Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection

by Pamela Frost Dennis

  “Good idea.” Debra started to untie a shoe, then wavered. “I can’t do it. I’m afraid I’m spent.” She dropped into an easy chair by the window.

  “I’ll do it.” I untied his brown oxfords. While struggling to pry them off, the leathery odor of his warm, damp socks, mixed with the foul smell of his excrement made my stomach lurch convulsively. I held my breath, fighting the urge to spew the bag of Twizzlers I’d consumed on the drive over. That would’ve given those homicide detectives a field day.

  I dumped the shoes by the bed and Nora picked them up and laid them straight. “Look around you, Katy. This man is, was, an OCD neat freak, and these look like very pricey shoes.”

  I backed away and watched her mess his hair just enough, then set his tortoise frames on the nightstand, all the while intoning an eerie mewling hum. She took a hardback from the dresser and placed it on the bed near his hand, marking a random page with the cover jacket. The Wasteland by T.S. Eliot. I don’t read poetry, but I found the title fitting for this man’s wasted life.

  “Put this over him, Katy.” Debra held out a moss-green throw that had been draped on the chair.

  I spread it over his body, wanting to cover his face.

  “Did we really just do all that?” Nora stepped back to survey the tableau we’d created.

  “He really looks like he’s taking a nap,” I said.

  “It does to me, too,” said Debra. “Time to go.”

  “Let’s leave through the kitchen door, in case there’s any neighbors walking by out front.” Nora helped Debra to her feet and retrieved a bloody tissue that fell from her lap. “There’s an alley that runs behind the houses.”

  At the bedroom door, Debra stopped. “Katy, Nora. You better check yourselves. Did you lose an earring? Hair clip. Anything?”

  My silver hoops were in place. No clips in my hair, and my purse was in the car, keys in my jeans pocket. I took one last look at the dead man, then followed the women through the house to the sterile Euro-modern kitchen.

  On the table, a laptop was open. Curious, I tapped the touchpad with my knuckle and the computer sprang to life. He’d been trolling child pornography sites. Any lingering doubts about my uncle’s death and my role in it vanished.

  Debra and Nora stood beside me and I embraced them. “Thank you so much.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “What should we do?” whispered Nora.

  “Nothing. They’ll go away,” said Debra.

  “Yeah, just like I went away.”

  “Most people don’t walk in when no one answers, Katy,” said Debra. “And we should have locked the door when he let us in. Did you lock it?”

  “No.”

  “Oh God.” Nora grasped my arm. “What if he was expecting someone?”

  A truck roared to life out front. “That sounds familiar.” I went to the living room and peeked through the shutters. “It’s okay. UPS. He must’ve left a package on the porch.”

  As soon as the truck was out of sight, I inched the door open, stuck my arm through and grabbed the small Amazon package on the doorsill. I left it on the foyer table and locked the door.

  Back in the kitchen, I said, “I didn’t think it was a good idea to leave it sitting out there. A neighbor might notice it and wonder why he hasn’t brought it in.”

  “Good thinking,” said Debra. “We ready to go now?”

  “The water!” I retrieved the glass from the living room, dried it and set it in the kitchen cabinet with the dish towel. Then I went around wiping off any surfaces we may have touched—the vase, doorknob, his shoes, the Amazon box—before returning to the kitchen.

  “Okay. Ready,” I said, out of breath.

  At the kitchen door, I used the dish towel to open and close it. Once out of the house, I wanted to run, but I kept pace through the yard with Debra and Nora, thankful for the mature canopy of trees and tall shrubbery hiding us from any curious neighbors.

  As we neared the back gate, I said, “What I don’t get is why he let you in, or how you controlled him so you could do this? He must have put up a fight.”

  “Oh my God. Thank you, Katy,” said Debra, as Nora snatched the towel from me and rushed back to the kitchen door.

  “What’d I say?”

