I shrugged. “Incompetence?”
“Lemonade.” Mom plopped a tray of drinks on the table. “Everyone thinks better while hydrated.”
“The police department is not incompetent. I’m in charge of the investigation and I take offense to that.” Matt grabbed a glass. “You can rest assured I’ll be looking into why no one noticed what you did.”
“So, you’re admitting that Mom and I found something valuable.”
“Yes, but you broke the law doing it. Stay out of Mrs. Lincoln’s house.” Matt sipped the lemonade and puckered. Mom always did make her lemonade a bit on the tart side, but considering his sister’s was worse, he should be able to muddle through.
“We don’t have any other reason to go there.” Mom patted him on the shoulder. “Too sour?”
“No, perfect.” Matt took a bigger sip. “I’m just used to Mary Ann’s which is like drinking straight lemon juice.”
“It is not.” Mary Ann tossed a napkin at him.
“I know some other things,” Dakota said. “Like, people are getting mad at that guy who keeps peeking in windows. I guess he knows a lot of secrets.” With those words, Dakota stuck his ear buds in his ear and dashed out the back door.
Poor Rusty. There seemed to be a lot going on in his head. The problem was getting him to verbalize it. If someone could draw the information out of him, they could probably find out the identity of the killer with no other snooping involved. I needed to figure out a way to get inside his head.
“What do you ladies have planned next?” Matt reached for one of the cookies. I could tell his question took everything in him to ask. He hated the idea that we might actually be able to dig up valuable information.
“We’re starting up the Hickory Hellos.” Mom flung open the freezer. “My daughter has a stack of frozen casseroles just waiting to be eaten. We’re going to make the rounds around the neighborhood, drop off a casserole, and ask people about their concerns. You never know. We might find something.”
“You never know.” Matt stood. “I’ve given up telling you to stay out of things, so all I’m going to ask now is that you be careful and don’t step over the line of the law.” He gave me a small smile and headed out the back door in the same direction Dakota had gone.
“That’s the best go ahead signal you’ll get from my brother,” Mary Ann said.
“He seems … mad.” I slumped in my chair. The last thing I wanted was for Matt to be mad at me. I sure would miss his kisses if he wanted nothing more to do with me.
“He’ll get over it. I’m always going against his orders.” Mary Ann giggled. ‘The poor thing has always been outnumbered by women. You’d think he’d be used to losing the battles by now.”
I drummed my fingers on the table and stared out the kitchen window. Matt leaned against the fence, talking to … well, since I couldn’t see anyone, I assumed he was talking to Rusty. Which proved my point. Getting information out of the poor man was going to be next to impossible.
“Earth to Stormi.” Mary Ann waved a napkin in front of my face. “You’re far away. Dreaming of my brother?”
“What? No.” Even if I was, I couldn’t let his younger sister know. I’d never hear the end of it. “I’m just wondering how we can get the information that’s locked inside Rusty’s head.”
We all sat at the table, chins in our hands, and tried to come up with a solution. “I got nothing,” I said.
“We need to look at the situation as if we were interviewing a child.” Mom stood and headed for the window. “Matt’s gone, which probably means Rusty is, too.” She turned back to us. “If Rusty saw something he shouldn’t, don’t you think he’d be dead by now? What if he doesn’t really understand what it is he saw? Could be anything or nothing. I don’t think we should put all our eggs in his basket. Bless his heart, but he’s a few yolks short.”
“Don’t be mean.” I scooted my chair back and stood. “I’m going to take Sadie for a walk to clear my head. I’ll cook supper when I get back. Mary Ann, you’re welcome to stay.”
“No, I’ll walk with you as far as my house. Matt and I take turns cooking and it’s my turn.” Mary Ann tapped her forefinger on the notes. “Don’t fret. We’ll think of something, and don’t forget we’ll be delivering casseroles.”
Which meant I needed to do some more cooking. Mom was good, but I was better. She excelled at baking, though. Maybe desserts would be better. Everyone liked chocolate, right? “The Hickory Hellos will hand out cakes and pies, instead.”
