Casey should not be walking around in this weather. She's just about nekkid."
"Casey's used to being 'just about nekkid,'" I mumbled. "It's her signature style."
"She is carrying your niece or nephew. Casey could slip and fall. It is getting icier than a Tastee Freeze out there."
"Sorry," I muttered. "You're right."
"I'll go over there myself. If Martha Mae's back is out, she's going to need help. That nephew probably don't know up from down."
"I don't think that's a good id—"
Pearl was gone before I could get the words out.
Ten
Maizie Albright
#RunRunRudolph
* * *
I retrieved the key from under the poinsettia. Shoved it quietly (as was possible) into the lock. Cracked the door and whispered a "Hello? Mrs. Boyes? Martha Mae?"
Nada. Maybe due to the extra quiet nature of my call. But still. I took it as an all-clear sign.
Tiptoeing, I sped through the living room and peeked into the dining room. Glanced into the empty kitchen. Smelled like gingerbread. More evidence that if only Martha Mae'd had children, she'd get the grandmother-of-the-year award. Peeked into the hall. A double row of closed doors. I took a deep breath.
Here's where it got tricky. I had bad luck with closed doors.
I crept down the hall and placed an ear near the edge of the first door. No sound. Sniffed. Caught a hint of lavender. Rotated the knob slowly.
Bathroom. Papered in pink and purple flowers. And decorated for Christmas. Martha Mae had a Grinch toilet seat cover. Adorbs.
I left the bathroom open and sidled to the next door. This was the room where earlier I had seen lights. A low murmur, then music blared through the closed door. The volume lowered. Someone watched TV. The commercials were always louder than the shows. Maybe Martha Mae? Should I pop in? I didn't want to scare the woman. I was just looking for evidence that Jay was legit. And I needed to warn Martha Mae about Krystal.
Hello, Maizie. You're also trespassing. And on probation. Trespassing is not cool with probation officers.
Worrying my lip, I moved toward the other side of the hall. Listened. Couldn't hear anything. A bell ping-ponged. I froze before the closed door.
Doorbell. Shizzles. And there it went again.
I sensed a stirring behind the door with the TV. I yanked open the door before me and darted inside. Bedroom. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the lack of light. No one called out or moved. That was good. My heart slowed from sprint to marathon beat. I rubbed a mitten on the back of my neck.
One silver lining to trespassing: the adrenaline kick sure warmed a body up.
The bell rang again. Knocking commenced.
I placed my eye against the crack in the door. Saw nothing but the closed door opposite.
"Yoo-hoo, Martha Mae?" A woman called from the front of the house. Her voice grew louder with each word. "Y'all home? It's Pearl. I'm visiting Cherry next door."
Craptastic. I had left the door unlocked. Who was Pearl?
"I understand your nephew is there. Maybe he's gone now. I just wanted to check on you. I know you can't get up. I'll come to you."
The door across the hall opened. I squinted through the crack, but my view was blocked. Someone hurried down the hall. An exchange began between Pearl and Jay.
Holy shiz. A chill crawled up my neck. Jay was home. He could've caught me roaming the hall. My heart hammered against my ribs. Back to sprint. And I was now perspiring. I needed to get out of this house.
What in the hellsbah was I thinking? House-crashing some poor grandma and her nephew?
But with Pearl occupying Jay, wouldn't this be a good opportunity to check on Martha Mae? Just in case my intuition had been correct? Jay sounded intent on keeping Pearl from seeing her friend. Wasn't that weird?
So hard to judge weird in a town I didn't know. But I couldn't leave Martha Mae without checking on her first.
I slipped out the bedroom door. Poked my head into the room opposite that Jay had just exited. Looked like a master bedroom. A small TV on top of a dresser provided the only light in the cavernous room. The volume was almost muted. Curtains had been pulled across the shaded windows. I squinted into the dark. The bed faced the front of the house, but the room behind it jutted out from the hall, blocking my view of the bed other than the foot. There was a shape on the bed, but I couldn't make out if it were a person or bedding.
"Martha Mae?" I whispered. "Are you in there? Are you okay?"
The voices in the front room climbed. Pearl was arguing with Jay about hot compresses and his apparent ignorance on the subject.
I took a step into the room, inching along the wall. "Martha Mae? Your sister sent me. I left you a bunch of messages. Has your niece Krystal been here? You need to know she might show at your house and she's been in some trouble."
Why didn't Martha Mae say anything? Was she hiding?
Of course. She probably thought I was a crazy person.
"I'll just take a second." Pearl's voice had grown louder. "And let me peek into your kitchen pantry to see what y'all need. I'm sure you haven't thought of everything, son. Are you prepared to ride out this storm?"
Holy Shizzolis. Jay and Pearl were going to find me in Martha Mae's bedroom. I froze against the bedroom wall. Inched back toward the door.