  “We left something very damning in there. How could we have forgotten it?” said Debra, wringing her hands. “She’s waving. Oh God, I think the door’s locked.”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  SATURDAY • AUGUST 31

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Private

  Wednesday, August 28

  Part Three

  Nora was doubled over, clutching her stomach moaning. “What’re we going to do? We’ll be arrested for murder. What will my daughter do? Oh God, what was I thinking?”

  I placed my hands on her shoulders, forcing her to straighten up and look me in the eye. “Nora. Get a grip and for the love of God, pipe down. Do you want the neighbors calling the police?”

  She hung her head, shaking it. “No. I just want to go home and forget this bloody-awful day ever happened.”

  I pulled her close and patted her back. “I am so thankful for what you’ve done for my family. You cannot begin to know. And think of all his future victims you have saved. Nora, you’re a hero. You’re my hero.” I felt her tense muscles release, and I stepped back looking her square in the face. I spoke in a composed voice when I really wanted to shriek like a banshee. “Tell me what you left in the house.”

  “A gun.”

  My stomach plunged as the banshee reared its ugly head, ready to cut loose. “You used a gun?”

  “I feel like I’m going to pass out.” She put her head between her knees, and I placed a hand on her back, ready to catch her if she keeled over. “It’s just an old air pistol. But it looks like the real thing. That’s how we got him to let us in the house. I must’ve left it in the bedroom. I can’t believe we forgot it.”

  “Where in the bedroom?”

  “The dresser, I think.” She slammed her fingers into her hair, crying. “I don’t know.”

  How could we have not noticed a gun sitting on the dresser? This can’t be happening. This whole day can’t be happening.

  Across the yard, I saw Debra leaning against the fence in the blistering sun, looking ready to drop. “You need to pull yourself together and search for a key while I get Debra situated. Then I’ll start checking the windows. Maybe something’s open.”

  I rushed back to Debra and settled her on a bench in the shade of a sprawling sycamore. “I think you should go to the police,” she said. “Right now. Say you walked in on us and when you saw what we’d done, you ran out. This is your chance, Katy. Your fingerprints aren’t on the gun, so there’s nothing to tie you to this. I can’t have you going to prison because of us. ”

  “I could never live with myself if I did that. And what about Nora?”

  She clenched her gnarled, veiny hands, shaking her head. “I’ll say she had no idea what I was doing.”

  “But she did. The gun proves that. Even if it isn’t a real gun.” I squatted, looking into her dear face. “I promise I will get us safely out of here.” What if I can’t?

  Nora was hunting for a key under pots near the back door, so I checked the windows, working my way along the back and sides of the house. Every window was locked. Obviously, I couldn’t check the windows facing the street. And if I broke one to get in, that could raise questions, leading to an autopsy. But we couldn’t leave that damned gun in the house.

  I returned to Nora and found her prying the screen off the window over the kitchen sink. “The window looks slightly ajar. I need to get this off without bending it out of shape like I’ve done to the ones on my house. I hate these damned things.”

  Together we got it off without mangling it and then pried the window open. I’m at least ten years younger and several inches taller than Nora, so I knew I was the one going in.

  We set a
wrought iron chair under the window, and I wriggled in headfirst. I grabbed at the counter edge beyond the sink and worked myself in with Nora’s help. Once there was more of me inside than out, I lost my grip on the counter and slid through, out of control. The faucet slammed into my pelvic bone, and the windowsill dug into my thigh wound before I landed chin first on the floor. On the way through, I heard something rip.

  “You okay in there?” Nora poked her head in the window.

  “I think so.” I lay there a few seconds accessing my physical damage. Adrenaline had been masking my leg pain, but now it had awakened with a ferocious roar, overshadowing all the other new injuries that would announce themselves later.

  I stood, keeping as much weight off my left leg as possible, and limped toward the bedroom. The last thing I wanted to do was see his body again.

  In the foyer I stopped, recalling Debra’s words, I think you should go to the police. Right now. This is your chance, Katy. Oh, how I wanted to open the front door and run to my freedom. I stepped to it, placing my hand on the lever. Breathing hard, I turned the handle and pulled. The door seal whispered a soft whoosh as a waft of sizzling summer air filtered through the crack.

