“Well.” Mom crossed her arms. “What’s our next move?”
“Nothing.” I headed to the kitchen to clean up.
“We have to do something.”
“Mom, you were spacing out!” I closed my laptop. “An exterminator?”
She grinned and leaned close, lowering her voice. “I want the unsub to think they’ve got me rattled.”
“You scared me.” I collected the cups and set them in the sink. “I’m working on a plan.” I planted my palms against the edge of the sink. “But I’m not including you this time. I can’t risk your safety.”
“Pshaw! If you don’t let me work with you, I’ll head out on my own. Who knows what will happen then.”
I turned and glared. The glint in her eyes told me she meant every word of what she said. I sighed. “Fine. We’re partners.”
10
I decided to follow Matt’s advice for at least part of the day. Instead of heading to Heavenly Bakes with Mom or to the coffee shop for some people watching, I decided to perch on the window seat in the under-renovation turret room and peer through binoculars at the neighbors. The glass of the round room gave me plenty of vantage points in which to snoop.
Dust billowed from the tattered cushion in front of the window, causing me to sneeze. I glanced around as if someone could hear me, then chuckled from embarrassment. No one was home and no one had ventured to that particular room since I’d bought the house. While the floor appeared to be sturdy enough to walk on, I had tred carefully and prayed I didn’t fall through.
Barely eight o’clock in the morning and the street was hopping as folks headed to work or school. The Olsons, both around retirement age, raked leaves in their front yard, Mrs. Olson giving the evil eye to any woman who happened to glance her way. With the binoculars, I could spot Mrs. Carter, wearing a lime green house dress as she watered her autumn flowers. Regular, eccentric neighbors. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Now, my new neighbors to the left were a whole other story. Mark Wood loaded something rolled in an area rug into the back of a utility van while his wife, Diane, peered up and down the street. When the Salazar’s stepped out to push their trashcan to the side of the road, Mark and Diane grinned and moved away from the van. Very curious. What was rolled in their rug?
Tony Salazar raised up on his tip-toes to peer around Mark. Mark stepped to the side while Diane slammed the back of the van door closed. Spying on the neighbors was better than any day time drama television show. Why hadn’t I done it years ago?
They conversed a bit more, then the Salazars bustled back to their house. Mark waved his arms around, raising his voice to Diane but not enough so that I could hear, then slid behind the wheel of the van and drove off. Diane tossed him a ‘not so nice’ finger gesture and ran into her house, slamming the door behind her.
I lowered the binoculars to my lap. Did the two sets of neighbors know each other well? Had they met before moving to my community? Was that why Tony was so eager to join the Neighborhood Watch? More questions swam through my mind than before I had started spying.
Movement at the end of the street had me raising the glasses again. Matt was just getting into his car. His sister, Mary Ann, waved goodbye to him then closed the front door after her. She pulled a cell phone from her pocket.
A second later, mine rang. “I’ve got something for you,” she sang.
“Do tell.”
“It appears that your emails aren’t coming just from the coffee shop. The one last night came from the library.”
My heart skipped. “Want to pick me up?”
“You bet.”
I clicked off the phone and dashed down the stairs, my feet raising little puffs of dust with each thud across the wood. If the turret wasn’t on the third floor, I’d consider moving my office up there. Inspiration for mystery novels abounded.
Grabbing my purse from the foyer table, I rushed out the door as Mary Ann came to a halt in my driveway. I slid into the passenger seat of her Volkswagen Beetle. “You’re the best snooper ever.”
She grinned. “It helps having a brother who is the lead detective on the case. Of course, plastering my ear to the wall when he’s on the phone doesn’t hurt. Ryan Koontz came by the house after leaving your place last night, too.” She backed onto the street. “They’re really worried about you. Other than tracing the emails to public places, they have absolutely nothing to go on.”
“I’ll find out who is responsible.” I clicked my seatbelt into place.
