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

by Cynthia Hickey

  “Back off, Shorty, or I’ll let these fine neighbors know all about you.” Mark grinned like a shark. “That’s right. I know all about your sordid past, you little computer geek.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, I know what that tattoo on your arm means. You aren’t innocent, either.”

  Tattoo? I could barely make out what looked like a counter. The sort you’d see on a website, maybe.

  Frustration outlined Matt’s shoulders. Poor thing. If he left, the two might come to blows, if he stayed, he lost valuable time searching for our elusive stalker. I pulled away from the window.

  Secrets abounded, as usual, in Oak Meadow Estates. What if I’d been looking in the wrong direction? It was quite possible the women I suspected were innocent. But what about the poison? Neither of my neighbors had been at the library. That I knew of. I leaned back out the window, balancing on my stomach. The men had moved, almost disappearing around the corner. I couldn’t see Matt, but could barely hear loud whispering. I was missing something important. I knew it!

  Sadie woofed low in her throat and planted both paws against my cotton-clad behind. I shrieked and reached for the branch of the oak tree outside my window. I grabbed hold, hanging like a poor kitty I’d seen on a poster once, except I didn’t have claws, and didn’t like being in a tree. I glanced toward the window where Sadie appeared to be grinning, her pink tongue hanging out.

  “Help! Matt!” I so didn’t want to be discovered, but if help didn’t arrive soon, I’d be in a crumpled mess on the ground.

  “What in heaven’s name are you doing up there?” Matt’s called out. “Hold on. Let me find a ladder.”

  “I don’t have a ladder.”

  “I do.” Mark Wood hurried away. I could have sworn he was laughing.

  “Were you spying?” Matt asked, his handsome face split with a grin.

  “Yes. Sadie knocked me out the window.”

  I thanked the Good Lord I’d worn cotton shorts and a tee shirt to bed instead of a nightgown. I gave the neighbors plenty to talk about without showing them my underwear. “My hands are getting sweaty.” I slipped and screamed. I shivered in the chilly October morning, further increasing my chance of falling.

  “Kick your leg up and over the next branch.”

  “Are you crazy?” That branch had to be at least six inches away, which in my predicament seemed more like six feet. If I moved, my grip would loosen more.

  “Why is Stormi in a tree?” Mary Ann joined her brother on the lawn. “Was she being too nosey?”

  “Of course, she was.” Matt laughed. “The ladder is coming. Of course, if you wished, you could just let go. You’re feet are only about four feet off the ground.”

  Seriously, I was going to fall while they laughed. Wait. Four feet? I glanced down. Sure enough, my weight had bent the limb almost to the ground. I let go and landed like a cat on my paws, or hands and feet, rather. “Why didn’t you say so sooner?” I brushed off my hands. “I was terrified.”

  He shrugged. “It was more fun watching you kick.”

  “You’re evil.” I stomped past him and into the house. A terrifying experience such as that warranted coffee. Lots of it.

  “Hey, Stormi.” Ryan held the door open. “Nice to have you hanging around.” He guffawed, the big oaf.

  “Shut up.” I banged my shoulder against him as I entered the house. Instead of heading straight for the kitchen, I went back to my room. I’d be able to function better in the face of ridicule if I weren’t wearing my pajamas.

  After slipping on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved tee shirt, I joined the others in the kitchen where Matt was already brewing coffee. I mumbled a good morning and snagged a glazed doughnut from the box on the table. “Who brought these?”

  “I did,” Ryan said. “You know what they say about cops and doughnuts.”

  “Is that actually true?” My eyes widened.

  He laughed. “No, I just like doughnuts. Maybe they’ll sweeten your mood.”

  “Hmmm.” I bit into one, my mind already racing on to what I wanted to do that day. My options were: dig into the secrets of my neighbors or focus on one of my suspects. I didn’t have a reason to ask Ms. Dillow about library cutbacks and wasn’t sure whether it was common knowledge that she was being let go. I settled on purchasing a cake from Mom and taking it to Cheryl at home. I could say I’d heard of her ill mother and wanted to ease her burden a bit.

