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

by Cynthia Hickey

  “Catch!” Dakota tossed a bottle of pink calamine lotion at me. “Grandma told me to give this to you.”

  “Thanks.” So, it was a shiny face or a pink powdery one. Some choice. It was a very good thing I didn’t have to go anywhere for a few days. “Ask her why she didn’t buy the clear calamine.”

  “She said she already had bottles of this from … I can’t remember.” He dashed away to do whatever fifteen year old boys do.

  His more mature seventeen year old sister rolled her eyes as only girls can do. “I wouldn’t want to run around looking like cotton candy, but you can do what you want.” She flounced off.

  I stared at the bottle. If Mom couldn’t remember where she got it, there was no telling how old it was. I fished my cell phone out of my pocket and texted Matt to bring a couple bottles of the clear stuff.

  He responded that he would and to save him a plate at supper. I smiled and headed to the kitchen. The aroma of baking chicken filled the space.

  “What can I help you with? Matt is coming over.” I pulled up a chair to the island. There were a couple of casseroles in the freezer that only needed to be warmed through. I tended to cook when I was nervous or stuck in writer’s block. Something my family was very grateful for.

  “I don’t want you touching anything with those hands. Who knows what kind of disease you all contracted.” Mom shook a wooden spoon at me. “They should have quarantined all of you.”

  “You were there to.” I grabbed a cherry tomato from a bowl.

  “They had no reason to keep me. Robert will be here, too, so we’ll have to eat in the dining room instead of the kitchen.”

  I still didn’t know what to make of Mom’s boyfriend, Robert Smithfield, the banker of Oak Meadows. Whenever the man came over, he said little and grinned a lot. That type of behavior didn’t seem natural to me.

  When the doorbell rang, I raced the teenagers to answer it, and threw myself into Matt’s arms, kissing his cheek, then grabbing the paper bag out of his hands. “The stuff the paramedic used has worn off.”

  When you’re finished doctoring yourself, meet me in the living room. I have some news.”

  His grave look sent a rivulet of ice through my veins. I motioned my head to tell the kids to leave the room. “Tell me now.”

  He led me by the elbow into the living room. “Daisy had a note in her purse telling her that she had been warned that if she opened her mouth she would regret it.”

  “You think she was purposely put into contact with something that killed her?”

  “Her medical records say she’s deathly allergic to poison ivy.” He put his hands on my shoulders. “The facial cream was full of it. It seems my dear, that you’re going to be itching for a while.”

  I nibbled the inside of my bottom lip. Daisy had been murdered. I’d been thrust right back into a mystery.

  3

  “Angela!” I pulled free of Matt and yelled up the stairs. “Angela!”

  “I’m coming.” She paused at the top of the stairs, saw Matt, and descended like her version of a queen, all tottering high heels and tight dress. The effect she tried to portray was sorely distorted by her red, blotchy face. “Didn’t Mom teach you not to screech like a barn owl? Hello, Matthew.”

  “Hey.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “May we speak with you in the living room?”

  “Is this on official police business?”

  “Yes.” He motioned his head toward the sofa.

  She sighed and preceded us into the room. Sitting primly on the edge of the sofa, she crossed her ankles. Her eyes widened as Matt explained how Daisy died.

  “Was your cream ever left unattended at this party of yours?” Matt pulled out a notepad.

  “No.” Tears welled in her eyes again. “I knew I killed her!”

  I needed to teach my older sister never to blurt anything out to a police officer, Matt or not. “Yes, you did. After the ladies washed off their makeup, everyone crowded into the kitchen for snacks.”

  Matt gave me a quick glance. “Everyone?”

  “I didn’t pay that close of attention. I was starving.” At least we could narrow our suspects down to those attending the party. “Are prostitutes competitive?”

  “Stay out of this one, Stormi.” Matt gave me “the look”.

  I really didn’t know why he bothered. Anyone who knew me would know jumping into a new mystery had become an addiction to me. Maybe there was a Gum Shoe Anonymous group I could join.

