Nosy Neighbor: All 7 complete Nosy Neighbor cozy mysteries PLUS: 2 short Christmas stories (A Nosy Neighbor mystery)

by Cynthia Hickey

  I shrugged and took back my notes, my cheeks heating like the top of a stove. “Maybe so. See you later.”

  Geez, that man got under my skin. What was God thinking when he made him drop-dead gorgeous, with a teasing streak a mile long? No wonder Matt was single. He’d drive a woman bonkers within a day.

  I slowed when I approached the house next to mine. Pastel yellow siding with blue trim made the house resemble an Easter egg. While many of the other neighbors worked in their yards on a sunny Saturday morning, no one puttered on the lawn of this house, or mine come to think of it. Low murmurs drifted from the back yard. Should I ring the doorbell, or knock on the gate? I opted for the door. Maybe they wouldn’t answer. Westminster chimes played at the push of a button.

  After several minutes, and two pushes later, I turned and surveyed the yard. I’d bet my sister that my neighbors hid in their backyard to avoid me. A rustling in the juniper bushes drew me that way. I advanced, holding my clipboard like a weapon.

  When I approached within two feet, the bushes parted like the Red Sea and a man’s face appeared. If not for the vacant look in his blue eyes, I might’ve called him handsome. Almost. Instead, a crew cut covered the top of a round head. One eye drifted to the right while the other lid looked ready to close. I couldn’t tell whether he focused on me or not. When massive shoulders followed the head, I took a step back, suddenly aware of how flimsy of protection my clipboard would be.

  “Hi.” The man said.

  “Hello. Do you live here?” I raised my makeshift weapon.

  “No.” He frowned. “Sometimes I forget where I live. I’m Rusty, I’m looking for someone.”

  “Who are you looking for?” He appeared harmless enough, so I lowered my arms. “Do you know the Edgarses?”

  He shook his head. “Old Mrs. Lincoln got hurt. Bad.” His eyes widened in owlish circles. The backyard gate creaked. He gasped, and the bushes closed around him.

  What a strange man.

  A man and woman straight out of a bad mob movie marched toward me. The woman’s leopard-print, stiletto heels, which perfectly matched her leggings, sank into the yard with each step. Her bird’s nest hairdo caused her to tower over the man next to her by several inches. Her husband, as tall and bulky as she was curvy, sported slicked back, inky hair and a goatee. My lips twitched in an effort to control my smile. They’d seen Married to the Mob one too many times.

  “Good morning. I’m your nearest neighbor, Stormi Nelson.”

  “Cecelia Edgars.” Her scarlet lips stretched into a smile. “We’ve seen you over the fence. Nice to finally meet you. This is my husband, Herman.”

  I nodded. “I’m checking on everyone, addressing concerns, after the murder of Mrs. Lincoln.”

  Herman stroked the hair on his chin and studied me with dark eyes. “That’s very considerate of you. We do have a concern. We appear to have a peeping Tom.”

  Rusty would be the peeper, I’d guess. After my initial shock, he seemed harmless enough. “Should you call the police?”

  Cecelia sunk blood red talons into her husband’s forearm. “No, probably just some kid. Herman has a tendency to over-react sometimes.”

  I nodded. “Happens to the best of us. Would either of you like to join the Neighborhood Watch program?”

  “No,” Herman said. “We’re way too busy.” He turned, motioned for Cecelia to follow, then shoved open the gate.

  “Nice meeting you,” I called. Neither of them looked back.

  A glance at my watch and a rumbling stomach, told me it was lunch time. I shuffled home, jotting notes next to the names.

  “How’d it go?” Mom slapped a plate with a ham sandwich and a handful of chips in front of me. “Did you find some needy people to give food to?”

  “No, I forgot to ask about food.” Rusty might count as needy. I’d have to find out where he lived. “I did meet Matt’s sister though. We’re about the same age.” I glanced around the quiet house. “Where is everyone?”

  “Angela took the kids clothes shopping. They need things to wear for the summer.” Mom plopped into the chair opposite me. “It sure will be nice to have a couple hours of quiet. They make a lot of noise.”