  “Does anyone know whether Cheryl Isaacson works today?”

  Matt turned, mugs of coffee in each hand. “She works nights, why?”

  “I’m thinking of paying her a condolence visit.” I accepted one of the mugs. “I’ll ask her whether there is anything I can help her with, since she thinks she’s in charge of my book release party.”

  “You want to snoop around her house.” His brow lowered.

  “Of course, I do.” I held up a hand to ward off his protests. “I know you’re going to want to accompany me, and I won’t argue. The only thing I ask is that you stay in the car and out of sight. You can put a wire on me if you want, but I doubt she’ll say anything of value with you along.”

  He peered at me over the rim of his cup. After taking a long sip, he nodded. “I can live with that … if you wear a wire and carry a Taser.”

  “I can do that.” My stomach fluttered. I’d really thought I’d have to argue my way to Cheryl’s. “Thank you.”

  “I want to come.” Mary Ann snagged a doughnut. “As your literary assistant, it’s part of my job.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Well, since I took off work until Monday so I don’t scare the kiddoes with my bruises, I don’t have anything else to do. Besides, there’s safety in numbers, or so they say. It didn’t help you at the library, though, did it? Don’t eat anything while we’re there, even if she offers you something.”

  I wanted her to stop talking. From the red spots on Matt’s cheeks, I could tell he was having second thoughts about letting me go.

  “Yes, mother. I want to stop and buy some kind of a dessert. Then, it will be safe to eat it.”

  “Let’s take the mini-van.” Matt set his cup down. “Ryan and I can hide easier that way.”

  “Mom has it.”

  “We’ll get it when we’re there.”

  “Right.” And I was the mystery writer. That poison must have short-circuited something in my brain. Usually, I was right on top of things.

  “I’ll get the wire.” Ryan hefted his bulk out of the chair and went outside, returning five minutes later with a small clip. “Hook this to your—” He waved his hand around my chest area.

  “Got it.” I took the small microphone and went into the bathroom. I hooked it to my bra strap, as close to my mouth as I could get it. The only problem with that spot was that it left a bump in my tee shirt. “Hey, will you still be able to hear me if I put this in my cleavage?” I poked my head out the door.

  “Yes!” Matt called back.

  Problem solved. I did my business while in there, brushed my teeth, and five minutes later, purse over my arm, I was ready to go. “Should we do a sound check?”

  “We could hear you fumbling in the bathroom.” Ryan ducked his head.

  Good grief. Color me red and call me embarrassed. Avoiding their amused glances, I headed to the van, Mary Ann hot on my heels. “I do manage to get myself into ridiculous situations.”

  “You wouldn’t be Stormi if you didn’t.” She giggled and got in the backseat of her brother’s car. “That’s what makes being around you so much fun.”

  “Your brother doesn’t think so.”

  “He’s still here, isn’t he?”

  True. I clicked my seatbelt into place as the men entered the car.

  Matt met my gaze in the rearview mirror. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  I nodded. “We need to start marking people off the suspect list. She may check out in your police computers, but there is still a cloud of suspicion hanging over her head. Maybe this visit will d
ispel that.”

  “You’re in the wrong line of work.” He started the car and backed from the driveway. “You would make a good detective with the way your mind works. If not for the fact you tend to rush into things.”

  Being a good detective was just as necessary when writing a mystery. How else would everything fall into place and make sense? Just because I didn’t carry a badge, didn’t mean I wasn’t a detective, right? I was a romantic mystery detecting author.

  Matt pulled in front of Heavenly Bakes. While the others waited in the car, I rushed into the store. “Mom, I need something delicious. Something that will make someone comfortable and talkative.” I pushed through a small swinging door she’d installed and into her work area.

  “I’ve some delightful lemon cake bars.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Who are you going to see?”

  “Cheryl Isaacson.”

  “Ah, she likes chocolate.” Mom pulled a tray of tiny cake bites, decorated with pastel flowers, from the refrigerator. “She bought a few of these last week and practically swooned.”