  Angela wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. “Oh, stop it, Matthew. The only way to keep Stormi from being nosy is to lock her up.”

  “Well, I am the head of the Neighborhood Watch. It’s my job to be nosy.” I crossed my arms.

  “Norma doesn’t live in the same neighborhood as you,” Matt pointed out. “There is no reason for you to get involved.”

  The rash on my face begged to differ. Normally, I wasn’t one to exact revenge, but the small amount of vanity I possessed ached for justice. Add in the fact that I’d found the plot for my next book, and there was no way I could stay out of things as Matt so eloquently put it. My fans were anxiously awaiting the next “true crime” romantic mystery. Thankfully, this latest didn’t seem like an overzealous fan wanting their moment of fame.

  “Norma is my friend. Is she a suspect?” I asked.

  “Everyone is a suspect,” Matt said.

  “I’m too pretty to go to jail.” Angela covered her face and wailed.

  I rolled my eyes and met Matt’s amused glance. My sister definitely had a flair for the dramatic.

  “Coffee?” Mom, her face still as clear of blotches as at the party, carried in a tray with cups, cakes, and a carafe. “I couldn’t help but overhear. Let me say that I am thrilled not to be allergic to poison ivy.”

  Matt jumped up to take the tray from her. “That’s a miracle considering the high concentration in that cream.”

  “My complexion is flawless,” she said. “I saw no reason to slather on the stuff an inch thick.”

  I hadn’t either, but it hadn’t saved me.

  “This is going to be so bad for my business,” Angela said. “No one will ever buy from me.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” Mom handed out the cups and started pouring the coffee. “Once Matthew clears everything up, you’ll be back in business. Stop crying.”

  “You’re heartless.” Angela dashed upstairs, taking her coffee with her.

  I eyed the brown drops of liquid on my hardwood floors and grabbed a napkin from the tray. I wiped the spill and halfway listened while Mom and Matt discussed the party. For the life of me, I couldn’t see a reason for one of the other gals to murder little Daisy. Their camaraderie must have been a façade for something deeper.

  Tossing the soiled napkin back on the tray, I picked up my mug and added cream, watching the lighter colored circles swirl as I stirred. How long would it have taken for someone to add poison ivy and mix into the container? How did one even get liquid poison ivy? So many questions. I itched, literally, to sit in front of my laptop and do some research.

  Without researching, I suppose someone could blend up the leaves into a pulp, squeeze out the liquid, and then add to a cream base. It could work, but it seemed like an awful lot of trouble to go to when simple poison or a gun would be easier. Still, it was a creative method of murder. I needed to find a way to “get in” with Norma’s friends.

  “I can see the wheels turning in your head, Stormi.” Matt set his cup back on the tray. “Stop it.”

  “I can’t stop thinking. It’s impossible.”

  “Just tell him you’re working on your book plot,” Mom said. “That’s what you always tell me when you go off into your own private world.”

  “I’m sitting right here, Ann.” Matt shook his head. “Stormi doesn’t have a habit of zoning out when she’s with me.”

  True, the man had a way of keeping my full attention. God broke the mold when he made Matthew Steele. My heart skipped a be
at every time I looked at him.

  “Stop staring at Matthew like you want to eat him.” Mom scowled. “Or at least wait until I leave the room.”

  “I’ve seen the way you look at Robert.” I grinned.

  ‘I’m a widowed woman. I can stare hungrily if I want to.” Mom chuckled. “I’ll leave you two alone. I need to look over my baking list for tomorrow anyway.”

  Ever since I helped Mom open her own baking business, she’d been busier than a one-armed paper hanger, and happier than a child at Christmas. Yes, I tended to think in clichés, despite being an author who knew it was a no-no to write them.

  I moved and sat in Matt’s lap. “Wanna make out?”

  He eyed my skin and swollen lips. “Uh—”

  “It isn’t contagious.” I slapped his shoulder.

  He laughed and pinned my arms behind me then nuzzled my neck, sending me into fits of screams which quickly turned to another sound altogether when he nibbled my earlobe. Who wanted to kiss? Kissing was overrated.