“That’s a great idea.” Mom clapped. “I’ll get started baking right away.”
I clipped the leash to Sadie’s collar and headed out the front door, Mary Ann beside me. “Don’t look now,” she said, “but Rusty is watching from the bushes, again.”
“I’ve told him that is unacceptable behavior. Rusty!” I stomped my foot. “Come here.”
“Rusty is getting the lawn mower.” He slunk from the bushes.
“Don’t lie. We’ve discussed this before. If you want to talk to me, then ring the doorbell.”
“Yes. But Rusty sees—”
“I know. You see things.” I wrapped Sadie’s leash around my wrist. “Are you ready to tell me what you saw?”
He shook his head. “Things. Bad things.”
I sighed. “Give me a name.”
“Rusty.”
“A bad name, not yours.”
He scratched his head. He seemed to think so hard he looked like he was in pain. “I don’t know.” He glanced toward the Edgars’ house, then across the street to where Mrs. Olson watched us, her arms crossed, and a leaf blower in her hand. “That woman is angry.” He dashed around the corner of the house.
“Impossible.” The task before me, all to garner the fodder for a book, was overwhelming. “The one possible witness we have can’t form a coherent sentence.”
“Don’t give up on him.” Mary Ann glared at Mrs. Olson. “He’s a good guy, even if he is strange. Eventually he’ll say something. Oh, that woman is ridiculous.” She gave a wave of her fingers. “Matt tells me to stop antagonizing her, but seriously … I’ve never given her reason to think I want her husband.”
“It must be sad to be that insecure.” We stopped in front of Mary Ann’s house. Her hunky shirtless brother pushed a lawnmower across the front lawn. It should be a crime to look that good when you were sweaty and covered with grass clippings.
Matt caught me staring and waved. Mary Ann laughed and skipped up the steps toward her front door with a promise to stop by in a few days to compare notes. I returned Matt’s wave and tugged on Sadie’s leash. The dog seemed as enamored as I was by Matt. The only difference between us, other than she had more hair, was the fact that my tongue wasn’t hanging quite so far out as hers.
By the time we circled the cul-de-sac, Mrs. Olson had returned to her house. The screeching of a harpy ripped through the open window. Sadie’s ears perked as she cowered against my leg.
“You big scaredy cat.” I patted her head. “And you so big, too.”
When a man’s voice joined in the screaming, I stopped to listen. After all, as the president of the Neighborhood Watch, I had a certain obligation to make sure things didn’t escalate out of control. Even Matt across the street had stopped his lawn work to listen, so I was only doing my civic duty, right?
Mrs. Olson was on a rampage about her husband making eyes at every woman under the age of fifty. Topping the list was me, Mary Ann, and Victoria Lanham. I stifled the urge to pound on her door and tell her the only men I was interested in were the heroes in my books and the hunky detective across the street. Instead, I tugged on Sadie’s leash the second the woman stepped back on her porch while brandishing a broom.
Sadie and I continued our stroll, waving at neighbors I had met and those I hadn’t. Since our gated community consisted of three streets, I made a mental note to find time to meet the residents of the other two streets. But first, I needed to start my new book.
With al
l the goings on so far, I had plenty for the first few chapters. All I lacked was the murderer. If I didn’t find out who it was soon, I would make one up. It could be any of my neighbors, after all, and since I was changing the names anyway, I wouldn’t be damaging anyone’s reputation. It wasn’t like any of them would actually read the book. Not if it came from a romance writer, anyway.
In front of my house, I spotted Angela turning into the driveway. She sat in her idling Prius for a few minutes while she talked into her cell phone. When did she get a Prius? I thought she was broke.
I hurried and knocked on her window. She shrieked and dropped her phone. After fumbling on the floor to locate it, she turned off the ignition and shoved the door open. “You scared me. Why are you skulking around with that beast anyway?”
“Where did you get the new car?” I took note of the black pencil skirt and burgundy blouse. “Are those new clothes?”
“I traded in the minivan and yes, this is a new outfit. I have a job now and need to look professional.”
“I thought you were broke.”
