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

by Cynthia Hickey

  “Stormi!”

  The tightness in my muscles returned along with the shout from Sarah Thompson. She rushed toward me.

  “I heard all about the shooting. Are you going to put it in your next book? I think I will, if that’s all right. Can I interview you? It would be great to have a first hand accounting of it.”

  I waited for her to take a breath. “A shooting in a romance novel?”

  “Oh, yes.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Something that traumatizing could very well send my hero and heroine straight into each others arms. It will be positively steamy.”

  No doubt. Her erotic books left me feeling dirty just glancing at them.

  The line moved forward and I ordered Greta and I the largest frozen mocha blend drinks they carried. All the while, Sarah rattled on about how exciting my life was and how I had so many experiences to write about. I’d gladly hand those experiences over to her.

  “Where are you going?” She trotted after Greta and I. “Can I tag along? I could use the research.”

  “Look.” Greta turned on her like a pit bull. “This isn’t a game. People are dying. Go back to your smut books and mind your own business.”

  Sarah’s mouth opened and closed like a stranded fish. She blinked rapidly, then spun on her heel and marched back to her laptop.

  “Well.” Greta exhaled sharply. “That worked as planned.”

  I laughed. “And you call me mean.”

  “There you are.” Mom accosted us the moment we stepped outside. “Why did you leave without me this morning? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  “It’s for your safety, Mom.” She waved away the offer of my drink.

  “Tough. I’m coming with you now. Today is my last free day. I start back to work tomorrow.” She climbed into the front passenger seat of my jeep, not taking no for an answer.

  “That leaves me the back seat.” Greta climbed in behind Mom.

  Just call us the three stooges. I turned the key in the ignition and drove to the opposite side of town, hoping, praying, no one was home at Ivy’s mother’s house.

  A sign in front of the quaint cottage-style home advertised flowers for sell. If caught by someone other than Ivy, we had an out if caught. I drove down the block and parked. We could hoof it for a while. “Keep it quiet. We want to snoop undetected.”

  “That has never happened,” Mom pointed out. “We need to practice sneaking around.”

  “Or just act as if you belong there,” Greta said. “Don’t act guilty, act outraged when accused, and continue on your way. Works every time.”

  I should have come alone. Their chatter would alert people two miles away. With a glance at the closed curtains over the house’s windows, I headed around back. Sure enough, a greenhouse as large as the house took up the entire backyard.

  My heart rate accelerated. We were finally getting close to finding out Ivy’s role in Daisy’s murder. “You two be quiet. We need to be able to hear if someone is coming.”

  I pushed open the glass door and stepped into the warmth and humidity of an Arkansas summer in July. Every color imaginable, both real and imaginary, greeted us. I could spend hours putting around such a place. The scent of dozens of rosebushes filled the air, seeming to suffocate the room with their sweetness. I told Mom to leave the door open and headed down one of the aisles.

  Not being a stranger to poison ivy, I expected to see pots of the stuff growing in the aisles. I didn’t spot a single plant. Another dead end. “We’re wasting our time.”

  The others agreed after each of us had walked up and down the aisles several times. “I would’ve bet my mother’s china cabinet that we’d find the stuff here that killed Daisy,” Greta said. “What now?”

  I shrugged.

  The sound of car doors slamming, sent us dashing out the back door of the greenhouse. We hunkered down in the thick bushes surrounding the property.

  “Mama left the doors open again,” Ivy said. “She complains that it’s too hot and is too stupid to understand that’s what helps the flowers grow.”

  “Just show me what you have new.”

  “That’s Ginger,” I whispered.

  Greta put a finger to her lips.

  “If I’m going to open my own shop soon, I need to know that I have a supplier that can keep up with customer demand,” Ginger said.

  “You expect to be that successful, do you?” Ivy’s sarcastic tone drifted through the open back door. “Who in their right mind will shop at a store owned by a former prostitute?”

  “Anyone that doesn’t know!”