  “Gross.” My nephew, Dakota, ducked into the room, grabbed his jacket from the back of the sofa, and darted back out.

  I giggled, burying my face in Matt’s neck. “My family needs their own place.”

  “That might be too dangerous for us.” He smiled. “I think we need the chaperonage.”

  True. The man did tend to make me lose my sense. I sighed and laid my head on his chest. His heart raced, making me smile again to know I affected him as strongly as he did me.

  His arms tightened around me. “You’re going to stick your nose into Daisy’s death, aren’t you?”

  What a way to spoil the mood. “I’m only going to question Norma to see whether she knows if any of the other women have a grudge against Daisy. That’s all.”

  “I wish I believed that.”

  “I have no desire to go looking for trouble. A few questions are harmless.”

  “You may not go looking for it, but trouble follows you like a swarm of mosquitos in a swamp.”

  “Yuck.”

  He laughed, his chest rumbling against my cheek. “The police department doesn’t really have the manpower to assign you a guard every time you go nosing around.”

  “What about Koontz?” I’d grown quite fond of the large black man during my last mystery episode.

  “He’s on assignment.”

  “Then that leaves you to protect me.” Not that I expected to need protection. Death by poison ivy, while it had looked like a horrible way to die, didn’t seem to be particularly vicious. As long as I didn’t eat, drink, or put on anything not prepared by my own hands, I should be all right.

  Cherokee, my niece, cleared her throat in the doorway. I glanced up to see a boy I didn’t recognize. That girl changed boyfriends as often as her mother did shoes. “Blake and I would like to watch TV.”

  “Go ahead.” I said.

  “We can’t while the two of you are … doing that.”

  “We aren’t doing anything.”

  “Whatever. We’ll go to my room.”

  I jumped off Matt’s lap. “Oh, no, you won’t. We’ll move to the front porch.” I grabbed an

  afghan off the back of the chair. December nights grew cold.

  “That’s okay,” Matt said, planting a kiss on the top of my head. “I need to get home. There are some phone calls I need to make.”

  Oh, I hoped they had to do with the case and that his sister, Maryann, was home to eavesdrop. That girl could sneak up on her brother like nobody’s business. Since she had accepted the job as my part time literary assistant, she’d be over after she finished teaching school the next day. I couldn’t wait to fill her in on all that was happening.

  I cupped Matt’s cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

  He kissed my palm. “Tomorrow. Love you.”

  I sighed and walked him to the door, wanting more than a quick “love you”. I wanted the three words “I love you” spoken in a moment of great tenderness. I should be content that a confirmed bachelor got as close to saying those words as Matt did, but I wasn’t. Maybe I should say the words first. But what if he didn’t respond in kind?

  My bed called. It had been a long day.

  Steps dragging, I carried the coffee tray into the kitchen and set it by the sink. I’d clean it in the morning. As I climbed the stairs to my room, I texted Norma. “Are you free for coffee in the morning?” I didn’t need to tell her where. It was unspoken that we would meet where her son worked … Delicious Aroma. The new owners didn’t have much of an imagination as far as names went, but the coffee couldn’t be beat.

  “Sure,” she responded. “I’ll bring notes.”

  I had the best friends. Grinning, I headed for the shower. My circle of crime solving friends now numbered four: Me, Matt’s sister, Mom, and Norma. If Matt kept too tight of a rein on me, one of the others stepped in to gather information.

  It got a bit dangerous at times, such as the crazy neighbor I once had who killed everyone who had been mean to her mentally challenged son, or the crazed fan who stalked me via email trying to threaten me into writing my next book quicker. When I wrote a parody making fun of the stalker, the woman, the town’s librarian, kidnapped me and forced me to write at gunpoint.

  No one could say my life was boring. I turned on the shower and shed my clothes, then eyed the container of ointment Mom had given me earlier for my rash. I knew there wasn’t anything harmful in it, since I’d applied it a few hours earlier, but I still felt a moment of trepidation. I laughed it off and stepped into the shower.