“I am.” She narrowed her eyes and shifted a new Coach purse higher on her shoulder. “Are you trying to get rid of us? You have this big house all to yourself. It isn’t like we’re hurting you or anything.”
True, but it was my house and I had yet to do any writing since they’d moved in. Not totally their fault since I found it necessary to solve a crime, but the idea that my older sister might be mooching off me didn’t sit right. Still, she was right. I had a house that had plenty of room. I needed to prioritize and ask the others to respect my privacy.
“I’m going inside to grab something to eat. You can continue walking that giant of a dog and peeking in people’s windows.” She stomped up the stairs and into the house.
“I don’t peek in windows. That would be Rusty!” I shouted after her. I snuck into houses in the name of research. Big difference.
I looped Sadie’s leash around the porch post and then sat in the swing. It was too nice of an evening to sit inside. If Mom didn’t mind, I’d have my supper out here.
Torie strolled by, arm-in-arm with her boyfriend, Bob. She peered into his face like a woman in love. He looked down on her like a man who cherished his woman. Maybe their fight the other night had been a fluke, a rare occurrence. At the end of the street, Bob gave her a long kiss, a pat on the rear, and headed through the gates of the community into the wide world outside Oak Meadow Estates.
Marion Henley stood in her canary-yellow house dress and watched the proceedings with a scowl on her face. The Olsons had finally stopped shouting next door, and on the other side of the house, the Edgars left their porch and headed around the corner of their house without a wave or a nod to anyone. Seemed as if the whole street was out enjoying the nice evening.
A couple I had yet to meet, strolled hand-in-hand down the sidewalk. The woman who appeared to be around fifty and had hair the same shade as Lucille Ball, patted the shoulder of a man slightly older, and stopped in front of my house. “Are you the author?”
“Yes.” I stopped the swing and stood. “I’m Stormi Nelson.”
“I have a manuscript I’d like you to look at.” She hefted a tapestry tote bag off her companion’s shoulder. “We’re Sarah and Ben Thompson. This is a steamy novel. It should be right up your alley.” She approached me and set the bag at my feet. “One hundred and ten thousand words of sheer brilliance. Contains romance, murder, intrigue, all written from personal experience, so it should ring true to the readers. I left my card in there, too, so you can call me with your thoughts.”
“But, I—”
“Thanks. Can’t talk now. Got some dirty business to take care of.” She wiggled her fingers and headed down the street with her man.
I sighed. One of the pitfalls of being a writer was wannabes wanting you to read their stuff. I plopped back onto the swing and pushed the bag aside with my foot. I’d have to come up with a nice way of turning her down.
I was still sitting there thirty minutes later when Mom brought me a plate of chicken strips and French fries. “Homemade,” she said. “None of that fast food stuff.”
“Thank you. I could have come inside and got my food.”
“I was coming out anyway.” She settled in a wicker rocker across from me and balanced a plate on her knees. “It’s a beautiful evening. I spotted several of the neighbors taking advantage of the cooler than normal temperatures.”
I told her about the wannabe writer. “She didn’t let me get a word in edgewise. Now, I need to come up with a tactful way of telling her I don’t read other people’s manuscripts.”
“Good luck with that. I’ve always thought about writing a book.”
I groaned.
“Don’t worry. I won’t ask you to read it and tell me whether it’s any good. I suspect readers will do a good enough job of that.”
Rusty sprinted down the middle of the street, arms pumping, eyes wide. I pushed to my feet and headed toward him. “Rusty.”
He stopped and whirled to face me. “Rusty didn’t do it.”
“Do what?” My heart stopped. The front of his tee shirt was covered with blood.
“Kill Torie.”
14
“Mom, please go get Matt.” I took Rusty by the arm and led him to my porch steps. “Sit here while we find someone to help you.” I glanced down the road in the direction Torie had gone earlier. Please, God, don’t let Rusty be the killer. He’d never survive prison.
Five minutes later, Matt dashed to our side, quickly pulling on a dark tee shirt, and was followed a few seconds later by my panting mother. She sagged against the porch rail and let Matt kneel beside Rusty.