"What's that?" said Pearl. "What're you doing?"
Where was Pearl? In the kitchen? How was I going to explain myself? I peeked into the hall. Empty. I darted back to the other bedroom. Closed the door and leaned against it, panting.
OMG, I ran like three steps, and I'm panting?
Focus Maizie. When they go into the bedroom to visit Martha Mae, get the hells out of the house. Martha Mae didn't want your help.
Why did I still have the feeling there was something odd going on? Was Martha Mae even in there?
A loud bang shook the walls. My heart leaped from my chest to my throat. Something heavy thudded against the floor.
What in the holy shiz was that?
I clapped my hand over my mouth to keep from crying out. It sounded like a piece of furniture had been knocked over. More than one. A dining set? A refrigerator? I placed my ear to the door. What was that sound? Were they moving furniture?
Pearl wasn't talking. She had talked the entire time she was here. Why wasn't she talking?
Okay. Loud Pearl was now totally silent. Martha Mae was also quiet. And weird Jay was somewhere in the house.
OMG.
"Do something, dumbass," said my snarky, inner Julia Pinkerton.
I turned on the overhead light and glanced around the bedroom. A host of Santa dolls dressed in long underwear decorated the flat surfaces. Quilts covered the walls. A box of gift bags lay on the bed. Martha Mae wrapped presents in here. Scissors. She'll have scissors. I pawed through the tissue paper and ribbons. Found a box of candy canes. Grabbed a stick.
What was I going to do with a candy cane? Focus, Maizie.
I shoved the candy cane into my pocket and rummaged through the box. No scissors.
Seriously Martha Mae? You never used wrapping paper? Sometimes it's nice to have a box wrapped in ribbon and not just a gift shoved in a bag with a piece of tissue paper.
Maizie, stop judging this poor grandma. She could have arthritis, for God's sake. You're just panicking.
The bedside table held a Santa in a rocking chair, hand on his stomach, and eyes closed. Long Winter's Nap Santa. No scissors. I opened the dresser drawers. Quilts. Folded material. Material cut into squares. Another drawer of material. This time in rolls.
Martha Mae sewed stuff. She must have scissors. Something sharp.
Another drawer revealed rows and rows of thread. One roll of masking tape. The narrow drawers on top held tiny boxes. Straight pins. Tiny gold safety pins. Needles. In various sizes but all small and slender.
OMG, Martha Mae. Unless I had a blow dart these sharp objects were useless.
I broke off the hook of the candy cane, tore off a bunch of masking tape, and wrapped the tape around the stick. Stared at the masked stick in my hand.
In my head, Julia Pinkerton laughed. "Seriously? What are you going to do with that?"
I shoved the candy cane back in my pocket.
Taking a deep yoga breath, I forced myself to calm. I was jumping to conclusions, just like Nash had warned. Of course, he'd also told me to do nothing but watch. Which is why I had left the phone in the car.
Craptastic. My phone was in the car.
I returned to the door. Listened. The furniture-moving sounds had stopped. All quiet. Placed my hand on the doorknob. Said a quick prayer. Rotated the knob. Heard a door slam on the other side of the house.
Took my hand off the knob, turned off the light, and set my back against the door. Blood hammered inside my ears. Sweat pooled beneath my beanie.
My eyes darted around Martha Mae's craft storage/guest room. In the dark, I felt six pairs of Santa eyes watching me. Except for Long Winter's Nap Santa whose eyes were closed.
Faint light rimmed the window.
I ran to the window, grabbed the string for the shade, and ran the louvers to the top. The window looked newish. Easy to open. There was a screen, but that could be removed. I unlatched the window, pushed it as high as it would go. Cold air whistled past me. I squeezed the screen's spring latches. Gave it a push, up and out. The screen struck something and fell to the ground outside. I stuck my head through the opening. Wind rushed past me, chafing my cheeks. There was a bush below the window. Covered in net lights.
At least the neighbors behind Martha Mae's house couldn't witness my escape. I could just make out their lights past a stand of trees in Martha Mae's backyard. If this were the side of the house, the artist's home next door was spitting distance. Silver lining.
The window was waist high. I threw a leg up. With an over loud thud, my boot heel hit the sill and scuffed the white paint. Wind blew into the room, rattling the paper bags and ruffling the tissue paper. I turned and hoisted my seat onto the ledge, grabbed the window frame, and inched my butt through the window. When my back hit air, I angled my sit and bent my left leg. I was not going through this window backward. No trust fall into a bush. I didn't know the bush, let alone want to get tangled in a bunch of netted lights. Martha Mae had put a lot of work into Christmas-fying her house and I didn't want to screw it up.
Poor Martha Mae.