  “Katy?” called Nora from the kitchen window. “Are you all right in there? Do you want me to come in?”

  “No. I’m fine. You say you left the gun on the dresser?”

  “I remember now. I left it on the bathroom counter when I got tissue for Debra.”

  I closed the door. Then wiped off my prints with my T-shirt. Like a criminal.

  About twenty miles out of Clover, I pulled into a convenience store parking lot. I needed a Sprite and a bathroom. A couple tequila shots to dull the aftershocks would have been nice, too.

  I opened the car door, barely registering the blasting heat, then froze with one foot on the scorching asphalt. A video camera hung from the top of the grimy, stucco building.

  What are you doing? Your face will be on the video camera. Proof you were in the Central Valley on the day of the murder.

  I pulled in my foot and slammed the door, then looked at the camera through the rearview mirror. It was aimed right at Veronica’s rear end, but after a brief panic attack, I observed the broken lens and wires hanging out of it.

  I needed to get myself home before I did anything else reckless. My gas tank was over half full, and my bladder would have to hold until I was back on home turf. If I wet my pants along the way, so be it.

  I arrived home around eight fifteen. Emily’s Subaru sat in the driveway, blocking the garage door. It pissed me off, but in the big scheme of things, it’s not like she’d just covered up a homicide.

  Before going in, I rested my aching body on the front steps, inhaling the cool, refreshing honeysuckle-scented evening air, trying to gain control of my emotions. Across the street, Lynyrd Skynyrd was rocking the house. Instead of getting annoyed, I pulled comfort from the now-familiar neighborhood sound.

  I became aware of voices filtering through the living-room window behind me. Great. Emily had company. Just what I needed. I strained to hear the conversation and realized her company was Josh. Really great.

  Haven’t seen the guy since meeting his mother, and he has to pick tonight of all nights to pay a social call. I peeked in the window. He was lounging on the couch with Emily, swilling wine and having a good old time.

  Daisy was scratching and whining at the front door, and I knew she wouldn’t give up until I went inside. I opened the door, and she nearly knocked me off my feet.

  “Daisy! Off.” I shoved her away with my good leg. “At least let me get through the damned door first.”

  She gave me a crushed look and I patted her head. “Sorry, baby. Mom’s had a rough day.”

  “Whoa. I’ll say you’ve had a rough day. You look terrible.” Emily gave me the once-over and headed for the kitchen.

  “You been in a fight?” asked Josh as I eased my bones onto the sofa.

  “No. Why do you ask?” I was being pissy but really didn’t care.

  “Well, your chin for one thing and…”

  I followed his eyes to my leg and saw the right-side pocket was torn away, giving Josh a nice shot of my bruised, snow-white thigh.

  I vaguely recalled hearing something rip when I plummeted through the window. “It got caught on something, and I took a tumble. Clumsy me.”

  Emily returned with a tall glass of sauvignon blanc for me. “How’s your leg feeling?”

  After a long pull of the chilled wine, I said, “Killing me. Actually, everything hurts. Could you get me some ibuprofen?”

  “Will do. And I’ll get a bag of peas for your chin, too.”

  Josh reached for my hand and gave it a friendly squeeze, along with a sympathetic smile that ignited his aquamarine eyes that on any other day would have left me panting.

  “Emily told me what happened. You know, about your gunshot wound. So sorry I wasn’t around to help out.” He released my hand as Daisy snuggled between us, resting her head on my lap after giving her boyfriend a lovesick look.

  “Where’ve you been?” I asked, not really caring and no doubt sounding grumpy.

  His hand massaged Daisy’s neck, scratching under her collar, causing her mouth to distort in doggie pleasure. “Remember I told you about the big family reunion my family was having on the East coast, and then my plan to drive through the Catskills with my cousin?” He paused, waiting for a response. “You know. I told you about it when you met my mother.”