  I shrugged. Other than dirty dishes in the sink, and the occasional thundering up the stairs, I didn’t know they were here. The two of them hid in their rooms with video games or the telephone.

  “Let me see what you found out.” Mom grabbed the clipboard. “Hmmm, very descriptive notes. I especially like the ones about the couple next door, and this Rusty person.” She wrote ‘Nelson and Nelson’ on the top of the paper. “I’m going to be your sidekick. The Nelson Gumshoes. What do you think?”

  I thought I was going to be sick. If she got involved, I’d never get the book written. “I’m only taking notes for a book, Mom. Not starting a new career.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m good at this kind of stuff. I could do it with my eyes closed. It’s been a long time since we were involved in something fun together.”

  My mother thought solving a murder was fun?

  She tapped a fingernail on the paper. “Rusty killed the woman.”

  I almost choked on my sandwich. “Why do you say that?”

  “I’ve caught him snooping around the place. No honest person does that.” She crossed her arms. “If he wants to get to know us, all he has to do is ring the doorbell or yell ‘howdy’. The man hasn’t done anything but stare. Gives me the creeps.”

  “He can’t help it.” I wiped my mouth with a nearby napkin then reached for a glass of iced tea. “Besides, I don’t have enough clues to make a guess yet.”

  “What do you need? Another dead body?”

  6

  I spewed soda across the table. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I glared at Mom. “That’s not funny.”

  “I’m perfectly serious. Another body would most likely give us clues. Don’t you watch Castle, or Criminal Minds? They always shake things up with another murder. Even the best mystery authors use that trick. I should know more about it than you, considering I read more mysteries than anything else.” Mom used a handful of napkins to dab at the dribble on my chin. “You really should watch them if you’re going to write mysteries. You’ll learn all kinds of tips.”

  Who was this woman and where was my mother? I moved her hand away from my chin and started cleaning up the drips on the table. Did I want a sidekick, much less for that sidekick to be my mother? The only reason I wanted to dig into Mrs. Lincoln’s death was to write my book. I never considered actually solving the crime. But, wouldn’t that be cool?

  “Do you really think we can find out who the killer is?” I tossed the napkins in the garbage. And how much danger would we put ourselves in doing so?

  “Sure. Somebody will, might as well be us. Think of the publicity, Stormi.” Mom waved her arms. “Local Author Solves Murder. You’ll sell a million books.”

  The idea did appeal to me. With the royalties, I could buy a nice car and hire an assistant to take care of the mundane aspects of being a writer. Someone to set up book-signings and such, thus leaving me with more time to actually spend writing.

  “But I’d have to get out more. I’m already stretching myself thin going door to door. Mom, I go to sleep emotionally exhausted every day.”

  She patted my hand. “Your father died two years ago. It’s time for you to rejoin the world and stop complaining about it.”

  She was right. “Okay, we’ll do this. But, it won’t be easy.” Now, I’d do more than just take notes. Now, I’d be searching for a cold-blooded killer. Or a hot-blooded one, I guess, depending on the motive. I shuddered. Mom and I had lost our minds.

  “What’s going on?” Angela meandered into the kitchen and grabbed a soda from the fridge. “Y’all look like you’re up to something.”

  “Nothing, dear.” Mom winked. “How’d the shopping go?”

  “Fine, other than expensive.” Angela narrowed her eyes. “You two definitely have something up y
our sleeve, and I’m fixin’ to find out what.”

  “We’re talking about my next book. That’s all.” I patted Mom on the shoulder as I went by. That’d stop my sister from being nosey. I don’t think she’d cracked a book since High School required reading.

  I headed up the stairs behind Cherokee and Dakota who dragged overflowing bags behind them. If my sister could go to the mall and spend hundreds of dollars on name brand clothing, why couldn’t she afford another place to live?

  Dakota closed his bedroom door and blasted some type of music that sounded more like screaming than singing. Cherokee did the same with Hip-Hop tunes. The doors might muffle some of the sound, but they didn’t come close to the silence I craved. I sighed and shut myself in my office. What had I said earlier about not knowing they were there?

