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

by Cynthia Hickey

  “You sure can.” Matt guided him toward a squad door, me hot on their heels.

  “He said it was a couple of bad people. That narrows it down, don’t you think? He also said it was one of the neighbors. I could be the woman who questions him.”

  “Leave it alone, Stormi. I’ll take into consideration what you’ve told me,” he said facing me. “But you are a civilian. Not a police officer. Let us handle this before you get yourself into trouble.”

  “Do you mean trouble as in with the law or trouble as in danger?”

  “Both.” He put his hands on my shoulders. “Please. I can’t solve these murders and worry about my girl, too.”

  His girl? I grinned and nodded. At that moment, I’d promise him anything, especially when his handsome face was creased with worry because he cared about me.

  “Good. Now, go home. I’ll stop by tomorrow and tell you what I can. I know you’ll go snooping if I don’t.” He kissed the tip of my nose, making my knees weak, and held the crime scene tape up so I could duck under.

  Once Torie’s body was loaded into the ambulance and most of the nosey neighbors had left, I waved at Rusty through the window of the squad car and walked home with Mom. I wouldn’t be falling asleep for a while, not after seeing Torie that way or the despair on Rusty’s face. Instead, I would use the time to put the thoughts in my head onto paper.

  Mom was surprisingly silent on the way home. Inside the house, she headed straight for the coffee pot and started making a pot. “Get out your notepad,” she said. “I noticed a few things while I was surveying the crowd.”

  I grabbed the pad from the counter, located a partially sharpened pencil, and sat at the kitchen table. “I didn’t see a whole lot at the crime scene. Too many footprints and I couldn’t tell whether they were new or old. There was blood splatter on the Dumpster, but that fit the way poor Torie died. Hopefully, you have something more workable.”

  “I believe I do.” She pressed the button on the coffee maker and sat across from me. “Every one of our neighbors was there. Even Mr. and Mrs. Congeniality from next door. The part I found strange though was that the whole time the police were taking care of Torie, Mrs. Olson was grinning. Not a sad smile either. I’m talking about an ear to ear grin. No sadness happening there.

  “The Edgars whispered among themselves, which I found strange, and Bob was absent. Then, there’s poor Rusty. He kept mumbling about the bad man and woman. That’s all I could get out of him, but that tells us it’s a couple.”

  “I saw Bob leave the community when I was walking the dog.” Thankfully, Angela had let the dog inside. Sadie now rested her giant head on my feet. “Rusty pretty much told me it wasn’t a single person either. But where does this leave us? We still don’t know who the killer is, and just because the poor boy says it’s more than one person, doesn’t mean it necessarily is..”

  Mom drummed her fingers on the table, only to jump up when the aromatic smell of coffee filled the kitchen. “What worries me is—” She reached into the cabinet and pulled down two mugs. “that another person has been murdered. What if the killers come after us? We can’t keep it a secret that we’re snooping.” She poured the coffee and carried the mugs to the table, then grabbed flavored cream from the refrigerator.

  “True.” I glanced at my notes. At some point I’d circled the fact that Mrs. Lincoln had been digging into ancestry. I also couldn’t shake the fact that it might not have been her own genealogy she was looking at. Oh, yeah. There had been two circled names on the paper in her office, Rusty and the Edgars. “Mom, it’s very possible the police already have the murderer in custody.”

  “You’re talking about that poor boy again.” She shook her head. “I find it hard to imagine, but you might be right. I’ve heard tell of people like him not really knowing right from wrong, something snaps, and WHAM a dead person. But that boy seemed genuinely frightened.”

  “Because he realized what he had done?” I stirred mocha flavored creamer into my coffee.

  “I don’t know. It seems too easy. I think we should go back to our plan of taking desserts to people and fishing for information.”

  Maybe Mom was right. Somebody on our street was a two-time murderer. The only way we were going to find them was to catch them in the act. By taking desserts and asking questions, we would put a target on our back that even a child couldn’t miss. I shuddered, all bravery fleeing.