“Hopefully, before you’re abducted again. My brother almost went crazy when that happened.”
Her words, while warming me, also reinforced the severity of what was happening and increased my urgency to find the culprit. “I haven’t been to the library since I’ve moved here. There isn’t a lot of need since I can do my research on the internet.”
“Or by living it.” She flashed me a smile. “You’ll need to come up with some kind of story. The librarian, Janet Dillow, is a middle-aged sourpuss who doesn’t know how to smile. Although the library is a public building, she doesn’t like loitering. She wants everyone to either be reading, actively browsing, or on the computers. She keeps her lines short and her expectations long.”
“I can pretend to be looking for research books. Not everything needs to come from the computer.” I reached over and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you. With your help, maybe we can come up with some questions to ask Mrs. Dillow that will help us figure out whether my friend is spending much time there.”
“If anyone can mellow her, you can. After all, it’s authors like you that keep books in libraries.”
Ten minutes later, we pulled up in front of a brick building with large glass windows. In the small courtyard rose a metal tree with a bench placed underneath it. A small plaque read that it was donated so imaginations could soar. I put a hand to my heart at the gesture, wishing I had thought of donating something meaningful to the library. Maybe I could do a book-signing and donate the proceeds. That would be as good of a reason for visiting today as any other.
Side-by-side, shoulders back, looking every bit as if we were walking the Green Mile, Mary Ann and I marched into the library and to the front desk. A woman with a salt and pepper spiked do, horn-rimmed glasses, and bright red lipstick glared up at us for exactly two seconds. Then she smiled, revealing perfect white teeth.
Mary Ann gasped. “She smiled.”
“Of course I smiled, you ignorant chit.” Mrs. Dillow thrust out her hand. “We have a real author in the house. I must be your biggest fan.”
There seemed to be a lot of them lately, which recently was not necessarily a good thing. I returned her handshake. “Mrs. Dillow, right?”
“Ms., but you may call me Janet or Jan. Doesn’t matter as long as you call.”
Mary Ann furrowed her brow and glanced at me in alarm before shrugging. “It’s a mystery. It really is.”
Janet shook her head. “Just because you’re Matthew’s sister doesn’t mean I have to like you. Where is For Whom The Bell Tolls? You checked it out in high school.”
“Seriously? How many times are you going to make me pay for it?” Mary Ann dug in her purse, coming out with checks in a bright pink folder. “This time, I want a receipt with your signature.”
Once they had the problem with the way overdue library book taken care of, Janet again turned to me. “How may I help you?”
I glanced at the forming line behind me. “Maybe you should take care of them first.”
“Aren’t you just as sweet as the biography on the back of your novel?” She waved a hand. “They can wait or use the self-serve stations.”
I needed to make my excuses quickly. The rude librarian was developing a gleam in her eyes that made me nervous. Were there any ‘normal’ people left in Oak Meadows? “I, uh, thought it would be nice to, uh …”
“For goodness sake.” Mary Ann hit me with her elbow. “She’s all bark and no bite. Spit it out before there’s a riot
.”
“I would like to do a book signing and donate the proceeds to the library.” There. Now to figure out how to question her about possible stalkers using the library computers.
“When would you like to do this?” Janet flipped a desk calendar.
“When my next book is released?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Isn’t that going to take too long? We really should work off the momentum of your book’s success. You’ve been spotted traipsing around town like you don’t have a care in the world. How will you be able to finish your next book any time soon?”
“I’m further along than people know.” Why should she be so concerned? Now, I had her badgering me about a book signing and the 9-1-1 operator clamoring for details about the release party. I’d dug myself a hole the size of a giant meteor crater.
She clapped her hands. “Wonderful! We’ll do the signing in two weeks. That gives me more than enough time to advertise and post in the paper.”
Mary Ann elbowed me again. “Don’t you have something to research?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” I forced a smile to my face and followed my friend to the non-fiction section. My brain raced with how I was going to have something to sell in two weeks. If all else failed, I’d use my prior release, Anything For A Mystery.