  The thudding of somebody’s stereo bass vibrated through the walls. My heart kept time with the beat. I pulled out my own set of headphones and covered my ears, then pulled a clean pad of yellow lined paper from the desk drawer. I went through a lot of pads. I seemed to think better with a fresh one in front of me and nothing beat taking notes with paper and a pencil.

  I grabbed a mechanical pencil and promptly stuck the eraser end in my mouth. Mrs. Lincoln was killed in the backyard with a pair of gardening shears. I giggled. All I needed was who-dun-it. As a child, I’d always kicked butt at the game of Clue.

  I had yet to meet a neighbor who liked the victim. Of course, I still had the other half of the neighborhood, but somehow I doubted I’d have any more success over there. On a positive note, I’d made a new friend and had the beginnings of a crush on a handsome detective. Neither of which would help me solve this thing. Maybe I did need my mother. She had a way of looking at things that others didn’t, and my brain seemed to have frozen.

  Sadie pawed at the door. I got out of my chair and let her in. “Do you want to go for a walk?” Maybe the fresh air would clear my head and let me think. Besides, I owned a dog now. For me to be a responsible owner Sadie would need regular walks. Walks that took me past a particular detective’s house. I grinned and snapped my fingers for Sadie to follow me downstairs. Maybe having a dog would be the first step toward healing after my daddy’s murder.

  Once I’d hooked her leash to her collar, I skipped out the door and turned in the direction of Matt’s house. Shirtless, tanned, muscular chest glistening with a light film of perspiration, he held a lawn blower and blew mowed grass and small twigs into a pile. I spotted a tattoo of a Celtic cross on his arm. If the man was any sexier, he’d be outlawed. I froze on the sidewalk and gaped like a fish.

  It isn’t like I hadn’t seen a shirtless man before. For Pete’s sake, I wrote about them. In great detail, I might add. But the sight of this particular one stole my breath and turned my limbs to jelly.

  He caught sight of me, turned off the blower, and raised a hand. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I sounded like a frog with a cold. I tried again more clearly. “Hey, yourself.”

  Matt’s long legs ate up the few yards between us. “Do you want to go to dinner with me Friday night?”

  Wow. Uh. I chewed my pinkie nail. Dinner. In public. With a man I met three days ago.

  “Sorry, but I’m afraid if I don’t just blurt it out, I won’t get up the nerve to ask.” He grinned, dimples winking at me.

  I wasn’t expecting that and an acceptance blurted from me like a hole in a dam. I’d choke back my fear and try to enjoy myself. “I’d love to. Did you have anything planned, or would you rather I cooked for you?” No, that wouldn’t work. Not unless he wanted to spend the evening with my flirty sister and loose-lipped mother, not to mention a couple of sullen teenagers.

  I must’ve had some kind of strange look on my face because he laughed. “No, I’ll take you somewhere nice. Wear something pretty. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  I grinned, doubting my feet touched the sidewalk as I continued Sadie’s walk.

  Something rustled in the bushes to my right. I stopped and squinted. My heart stopped at the sight of a pair of blue eyes, then calmed when I recognized Rusty. Didn’t he have anything more pressing to do than spy on me and my dog? It creeped me out.

  Besides, today the sun shone brighter, the sky bluer, the air fresher. All was right with my world since I accepted Matt’s invitation. Funny. I haven’t wanted to hide in my office all day, which didn’t bode well for my writing career. Add in the fact that I didn’t know how to garner more notes for my mystery story, and I found myself at a complete standstill. So, I might as well enjoy the company of a handsome man.

  I increased my pace at the sight of Marion Henley’s house. Maybe she wouldn’t notice me. Sadie let out a solitary bark. Traitor.

  “Hello, Stormi.” Marion waved from where she knelt over a bent sprinkler head. “Find out any more about poor Ethel?”

  “No. Why?”

  “With all your nosiness, I thought you might’ve found out something.”

  “Who told you I was asking around?”

  “I figured that out for myself.” She stood and peeled pink-flowered gardening gloves from her hands. “I’m in my yard just about every day, and I saw you going door-to-door.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “In my opinion, you need to be careful. No telling what might happen.” With those encouraging words, she turned and marched into her house.