  I glanced across the table at Mom’s lovely face. Slightly round with only a wrinkle or two, her auburn hair pulled back into a barrette, she was still lovely at the age of fifty. The shadow of missing Dad sometimes passed across her features, but otherwise her loveliness and willingness to accept any new person as “friend” should have her single days ending soon. After two years, it was surprising she didn’t have a male friend.

  My hand trembled as I lifted my coffee mug. What if she never got another chance at love? With a murderer running loose, and the two of us snooping among the neighbors, it was very possible she could be the next victim. I couldn’t let that happen. Frightened or not, target on my back or not, I had to make sure my family remained safe from the foolish choice I made to solve a crime for the sake of a new book.

  Yes, Matt was a detective, and I had full belief he was capable of solving the murders, but cops had to do things by the book. I didn’t. I studied Mom through lower lashes. How could I investigate without her tagging along? What about Angela, Dakota, and Cherokee? They were all in danger, too, as long as I pursued this path.

  “Forget it.” Mom slammed her mug on the table. “Your face is still as easy to read as those books you write.”

  “What are you talking about?” I focused on my coffee.

  “You’re worried about your family. Well, stop it.” She reached across the table and laid a hand on mine. “I’m in this just as much as you are, and I don’t plan on any stupid killer putting a stop to me or mine. Got it?”

  “You might not have a choice. I doubt Mrs. Lincoln and Torie were surprised by a random act of violence. Their murders were premeditated. They were hunted down and killed.” I leaned down and patted the head of the new friend I gained with the death of an old woman.

  “We are on our guard. Until the killer is found, I don’t trust a single soul. I promise to go nowhere alone.” She jumped up and stretched to grab a bag from the top of the refrigerator. “I almost forgot.” She dumped the bag on the table. Three Tasers tumbled out. “There’s one for each of us. Don’t leave home without it.”

  “Yay! I’ve always wanted one of these.” Now, who could I tase to see how they actually worked on a person? For research, of course.

  Thunder boomed outside. I jumped, splashing my coffee and dropping my new toy. “I didn’t know it was going to rain today.” I loved storms. I shoved the Taser into the pocket of my cotton capris and refilled my mug. If there was a storm coming, I wanted to be on the front porch.

  The wind immediately buffeted me, almost slamming me onto the swing. Lightening slashed the sky. I counted. One…Two…Three…BOOM. Excitement leaped in my chest. I snuggled under an afghan that had miraculously stayed on the swing despite the wind and watched the rain race across the sky in our direction.

  I breathed deep, loving the clean scent of a rainy evening. Leaning my head against the back of the swing, I let the storm wash away my fears, if only for an hour or two.

  Up and down the street lights flicked off. I seemed to be the only one still awake at ten p.m. Except for Mom, of course. She joined me on the porch wearing a dark hoodie. At least I didn’t have to worry about her traipsing the neighborhood in this kind of weather. She took her usual seat in the rocking chair and set it into motion with a push of her foot.

  Down the street strolled a tall figure in a dark raincoat. He, or she, stopped in front of our house. Mom and I froze. I slipped my hand into my pocket as slowly as possible and slid out the Taser. Why didn’t I take it out of its packaging before coming outside? Did I learn nothing from my though
ts in the kitchen?

  I tore at the hard plastic with my teeth as the stranger came closer. When that didn’t work, I balanced the package on my leg and pulled, my arms going up and down like a water pump. “Come on.” I stood and ripped harder.

  “What are you doing?” Matt bounded up the stairs and removed his hood, shaking his hair like a wet dog.

  “You almost gave us a heart attack.” Mom shook her head. “Stormi was going to tase you.”

  “Really?” He laughed. “It’s still in its packaging.” He flipped open a pocketknife and took the package from me. “What are you doing with this anyway?”

  “It’s for protection.” I resumed my seat. My heart pounded a mile a minute. “Why are you out walking in this kind of weather?”

  “I love storms.”

  “Seems like we all do, considering I named my youngest daughter after one. She was born during a real humdinger. Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Mom reached for the door handle.