  “You’re delusional. Shut up and look around. “I need to close these doors before the cold hurts my plants.”

  A branch tickled my lower back. I swatted it away, keeping my gaze locked firmly on Ivy.

  “If I had known I’d be squatting in the bushes, I wouldn’t have worn these pants,” Greta said after the door closed. “They keep sliding down. They aren’t made for crouching.”

  “Shhh.” I wasn’t taking any chances of being heard, even with the door closed. “Duck walk after me. We need to get to the front of the house. Then, we can question Ivy about looking at her flowers. If we take our time looking, maybe we’ll see something we missed.”

  We practically crawled through the bushes until we were out of sight. I plucked a twig from Mom’s hair and straightened my shirt. My palms itched, and I rubbed them down the leg of my jeans. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be,” Mom said.

  Greta nodded.

  I squared my shoulders, rubbed my hands down my legs again, and marched around the corner of the house. “Ivy.” I pasted on a big smile and waved.

  Her face registered shock a mere second before going blank. “How did you get here?”

  “We drove. We had the address wrong and parked down the block, but then saw the sign,” I explained. “We had no idea this was your place.”

  “It belongs to my mother.”

  Mom stepped forward. “We’re wanting a weekly delivery of flowers to grace my bakery shop. Perhaps you’re the very person who can help us.”

  Greta scratched her back and nodded. “May we see what you have to offer?”

  “Come on.” Ivy’s tone lacked enthusiasm, but she led us to her flowers. “Some of the plants are seasonal.Why don’t you look around, tell me what you like, and I’ll surprise you each week.”

  “That sounds perfect.” Mom grinned and pretended to study what she’d looked at only minutes before.

  Ginger stood off to the side, a scowl on her overly made up face. “I’m going to have a florist shop soon. You could wait and order from me.”

  “Perhaps we will, dear,” Mom said. “But we need to look around first.”

  My hands wouldn’t stop itching. I rubbed them harder on my jeans. The skin where Greta’s shirt hiked up was red from her scratching. I forced myself to admire the roses and daisies, when all I wanted to do was head home and take a shower.

  Ivy stood by the door and watched with eyes as cold as Sadie’s nose. I wasn’t sure she believed our story of how we had come to be there, but without proof, couldn’t prove I was lying. We were safe. For now.

  Her phone rang, and she pulled it from her cleavage. Mom had always said God intended for the bosom to be used for more than feeding babies. Obviously, some people used theirs as a purse. I glanced at my small to middle sized bust and shrugged. I had enough to look okay in clothes. That was good enough for me.

  “Well, I think I’ve seen everything.” Mom held out her hand to Ivy.

  Ivy propped the phone between her ear and her shoulder to return Mom’s shake. “Hold on, sweetheart. I’ve some floral customers.” She handed Mom a business card, a bit limp from sitting on a table in the greenhouse, and returned to her phone call.

  The three of us hurried to the jeep before she got suspicious at our quick walk-through.

  “I’m not sure we accomplished much,” I said, starting the jeep. I put my red, itchy hands on the st
eering wheel and pulled away from the curb.

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Mom grinned.

  “Why not?”

  “Because Greta has poison ivy on her back and your hands are covered with it.” She clicked her seatbelt in place with a flourish. “I’d say we accomplished quite a bit.”

  “From the bushes?” I glanced at her. “It’s too cold.”

  “There’s a small pot of it sitting near the back door. We all brushed against it on our wild dash outside. I really have no idea how we missed it the first time around.” She slapped the dashboard. “Get us home. We’ve found Daisy’s killer.”

  18

  “This isn’t enough to arrest her,” Matt said, looking at my hands. “But it does put her at the top of the suspect list.”

  “Daisy died from poison ivy, and Ivy is growing it. What more do you need?” I pulled my hands free and applied anti-itch cream to my palms.

  “Solid evidence. We don’t want the murderer to walk free because of a technicality.”