  I tugged at Sadie’s leash and quickened my pace. The sooner I got home, the sooner I could figure out what to wear to dinner. Something pretty, Matt had said. Other than my casual clothes and suits I wore to book-signings, pretty clothes didn’t exist in my closet. Maybe Angela would lend me something that didn’t let all my parts hang out and make me look like I ought to be loitering on a street corner.

  Slamming the door, I headed up the stairs, yelling my sister’s name.

  Angela yanked her door open. “What?”

  “I have a date on Friday.” I bent to unclip Sadie’s leash from her collar.

  “Repeat that.” Angela tilted her head. Her forehead crinkled. “You have a date. You. Miss ‘Stay to Herself in Front of the Computer and Type.’”

  “Very funny.” I brushed past her. “I don’t have a thing to wear.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.” She pointed to the bed. “Sit.” Crossing her arms, she studied my face. “Do you need to wear those glasses?”

  “If I want to see.” What was wrong with them? I spent a lot of money on the flashy, black-rimmed, rhinestone-encrusted frames. “Besides, they make me look smart.”

  “You don’t want to look smart on a date.” Angela shoved open her closet. “Is this with Matt?”

  “Yes. So keep it respectable.”

  “Sexy.”

  “Respectable.” Maybe I should’ve found something to wear on my own.

  “Hmmm.” Angela tapped her finger against her lip and studied her clothes. “You aren’t bad looking. And you can’t get that shade of red on your head from a bottle, but I’m afraid your blue eyes get lost with those frames. What happened to your contacts?”

  “They’re in the bathroom. If I wear them, Matt will think I’m trying too hard. I want to look good, not desperate.”

  “But you are desperate. Or at least I would be if I lived your life.”

  “What are y’all doing?” Mom stepped into the room.

  “Trying to make Stormi look pretty.” Angela slid clothes aside, their hangers clanking against each other.

  Try to make me look pretty? I removed the ties holding back my hair and shook it free so I could study the ends. Straight as a pencil. But wasn’t that the style?

  “She won’t get rid of the glasses, Mom.” Angela glared over her shoulder. “So I’ll have to make do with artfully applied makeup and a gorgeous dress. Too bad her front side isn’t bigger. You’d think with the money she makes, she would’ve taken care of that little problem.”

  “Forget it.” I leaped up. “I’ll do this myself.”

  Mom pointed at me. “Sit back down. We’ll fix this. Ther
e’s nothing a good bra can’t improve.”

  I sat and crossed my arms. This was a bad idea.

  “Here we go.” Angela pulled out a black dress. “Go try this on.”

  I sighed, took the offered item of clothing, and shuffled to the bathroom. I knew, with all certainty, the dress would be inappropriate in some way. The dress belonged to Angela, after all. Friday was four days away. I had plenty of time to go shopping.

  After discarding my daytime attire, I slipped into the dress and stood in front of the full length mirror. Wow. The dress fit me like a glove, emphasizing the curves I did have and shaping the ones God had skimped on. My hair glowed like fire against the fabric. Angela was right. The glasses had to go.

  “Now, that,” Angela said joining me, “is what a romance writer should wear. All your parts covered up but looking hotter than asphalt during a heat wave. And you thought I only had slutty clothes.”

  I shrugged. What would she expect me to think when that’s all I ever saw her wear? Lord, forgive me, but my sister wasn’t even a smidgeon close to being Mother Theresa.

  “You can keep the dress.” She winked. “I’ve never worn it.”

  I laughed. “Thanks. I love it.” Maybe I did need to update my wardrobe with things other than jeans and capris. I spotted the bags lying at the foot of my sister’s bed. “Why so many new clothes?”

  “I got a job.” She grinned. “I’m the new receptionist at the police station.”

  7

  With eyes gritty from contacts I rarely wore and my face painted to look like a movie star, I stared into the foyer mirror on Friday evening and wondered who the heck the woman looking back was. This woman didn’t look afraid of life or too terrified to leave her community. Even I had to admit I cleaned up gooood. The doorbell rang. I smoothed my hair, and then rushed to answer it.

  “No, you don’t.” Angela pushed me back. “A lady makes the man wait.”

  “Who made up that silly rule?”