  “That would be great, thanks.” Matt sat next to me and handed me the Taser. “I’m glad you have this, but regret the fact you feel you need one.”

  “In my quest for a new story, I’ve put myself and my family at risk.” Tears clogged my throat. “I have no idea how to stop the avalanche.”

  “Stop nosing around.” He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. Rain from his coat soaked into my afghan, but I didn’t care. His touch warmed me, made me feel safe.

  “What happened to Rusty?”

  “They’re keeping him overnight, but have to let him go in the morning. We have nothing on him and can’t get a word out of him. Since we don’t know yet whether the blood on his shirt belongs to Torie or someone else, that’s a dead end, too, until results come back.”

  “Do you think he killed her?” I peered into his face.

  “No.” He sighed. “He’s not the smartest guy, but Torie wasn’t dumb. I’m pretty sure she could have gotten away from him. He moves like a turtle.”

  “Unless he had just found a dead body.” Rusty had run down the road pretty fast when I stopped him. He must be terrified behind bars. “Does he have a ride home in the morning?”

  “His landlady will pick him up. Mrs. Henley is pretty protective of the poor guy. She’s probably the only one he will talk to, and she has promised to try and help us find out what he knows.”

  The proverbial light bulb went off over my head. Of course, she would know. Tomorrow, I’d pay the lovely, gossipy, woman a visit.

  “Here you go.” Mom joined us and handed Matt his coffee.

  He straightened, pulling his arm free and leaving me chilled, and accepted the mug. “I’m surprised to see you two up this late.”

  “Stormi has always gone outside when it rains. I got into the habit of joining her when I could when she would sneak out when she was younger.” Mom settled back on her rocker. “Total opposites, my two daughters. If I were to check, I’m sure I’d find Angela under the covers. Much like that monster you call a dog. She’s cowering under the table and whining every time it thunders.”

  Some watchdog she would be, but I had grown to love the sweet thing. “At least she isn’t in a dog house like the first time I met her. Too bad, Sadie can’t talk. She could definitely tell us who the killer is.”

  15

  The first thing I wanted to do the next morning was visit Mrs. Henley, but I planted my rear in my office chair and wrote two thousand words in my new book, Anything For A Story. Satisfied with the day’s productivity, I whipped off an email to my agent letting her know I’d actually started the book, then rummaged in my closet for something cute to wear.

  Mom was right. I dressed like a child. If I wanted Matt to look at me with romance in his eyes, I needed to dress like a woman. I had nothing to wear. I settled on a pair of denim walking shorts and a pale blue tank top that matched my eyes. At the first opportunity, I would hit the mall in Little Rock. I could afford the clothes, but I enjoyed being frugal and didn’t see the sense in a closet full of clothes when I spent most of my time holed up in my office.

  The house was quiet when I went downstairs. Angela was most likely at work, and while I was interested in where my niece and nephew might be, I didn’t want to incur their wrath by opening their bedroom doors and waking them if they were still sleeping. So … that left Mom. I glanced out the front window, not surprised to see her chatting it up with Mrs. Henley. Rusty was hard at work weeding my flower bed.

  After grabbing a pop tart from the pantry, and a small bottle of orange juice, I moved outside to greet Rusty. “Good morning. How are you?”

  “Rusty fine.”

  “Not traumatized from your night in jail?”

  “Huh?” He glanced up with a frown. “Jail was cold.”

  I shrugged. “Nice work on the flower bed. I like the petunias.” I smiled and went across the street to join Mom and Mrs. Henley.

  “The poor dear smelled to high heaven and hadn’t touched a bit of his breakfast. He hates oatmeal.” Mrs. Henley crossed her arms. “Those jailers said he had to eat what they provided or go hungry. Why can’t people understand he isn’t like the rest of us?”

  She seemed awfully concerned for a mere landlord. There was something more to her relationship with Rusty other than landlord and tenant. “Is Rusty your son?” I asked.

  She stiffened for a moment, then blinked back tears. “Yes, he is. I gave him up at birth and reconnected with him several years ago when I offered him a room over my garage. He was never adopted. He grew up in shelters and foster homes.” She covered her face with her hands. “I’ve lived with the guilt ever since.”