With one butt cheek in the open air and the other wedged against the window frame, I eased my left foot onto the ledge and wiggled my bent leg toward the opening. Bent the right leg and got both feet onto the ledge. My knees threatened to hit my chin. I scooted to turn toward the open air.
The bedroom door creaked.
I pushed off the window and fell into the bush. Face first. Tangled with the lights and rolled toward the house, pulling them with me. Wrapped in net lighting, I squeezed between the bush and the house. The tiny lights blinded me. And totally lit my whole body. I might as well have a blinking neon arrow pointed to my hiding spot. I yanked on the cord and pulled a net off the next bush. Scrabbled with the net to push the lights off my face. Pulled off my mitten, grabbed a tiny bulb, and twisted. The bulb popped out.
The entire back of the house went dark.
I'll fix that later, Martha Mae.
I dropped the bulb. And lost my mitten.
Never mind, Martha Mae.
Above me, something hit the window. I looked up. Two dark hands silhouetted against the white frame. Rolled in net lighting, I flattened against the house and held my breath. A shape appeared in the window. Jay leaned out, craning his neck right and left. He retreated. The window shut with a slam.
On the frigid, soggy ground, I tried not to think about the icy mud oozing up my sides and coating my coat, jeans, and boots. I waited what seemed like hours — realistically, maybe thirty seconds — then wriggled from behind the bush. Fought the net lighting. I slithered out. Kicked the lighting behind the bush.
Then ran toward the house next door.
Eleven
Cherry Tucker
From my bed, I studied the scene through the window. The movie star had returned. Uninvited. Skulking. At least that's what it looked like. No one let her in. She snuck in. Skittered through Martha Mae's living room and disappeared.
Dammit. What was she up to? Should I call the police? That's a B and E if there ever was one. Was she going to rob Martha Mae?
I glanced at the phone on my bedside table. Call 9-1-1? Maybe get Casey to do it this time. They were going to think I was like that shepherd boy who pranked villagers with wolf stories. Even though I wasn't goofing off. Something funny was going on at Mrs. Boyes's house.
"Case." My voice warbled, frail and thin. Lord, I hated this weakness.
Casey appeared in the bedroom door. She held a string of lights in her hand.
"Found lights. And a little tree. You'd shoved Great Gam's boxes in the back of the guest room closet," she said. "Where do you want them?"
I ignored her and focused on the window opposite. "Something is going on at that house again."
"I'm going to put some lights up in here. It'll make you feel better. You seem to like looking at Mrs. Boyes's tree." She sauntered into the room. "Just don't cough on me or anything."
"Don't you want to know what's going on over there?"
"Not really." She gazed about my bedroom. "I don't know why you don't decorate. It's punishing you, not her."
I snuggled deeper into my quilt and rested my chin on my knees. "Most decorations are tacky. Or insipid. Not my cup of tea."
"I thought you were an artist. You could make your own holiday decorations." Casey stood before the window. "Paint a Christmas scene or something."
I waved a hand. "You're blocking my view."
"I don't think she chose to leave us at Christmas on purpose. Momma
wasn't that mean. Maybe she thought it'd take our minds off her going."
"I'm sick." I slithered beneath the quilt. "Hang the lights or not, but I'm not up for psychoanalysis if you don't mind."
Casey held up the lights, eyeballing spots on the wall. "Just trying to help. I try to think about all the Christmases Grandma Jo made special for us. She put a lot of effort into Christmas."
"I know." Propping my head on my hand, I tried to see above the window sill. Gave up. Sat up and squinted at the window. "That makes it even harder."
"I thought you hated Christmas because of Momma. It's because of Grandma Jo dying so young?"
I sighed. "Both, I guess. I'm just tired of being lonely."
"You don't have to be lonely. Luke—" Casey cut herself off. "Maybe we shouldn't decorate your house just now."
I cranked up an eyebrow. "Why? Don't tell me it's because you're agreeing with me because I know you better than that."
"They remind you of bad times, and you're feeling bad anyway. Maybe I shouldn't push it." Casey wound the lights around her arm. "Christmas should make you happy."
"But you're right. I should think of the good Christmases we had with Grandma Jo and Grandpa Ed. Not what we missed out on." I studied the blinking tree through my window. "Everything looks warm and friendly over at Mrs. Boyes's house. But I think something cold and sinister is going on over there. Decorating can't cover that up."
Casey glanced over her shoulder, eyeing the scene on the other side of the window. "I don't see anything. And the nephew is helping Mrs. Boyes out. That's good Christmas spirit." She turned back to study me. "I think I need to close these curtains."
"No," I cried. "I need to know what's going on."
"Don't excite yourself." She bit her lip. "I'll leave them open for now. Lord knows you'll climb out of bed to open them as soon as my back is turned. I don't want you getting up. Let me hang these lights, then you rest."
Crimes Most Merry and Albright Page 6