  “I’ll take a dozen, plus one.” I popped one in my mouth. While they were technically cakes, the texture was so moist it practically dissolved in my mouth. “How much?”

  “Free, if you stop by and tell me how it went.” She frowned. “That’s the only drawback to owning a business. I have to spend a lot of time here and can’t go snooping with you.”

  “After a while, maybe.” I looked to where Greta folded boxes. “Once you’re settled and have enough stock and people to help you, you can take off. Oh, and I need to borrow the van.”

  Her face brightened. She grabbed a set of keys from beside the computer. “That’s right. Greta already does all the baking. I decorate. We actually have time to experiment with recipes. Soon, I’m going to hire a counter girl who will also take orders.” She hugged me. “I can’t thank you enough for making this possible.”

  Tears filled my eyes. “I’m glad to help, Mom.” Being a silent partner wasn’t bad at all. “I’ve got to go. I promise to let you know how it went.”

  “Just stay alive, sweetie.”

  19

  The others waited beside the van when I stepped back outside.

  “Did you bring us anything?” Ryan leaned over the box, his nostrils twitching.

  “Nope. Sorry. I’ll get something on the way back.” I twirled the keys. “We have to return the van anyway. It will be our reward for a job well done.”

  “You had something.” He pointed to the corner of his mouth. “You carry the evidence.”

  I licked the crumbs off my mouth, and grinned. “Prove it.”

  He eyed the box hungrily and climbed in the back of the van. Matt did the same, leaving the front for myself and Mary Ann. “I hope someone had the foresight to look up her address.”

  Ryan handed me a slip of paper. “Not the best neighborhood, but since we’re in the van, you should be okay.”

  I almost asked him to define ‘not the best neighborhood’ but decided it couldn’t be too bad. I was wrong.

  We pulled in front of a one-story ranch-style house badly in need of a new roof and paint job. What once might have been a cheery yellow was now a dingy washed out lemon color. In the yard next door, three male teenagers, basketball shorts hanging down around the bottom of their butt cheeks, stared. I was doubly glad Matt and Ryan were with us. The two provided a great deterrent for anyone intending us harm.

  The men climbed out the back of the van and leaned against the doors, staying out of sight of the house, but in plain sight of the belligerent youths. I dared the youngsters to make a move toward me or Mary Ann. Our bodyguards would be all over them like angry flies on sugar.

  I clutched the box of delicacies and approached the porch, Mary Ann glued to my side. The curtains were drawn tight. The doorbell hung by its wires. “Do you think she really lives here?”

  “Matt said she did.” Mary Ann pressed closer. “Knock. I don’t trust that doorbell. You could get shocked.”

  “Hey, pretty thing!” One of the young men took a couple of steps in our direction. “You look like your man did a number on you. You belong to the big buy over there?”

  Mary Ann shook her head and held a finger to her lips. “If he doesn’t be quiet, he’s going to alert Cheryl to Matt and Ryan.”

  I rapped on the door as hard as I could, praying Cheryl would answer quickly. When seconds passed with no answer, I banged again.

  “What is so important—” She yanked the door open. “Stormi. Oh, wow.”

  I grinned and held out the box. “May we come in?”

  Her face fell. “I’m not really receiving company.”

  “I’ve brought sweets. You’re favorite, my mother said.”

  She licked her lips. “Forgive the mess.” She grabbed the box and stepped aside.

  Mess was an understatement. The smell met us at the door. Empty food containers and dirty dishes added to the clutter of millions of items. Clothes, garbage, and household items filled the house, leaving a narrow path to traverse. One armchair sat in front of a twenty inch television. I breathed through my nose and fought to keep my smile in place.

  “I heard you spend a lot of your time caring for your aging mother.” I turned to face Cheryl as if visiting the home of a hoarder was a common thing. “I came to see how I could help ease your burden.”

  “Why?” Cheryl popped a treat into her mouth.

  “You’ve done so much for me.” I took a deep breath, instantly fighting back a gag. Mary Ann’s eyes looked as if they’d pop out of her head.