  “Does he know?” I glanced over my shoulder to where Rusty shoved weeds into a black lawn bag.

  “I’ve told him, but he doesn’t understand. We’re both content to leave things at Mrs. Henley and Rusty, for now. He got a bit of joy out of us having the same last name, but it hasn’t gone any further than that.” She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her green housedress. The neon pink flowers scattered across the forest green background made me wish for my sunglasses.

  “Have you talked to him about the murders?” I asked. “He knows something important that could help the police.”

  “I’ve asked him. He won’t say a word. Oh, I wish he’d stop the Peeping Tom stuff. It’s going to get him killed.”

  Mom put an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll do our best to make sure that doesn’t happen. Could the two of you go on vacation somewhere? At least until this all blows over?”

  “We’ve nowhere to go. I live on a fixed income.” She waved her arm. “Don’t let the house fool you. I inherited it. We’re stuck here for the long haul.” She whirled to face me, a hard glint in her eyes. “You get that boyfriend of yours to solve this thing, you hear?”

  “He’s doing his best.” Now, I had one more reason to solve the murders:. To keep Rusty alive and his already guilt-stricken mother to not suffer more grief. Maybe I could come up with enough chores around my house to keep Rusty busy until dark each night. It also didn’t sound as if Mrs. Henley was a suspect in the murder of Mrs. Lincoln or Torie, but I wasn’t ruling her out completely. I didn’t have that many suspects to begin with. Surely, I could narrow it down before too long, unless everybody died and only one suspect was left. That would really stink.

  “What time is Rusty home each night?” I asked.

  “He’s a grown man,” Mrs. Henley said. “He doesn’t have a curfew.”

  I gave her a look that said, “Yeah, right.”

  “Fine. He’s supposed to be in his bed by nine every night.”

  “Then I’ll keep him busy working every night until then. That should keep him out of trouble.”

  Her look softened. “That is sweet of you. Now, if you two ladies don’t mind, I have work to do in my vegetable garden. Have a good day.” She turned and left.

  “Well, that got us nowhere.” Mom turned and surveyed the street.

  “Not true. We learned that Rusty
is her son, and she’ll do anything to keep him safe.”

  “You’re saying she could have killed those two people?”

  “Maybe, if they threatened her son she could have. We can’t rule it out.” I scanned the street along with my mother. No one was puttering around in their yards. I had no idea what move to make next. “Still want to do the baking?”

  “I have no idea. I’m at a loss. I guess if you manage to keep Rusty busy, and someone else dies, we know he didn’t do it. Which is a cold-hearted way of looking at things, if you ask me.” Mom planted her hands on her hips. “I think we’ve gone past the point of taking cookies to the neighbors. We need to dig deeper.”

  “What are you thinking?” I had my own idea. Finishing Mrs. Lincoln’s genealogy search topped my list. “I need to know first and last names of everyone who lives on this street.”

  “We’re back to visiting on the pretense of the neighborhood watch.”

  “It isn’t a pretense. I’m serious. If more folks were patrolling the neighborhood, then maybe Torie would still be alive.”

  “There’s your opening. Go door-to-door and ask for names and phone numbers for emergency purposes, but I think we probably already have that information. Between the two of us and our suspect list, we can fill in the blanks.” She led the way to the house.

  She headed for the kitchen and I headed upstairs for my laptop. I unplugged it and carried it to the kitchen table. Time to get into research mode.

  Mom set out the makings of sandwiches and glasses of lemonade as I plugged in my laptop. She slid the notepad containing our notes in my direction. “We need Mrs. Henley’s first name. We know the Olsons and the Edgars, and poor Torie’s. Is there anyone else?”

  I studied the list and added Sarah and Ben Thompson, then pulled up Google maps and researched Mrs. Henley’s address. Bingo. “Mrs. Henley’s name is Marilyn.” Now who allowed their name to be found so easy? I needed to make sure my location would be harder to find. The last thing I needed was avid fans knocking on my door.