“I’ll come help you as soon as I work this line,” Janet said.
“You’re crazy,” Mary Ann whispered. “Why so quiet all of a sudden? It’s like you didn’t know what to say to her.”
“She scares me.” I ran my finger along books about the paranormal. “I probably wouldn’t have paid my missing book fine, either. Not if it meant I had to talk to her.”
“Ugh. I’ve paid it three times and didn’t get a receipt this time, either.” She whirled and stormed to the front of the line, returning a few minutes later with a receipt waving from her hand. “Ta-da!”
“Shhh.” Janet came up behind her as swiftly as the ghosts I was reading about. “Now, are you going to have spirits in your next book?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m actually wondering whether I could ask you a question more along the lines of something personal.”
She tilted her head. “Maybe.”
“Do you have regular customers who come in to use the internet? Someone who might seem a bit … off? Secretive?”
“That’s an odd request.” She tapped a sculpted fingernail against her teeth. “Mostly teenagers use the internet, but occasionally a homeless person, or someone looking for a job who doesn’t have a computer might come in. There’re also a couple of wannabe authors who bring in their own laptops. Why?”
“It’s for a character in my next book.” How much should I risk telling her? I didn’t want the fact that my stalker might be using the library or have her know I actually had a stalker. “The homeless man angle will work wonders.”
The hard glint appeared in her eyes again. What was with the bi-polar librarian bit? I dug into my purse for a business card and handed it to her. “Give me a call when you’re ready. Thank you so much.” I grabbed Mary Ann’s arm, this time being the one to drag her in my wake.
Once we reached the car, I couldn’t get inside fast enough. Who knew being an author would garner such attention from such weirdoes? Maybe I should have used a pseudonym. Then this entire situation could have been avoided.
“I’ve never seen Ms. Dillow react so kindly to anyone before.” Mary Ann inserted her key in the ignition. “She really must like your books. Not that I blame her. I’ve always thought I was your biggest fan, but …”
I rested my head back against the seat. “My stalker calls him, or herself, my biggest fan. Not counting you, I’ve met two people using the same tag line in the last week. Both women who are stranger than a six-legged fox.”
11
Mary Ann laughed. “It’s time to take some notes, but first….” She stopped in front of the coffee shop. “Drinks!”
“Then do you mind if we stop by and check on my mom?” My friend was right. It was time to start writing things down to see whether something popped up to make sense.
“I don’t mind at all. We’ll take her a coffee, too.”
We shoved open our doors and got into the normal long line at the counter. Since it would take at least ten minutes for the Barista to take our orders, I glanced around the shop, not surprised to see Sarah hunched over her laptop. Her normally inky hair was dyed a Lucille Ball red. I was surprised to see the Salazars sharing a laptop, though. I didn’t have any particular reason, but the gesture seemed odd to me. Their button eyes darted around the room. When Becky spotted me, she waved and then whispered something to her husband.
Oh, well. People around town were always talking about me. Strange behavior or not, I just couldn’t picture my new neighbors as internet stalkers.
“Yeah?” Tyler, the Goth Barista, scowled at us.
Mary Ann sighed. “Three of the biggest frozen mocha coffees you got.” She turned to speak over her shoulder. “I wonder why they keep this kid on the payroll. I’ve never seen him do anything but scowl.”
“My aunt owns the place.” Tyler’s mouth quirked. “Besides, I love the smell.”
“My apologies.” Mary Ann grimaced.
Normally one of the nicest people you’d ever meet, her snarkiness that day put getting to the bottom of her mood a top priority.
“You’re that mystery writer, right?” Tyler asked, taking Mary Ann’s debit card but looking at me.
I nodded.
“My mom is complaining that it’s taking you too long to write the next book.”