  Cheryl cocked her head. “Come on into the kitchen. I’ll get you something to drink.”

  Mary Ann shook her head violently behind Cheryl’s back. I mouthed that I wouldn’t drink a thing. Anything I put in my mouth was liable to come back up anyway.

  We followed Cheryl down the maze. A box beside the easy chair caught my attention.

  I stopped and gazed upon more than twenty of my latest mystery novel. Balanced on the arm of the chair was a rubber stamp with my signature. I pocketed the stamp, pulled my tee shirt down to cover the bulge, and hurried to catch up with the other two. Since my agent had refused to send Cheryl a case of free books, the woman must have forked out a pretty penny for them.

  The kitchen was worse than the living room and the smell twice as bad. “Is your mother home?”

  “She never comes out of her room.” Cheryl ate another treat. “She’s too fat to get around. It’s time for her bath, though. Would you like to help with that?”

  Oh, God, no. I needed to think of something fast. “Maybe I could fix her lunch while you enjoy your treat?”

  Cheryl swiped a pile of magazines off a kitchen chair and motioned Mary Ann to sit. She eyed the stained wood with distaste and perched on the edge. “There’s cans of soup on top of the fridge. You’ll have to use the microwave. The stove is covered with stuff. I keep meaning to clean up, but Mom takes so much of my time.”

  “What did you think of the party the other night?” I reached over a pile of junk to grab a can of vegetable soup and dislodged a pile of rotten smelling rags.

  “It was all right,” she said. “But the librarian kept butting her nose into my job. Not to mention your friend here. If you wanted to hire an assistant, you could have hired me.”

  “Hey,” Mary Ann protested. “I’m her best friend and the sister of her boyfriend.”

  “No offense.”

  Can in hand, I went in search of a relatively clean bowl. “Why don’t you hire a crew to help you clear some of this out?”

  “It’s Mom’s house, and she says no. What she says goes.” Cheryl sighed. “It won’t matter for much longer anyway. I’m pretty sure the city will condemn the house.”

  “Where will you go?” I dumped the soup into a plastic bowl and stuck it into a microwave so peppered with unidentified spatters that it was bound to help season the meal.

  “An apartment somewhere. I have a little side job
selling used books. It brings in a nice bit of cash to buy me the little things I love, like these treats.”

  The rubber stamp weighed heavy in my pocket. The woman was forging my signature and selling copies of my book as signed by the author. While flattered that people would pay extra for signed copies, I didn’t like her taking what belonged to me. And where was she getting the books? I should have taken a closer look. I had a feeling she was buying used copies and selling them as new, which might be a crime, but it didn’t mean she was my stalker. Now, that I thought of it, I couldn’t see her buying a case of new books.

  I didn’t see a computer anywhere, which made me question whether she was my stalker.

  “So, by helping with my mother, does that mean you’ll come by regularly to allow me some time out of the house?” Cheryl balanced the box on top of a pile of laundry. “Because the only other time I get out is when I’m at work. Mom fends for herself then. She really doesn’t need a nurse.”

  The microwave dinged. I found a pot holder and removed the bowl. “Oh, then I guess we’ll just pop in once in a while to visit with you.” That wouldn’t be for a very long time if I could help it. I felt as if we were breathing toxic fumes, and I hadn’t found out anything relevant to the case.

  “How computer savvy are you?” I asked. “I’m thinking of setting up a newsletter.”

  “I’m very techie. In fact, I went to college for computers.”

  Interesting, but still didn’t label her a stalker. Maybe I should flat out ask her whether she was my stalker. “Which room is your mother’s?”

  “Down the hall. Last room on the right. Her name is Rose.”

  As carefully as I could without tripping over something, I headed down the hall, peeking in rooms as I went. Surprisingly enough, the first bedroom I came to was spotless. The bathroom would require me wearing a Hezmet suit before I’d enter.

  Rose’s room contained nothing more than the largest woman I’d ever seen, reclining on a mattress that filled the small space, a table like the ones used in hospitals, and a television mounted on the wall. Obviously, the home’s residents believed in keeping where they slept clean.