  “Oh, yeah. Totally forgot about that. Hope you had fun.”

  “Jeez, Katy. What’s up with you?” Emily handed me a pack of frozen peas and two ibuprofens. “Why’re you so cranky?” Her eyes widened. “Oh, it’s that time, huh? Boy, there are a few days a month that I absolutely want to kill everyone in my line of sight. Katy will vouch for that. Huh, Katy?”

  I gave her an icy glare, then realized she’d given me the perfect excuse to be unfriendly. “I guess that partly explains my horrible day. That and taking that tumble.”

  “Have you eaten anything?” asked Josh. “I know how I get when my blood sugar’s low.”

  “No, but I’m not hungry.” I tapped my glass. “The wine will do me nicely.”

  “Come on. You gotta eat. I’ve got some leftover mac and cheese from Suzy Q’s in my refrigerator, and I know how much you love it.” He stood, much to Daisy’s disappointment. “I’ll be right back.”

  After he left, Emily said, “You know, Katy. I really think he likes you. He kept asking about you. And I know for a fact you like him. When are you two going to hook up?” She sniffed, wrinkling her nose at me. “You kinda reek. You might want to freshen up a little before he gets back.”

  “If I stand up now, the only place I’ll be going is bed.” I shifted to accommodate my dog’s weight, now crammed against me, and we both groaned.

  A few minutes later, Josh tapped on the front door and Emily answered.

  “I’m not coming in,” he said. “Katy’s had a rough day and doesn’t need to entertain visitors. Here’s the mac and cheese and a couple of pieces of carrot cake.”

  “You sure you won’t come in and at least finish your wine?” said Emily. “I feel bad about this.”

  “Don’t. We all have rotten days. Just make sure she eats.”

  I listened to this conversation wishing I could be friendly. Wishing I cared. But my ongoing crush on Josh no longer mattered. My life had taken an abrupt, ugly turn, and there was no room left in it for romance.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  SUNDAY • SEPTEMBER 1

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Private

  It’s been four days now. Every time the phone rings, my heart races zero to ninety in a nanosecond. I check the caller ID, but whether I know the caller or not, I don’t answer.

  The only people I want to talk to are the ones I absolutely must not. I’m afraid if I do, they’ll sense the insanity in my voice, then ask what’s goin
g on, and then I’ll come unhinged and dump my pile of guilt on them. I cannot let that happen. Mom, Ruby, Pop, Emily, Samantha… If any of them knew what I have done, they would then be ensnared in the culpable noose that is choking me.

  Until now I have always shared everything with Samantha, down to the dirtiest detail, ever since we became friends in elementary school. But if I tell her, it would always be there, hanging over our heads like a dark, ominous cloud, and over time would drive our friendship into extinction. I couldn’t bear that.

  To keep everyone at bay, I texted that I’m down with that awful flu bug that’s been going around. Of course, that also means I have to fake it for Emily, but she’s been so busy writing her book that she barely comes up for air.

  That’ll work for a while until I can pull myself together. However, the only way I’m going to be able to do that is when I know I’m safe from prosecution. As for dealing with the guilt, I’m so conflicted that I don’t know what to feel. But I’m not sorry he’s dead. And I am not sorry about what I did.

  Chapter Sixty

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  MONDAY • SEPTEMBER 2

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Private

  Over the past few months, I’ve gained about ten pounds—okay, more like fifteen, but I don’t recommend my new diet plan. The “I’m-so-freaked-out-that-I-will-vomit-if-I-eat diet.”

  I’ve been drinking wine, however. Lots of it. Just whites. The reds were giving me terrible heartburn.

  Emily cornered me this morning and did an annoying mini intervention. “Katy, I’m really worried about you. Ever since the other night when Josh was here you’ve been acting really weird. You’re drinking way too much. Plus, you’re living in your pajamas,” she ticked off my infractions on her fingers, “not showering, not putting on any makeup. And you always put on makeup. Even just to walk out to the mailbox.”