  “I guess my death will be evidence enough.”

  His face darkened. “No one told you to go snooping around Ivy’s house or to go talk to Jamal. I am curious about Reed, though. There is something fishy about him.”

  “I knew that’s why you took off. You think he’s involved.” A person heard about dirty cops all the time. “Can you request someone else to guard Ryan?”

  “We don’t have the manpower, and again, I don’t have proof.” He sat on the sofa next to me. “One good thing has come of all this, though. Gang activity has slowed down.”

  “They’re probably waiting to see what I’ll do next.” I rested my head against the back of the sofa and tried not to rub my hands on my pants. The itching was going to drive me crazy.

  “Here.” Greta entered the living room and handed me an ice cube. “It helps a little.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mom carried in a tray with tea and cookies. “I still say you have enough to lock her up. What does the police department need? Another murder?”

  “We’re hoping Ivy will lead us to Stinger.” Matt reached for a cookie.

  “Good luck.” Mom set the tray on the coffee table and sat in a wingback chair opposite Greta. “We haven’t seen hide nor hair of that evil man.”

  “What do we do about Jamal’s words about Sissy?” I plopped a chocolate-chip cookie in my mouth. “Maybe Ivy isn’t the killer. It could be one of the other girls wanting Ivy out of the way. Just because Sissy doesn’t talk about plants, doesn’t mean she wouldn’t know how to get them.”

  “Good point,” Mom said. “Matt, does the department have a prostitute on their payroll?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know. A stool pigeon. Someone we can ask about the inner workings of … those people.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t divulge that information.”

  “True.” Mom tapped her finger against her lips. “That would endanger them.”

  “What about the undercover agents in the gang? Can they tell us anything?” I asked.

  “How did you find out about that?” His brow furrowed. “Oh, never mind. I won’t get a straight answer anyway. Keep that information to yourself, please. It’s dangerous.”

  I nodded. “So, where do we go from here?”

  “I’m heading back to work.” He leaned over and kissed me. “Dinner tonight? Wear something sexy.”

  My face heated. We were way overdue for some alone time. “I’ll be ready. Seven?”

  “Sounds good.” He kissed me again and left.

  I sat on my hands and propped my feet on the table, only to get them slapped by my mother for being too close to the food. “Sorry. Any ideas on what to do next?”

  “Someone needs to infiltrate the girls on Melrose.” Mom gave a nod to emphasize her point.

  “They all know me.”

  “I wasn’t talking about you.”

  Ouch. That was a blow to my self-esteem. Didn’t my mother think I had what it took in the looks department? “Then who?”

  “I was thinking of Angela.”

  “Well, she does dress the part,” I said. “But, I doubt she’ll do it. It isn’t like she can just set up shop under a street light.” At least I didn’t think so. I wish I knew more about the young girl I’d shared a cell with. Maybe she wouldn’t be too hard to find.

  “Greta, do you know how to get into the mugshots? I’d like to look someone up on the computer.”

  “Sure.” She stuffed a cookie in her mouth. “It’s easy.”

  I fetched my laptop and handed it to her. Soon, we were flipping through photos of girls picked up for prostitution. “There’s so many. Check the ones in the last week.”

  Greta typed in a date.

  “There she is.” I pointed at the young blond girl. “She was picked up on Hunter Drive. That’s one street over from Melrose, right? Anyone ready for another road trip?”

  “Let me get my purse.” Mom grabbed the tray and dashed to the kitchen.

  “She probably won’t tell you anything more than what she told you in jail.”

  “I need to pretend to be a customer.” I bit my lip. “I’ll dress in Dakota’s clothes again. Then, when she gets in the van, we’ll see what we can get from her within a few minutes. That ought to keep her safe.” I was spending way too much time on the seedy side of town. “We’ll have to hurry. I need to get ready for my date.”

  Half an hour later, I was pulling up to the curb where our target slouched against a brick wall. “Hey.” I deepened my voice and kept my head down, hoping the baseball cap I wore would cover enough of my face.