  The hot water ran over my head and shoulders, washing away the day’s stress. I closed my eyes and let the day’s events run through my mind. Five women, all excited about beauty products, until one ends up dead. Who hated Daisy enough to go to so much trouble to kill her?

  I pictured the women’s stricken expressions when Daisy fell to the floor in agony. One of them was a very good actress. I intended to find out which one.

  4

  I welcomed Norma the next morning with a smile and a cup of coffee at Delicious Aroma. As was customary, Sarah Thompson typed away on her laptop in the corner. Thankfully, she was so busy, she had yet to notice me.

  “What a pickle.” Norma said, breathing deeply above her coffee, the aroma tantalizingly wonderful.

  “Who says that anymore?” I sipped my blended mocha drink. “I hope you don’t put clichés like that in your writing.”

  “No worries.” She grinned. “I think the fan fiction I write of your stories would meet with your approval. Except for the added smut, of course.”

  “Of course.” While my books weren’t what one would call prudish, I didn’t think erotic elements were necessary to tell a good story. “I’m assuming the pickle you’re talking about is Daisy’s death?”

  She nodded.”It has to be someone at the party.”

  “Agreed. Who had a grievance with her?”

  “No one. Daisy was as sweet as her name.” Norma shook her head. “Even when I did their line of work, I never heard anyone say anything bad about her. But … there were rumors.”

  “Of?”

  She pulled a small notepad out of her gigantic Fuschia pink shoulder bag. “If this gets into the hands of the wrong person, we’re dead. I hope you realize how dangerous this is.”

  I definitely knew danger. I’d come face-to-face with it twice now. Still, I was in no hurry to face it again. “Maybe this isn’t the place to discuss this. Let’s head across the street to my mother’s shop.”

  “Perfect. I could use some sweets.” Norma shoved her pad back in her purse and headed out the door and across the street as if Mom would run out of cupcakes before Norma arrived.

  Mom’s shop was empty except for her and her hired help, Greta, a former police officer Mom enlisted to help with our last gumshoeing escapade. Mom glanced up from where she designed frosting roses on top of a wedding cake. “Stormi, Norma, what brings you two over here this early?”

  “We need a private pla
ce to discuss Norma’s notes.” I used my finger to scoop up a bit of misplaced icing from the counter top. “Norma is hoping for a cupcake.”

  “Take anything from the ready-mades,” Mom said.

  Norma chose a red velvet with cream cheese frosting. “You don’t mind if we sit in the customer area, do you?”

  “Not as long as you talk loud enough for me and Greta to hear.”

  “Maybe we should bring a couple of chairs in here,” I suggested. We wouldn’t want to be overheard by any customers.

  “Good idea.” Norma tottered on her four inch heels and dragged one of the bistro style chairs from the front of the shop to the back.

  I perched on one of the work stools. Unless I was on a date with Matt, I chose not to wear tight dresses and heels. A girl couldn’t run in them, and I’d had a few times I needed to put on the speed. No, I’d stick to jeans, a pretty blouse, and nice gym shoes.

  “Okay, now tell me your news.” I leaned forward, balancing my elbows on my knees.

  “Remember, this is only a rumor.” Norma crossed her long shapely legs. “Word on the street is that Daisy saw something she shouldn’t.”

  “You’ll have to give me more than that.”

  “I may not walk the streets in a business capacity any longer,” Norma said. “But when I do wander the streets in order to see old friends, people still act as if I belong there.” She grinned. “A man actually tried to proposition me last night.”

  It might have something to do with the way she dressed, but I decided the wisest course of action was to keep my mouth shut. “What did she see?”

  Norma lowered her voice. “A gang murder.”

  Mom gasped, Greta glanced at the window, and I straightened. I didn’t want anything to do with anything that had to do with gangs. This was one mystery I didn’t want to solve. “You need to stop snooping around, Norma. These aren’t people you want to mess with.”

  “She’s right,” Greta said. “Gangs don’t care if you’re a man or woman. If you get in their way—”