“What happened?” Matt tilted Rusty’s head so the young man would have to look at him. “Where is Victoria?”
“The alley.”
Matt yanked a cell phone from his pocket and called for backup. “Stay with him.” He dashed away.
“I’m going. Mom, stay with him.”
Her mouth fell open. “What if he’s the killer?”
“Rusty did not kill her.” He opened his mouth and wailed.
I shook my head and raced in the direction Matt went, leaving behind a crying Rusty, a whining mother, and a barking dog. I couldn’t get away fast enough.
Whirling around the corner behind the houses across the street from mine, I skidded to a stop beside a battered green Dumpster. Matt stared at the body of Torie Lanham. Her once beautiful features were pulled into a look of terror. Instead of gardening shears, a kitchen butcher knife protruded from her chest. I wasn’t experienced enough to determine whether it could be the same person who killed Mrs. Lincoln, but I’d bet my laptop it was.
“I told you to stay put.” Matt sounded weary. “Who is watching Rusty?”
“My mom.” I sidled up next to him as tears stung my eyes. “What a waste. Who do you think killed her?”
“Too early to tell.”
“I guess you could go house-to-house and see who has a set of knives that match that one.” I leaned down for a closer look. “I’ve seen that style at Wal-Mart. They’re good knives, surprisingly. Can cut right through a chicken with little problem. I know this, because we have the same set. Most likely, a lot of people do.”
“This is not the time to compare kitchen cutlery, Stormi.” Matt frowned and shook his head. “A young woman is dead.”
Since they weren’t appreciated, I decided to keep my mental notes to myself for a while. While Matt made notations in a small notebook, I studied the area surrounding the victim. Several sets of footprints scuffed the gravel alley. I had no way of knowing whether they were made yesterday, last week, or moments before. Blood sprayed the side of the Dumpster… no question where that came from.
“Rusty is covered with blood.”
Matt whirled at my words. “Say that again.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t notice. Rusty’s shirt is covered with blood. He came running up the street, saying he did
n’t kill her.”
“Hard to see what’s on his shirt when he’s sitting in the shadow of your porch. Call your mother and have her try to bring Rusty here. Tell her that Matt wants to talk to him. Hopefully, he’ll come.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket, glad for once I’d remembered to bring it, and dialed Mom. By the time she and Rusty arrived on the heels of the ambulance and police, most of the neighborhood had also congregated at the mouth of the alley.
“This is turning into a circus.” Matt yelled for one of the other officers to keep the crowd back.
I moved aside before he ordered me behind the yellow crime scene tape another officer was stringing. Mom kept trying to catch my attention by waving one hand, while she kept a tight grip on the sleeve of Rusty’s shirt with the other. No way was I leaving my spot. Matt wanted Rusty, he could go get him. If I moved, I might miss something important.
Matt motioned for one of the officers to bring Rusty across the line. Rusty cowered and tried to pull back, until Matt went to fetch him himself. He planted the young man next to me and ordered him to stay. “I mean it. I’ll be right back.”
Tears streamed down Rusty’s face, leaving tracks in an incredibly dirty face. He groaned and wrapped his arms around his middle, tucking his chin into his chest.
“Do you know who killed Torie?” I bent to peer into his eyes.
He nodded.
“Can you tell me?”
“Bad people.”
Here we go again. “Yes, they are very bad. Are they neighbors?”
He nodded.
“More than one?”
He nodded again. I wanted to clap. Finally, we were getting somewhere. I now knew there was most likely a guilty couple rather than a single person, which ruled out the most likely culprit—Torie’s boyfriend, Bob. “Do you know their names? Was it Mrs. Olson?”
“Stop badgering the witness.” Matt stepped between us. “Rusty, I need you to go to the station with me and a nice woman is going to ask you some questions. Okay?”
“Can I have ice cream?” Rusty lifted his head.
Nosy Neighbor: All 7 complete Nosy Neighbor cozy mysteries PLUS: 2 short Christmas stories (A Nosy Neighbor mystery) Page 9