“It’s barely six months since the release of the last one.” I shook my head. It was wonderful that readers looked forward so eagerly to the next installment, but writers had lives, too. Besides, I knew of a couple of authors who had years between their books. Did they have crazy people threatening them? I didn’t think so. Only I could be that lucky.
“Yeah, I told her to be patient and stop bothering me. She’s always on her laptop checking your website. It’s driving me postal.” Tyler handed back the card. “Art takes time. Next.”
His comment about going postal sent trickles of alarm up and down my spine, but his referring to my work as art warmed me right back up. He seemed like a nice young man despite the facial piercings and long hair. Just goes to show the old adage about judging a book by its cover wasn’t necessarily true.
“Wow.” Mary Ann pushed the door open for me. “People are surprising me at every turn today. Those who are usually grouchy are talking to you as if you’re their lifelong friend.”
“And other people are definitely out of sorts.” I wiggled my eyebrows over my drink.
“I’m sorry.” She sagged onto one of the seats beside a bistro-style table. “I feel as if I’m in a rut.”
I glanced up and down the street before taking a seat across from her. If Matt or Koontz were to see me, there was no telling what kind of lecture I would get for sitting out in the open. “I’m sorry. What can I do to help?”
“Guide me on what I want to do with my life?”
“I thought you liked being a teacher.”
“I do, but lately … well, I’ve felt stifled in my creativity.” She took a sip of her drink. “We’re told to teach what will help students past the myriad of state required tests. It’s frustrating. Not every child learns the same.”
“What do you want to do? Do you have a dream? A passion?”
“I want to work in the publishing industry.” She twirled her straw in her cup. “I’ve loved to read since I was four. It’s how I spend my free time.”
I stared at her heart-shaped face, framed by a mass of golden curls, and acted on impulse. “How about you spend some of that free time as my assistant? This way, you can learn some things and maybe, eventually, become an editor or agent in the topsy-turvy industry of publishing.”
She squealed. “Really? I’d love that! When can we start?”
I laughed. “You help me solve this m
ystery and get this book written and I consider you hired. I’ll pay you one thousand dollars a month, but I must warn you … I can be a tough taskmaster.”
“You pay me one thousand for the rest of the school year, then if you’re pleased with my performance, I quit teaching, and you raise my pay to two thousand a month and introduce me to your agent.” She thrust her hand across the table. “Since today is Saturday, I will give you every weekend, Sundays after church, and all holiday breaks, plus whatever free hours I may have in the evenings when you need me.”
“I don’t think I’ll need all that, especially in the beginning, but I do believe I’ve just hired me an assistant.” I shook her hand. That should make my stalker happy. After all, I’d be able to write more if I wasn’t having to deal with all the other things that go along with the writing career, and my agent wouldn’t mind being introduced to someone so in love with the industry. Who knew? Maybe Mary Ann’s next step would be as an assistant to a literary agent.
With more shrieks of delight, Mary Ann grabbed her cup, and we headed across the street to Heavenly Bakes. The windows sparkled from a fresh washing, the stoop was swept clean, and Mom sat at her desk staring at her computer.
“Wonderful,” she said as she glanced up and accepted the sweaty cup of blended coffee. “I could use some caffeine.”
“What are you working on?” I noticed her appliances had been delivered. The delicious aroma of baking cake filled the store.
“Orders.” She sighed. “I’m going to have to hire help sooner than I’d thought. Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but word has gotten out and everyone from here to Little Rock wants a cake. The baking isn’t the hard part. It’s the decorating that takes so much of my time. Who has time to interview for a fabulous cake decorator?”
“Put an ad in the paper. You’ll have plenty of applicants. Maybe you can hire a baker and you do the decorating.” I pulled a notebook out of my purse. “I promised to let you be a part of solving this mystery. Mary Ann and I are getting ready to take some notes. Do you have time?”
Nosy Neighbor: All 7 complete Nosy Neighbor cozy mysteries PLUS: 2 short Christmas stories (A Nosy Neighbor mystery) Page 22