  “Hey, yourself. Looking for a good time?”

  “Hop in. I’ve got fifteen minutes.”

  She cocked her head, then obviously deciding I wasn’t a crazy serial killer, opened the passenger side door. I crawled between the seats and joined Greta and my mother in the back. The girl did the same.

  “What is this? I’m not into that … kind of stuff.”

  I whipped off my hat. “I’ll give you fifty dollars to answer some questions.”

  “Oh, it’s you.” She relaxed. “Show me the money first.”

  I scooted between her and the door. I wasn’t giving her the money and an opportunity to flee. I dug a wrinkled fifty dollar bill from the pocket of my jeans and handed it to her. “What’s your name?”

  “My street name is Starr. I’m not telling you my real name.”

  “Fair enough. What can you tell us about Sissy?”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you are a very nosy person?” She stuffed the money in her bra.

  “All the time.” To which Mom and Greta nodded. I turned my face to ignore them.

  “Sissy is ambitious,” Starr said. “She wants the power that Ivy has. Until the gang came down from Little Rock, no one had ever heard of these gals.”

  “Did you follow the gang?”

  She shook her head. “I’m independent. I came down from St. Louis. I had dreams of going to school, but that didn’t pan out. So, here I am.”

  “You can always go home.”

  “Home is worse than what I have now. What else do you want to know?”

  “Will you be willing to work for me? I’ll pay you for information.” And somehow, I’d figure out how to get this girl off the streets and into college. “We need to know who Stinger is and who killed Daisy. Anything will help us.”

  “I’ve seen Stinger.”

  I couldn’t believe our fortune. “What does he look like?”

  “Tall, thin, black. He has a tattoo of an upside down cross on his left upper arm.” She glanced at the door. “My fifteen minutes is up. More time means more money.”

  I wrote my phone number on a slip of paper. “Call me if you discover anything else. How can I reach you?”

  She gave me a sad smile. “You know where to find me.” She opened the door and slipped out.

  “That wasn’t a total waste of time,” I said, sliding back int
o the driver’s seat. “We know that Stinger has a tattoo.”

  “Yep.” Mom climbed into the passenger seat. “Now, all we have to do is find him and get him to take his shirt off.”

  “We could sneak into the gym at the station,” Greta said. “We might see more than his tattoo though. Now, mind you, I’m going on the assumption that Reed is Stinger.”

  I nodded. We needed to know whether Reed had the tattoo. “I’ll tell Matt.”

  There was no way I was going into a men’s locker room or the gym. If I stepped into a gym, anyone watching would fall down in a fit of laughter. They just weren’t places I frequented. I could always dump hot coffee on him to get him to remove his shirt. I grinned at the idea. One small act toward a potentially evil man. But what if he wasn’t Stinger? I would have crossed the line of my past embarrassing moments to accept the award for the world’s worst stunt.

  Back at home, I took a hot shower and raided Angela’s closet for something sexy, but that wouldn’t allow me to freeze to death. How she kept from getting pneumonia with her barely there clothes was a true mystery.

  “How many times have I said you need to go shopping?” Angela entered her room and tossed her purse on the bed.

  “A million and one.” I didn’t have a need for a lot of nice things. The occasional conference and book signing, other than date nights with Matt, were the only times I needed to dress up.

  “You have a nice body, Stormi. You need to dress it better.”

  “I haven’t heard any complaints from Matt.”

  She shrugged and pushed me out of her closet. “Here. This will cover you up and cling to all the right places. Just don’t rip it up like the last dress you borrowed.”

  “I was running from a killer. If it happens again, I’ll strip to my underwear.”

  “Good idea. Your underwear would scare off anyone.” She grinned, her gaze taking in the not very sexy bra and panties I was wearing, and perched on the side of her bed. “I heard something at work today that might interest you.”

  “Really?” I clutched the dress to my chest and faced her.