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

by Cynthia Hickey

  She held up a thumb like a hitchhiker. “Thank the good Lord. I need to exercise more. I was never going to make it to town and had no idea how to tell Matthew where we are. Yes, Matthew, I have Stormi. Her and Mrs. Rogers are now driving the van. I don’t know where Dennis is.” She raised her eyebrows at me.

  “In the back.”

  “He’s in the back of the van. We’re headed to town. Meet us at the station.” Mom squeezed in beside Mrs. Rogers. “Do you know how to get back to town?”

  “I have no idea, but we do have GPS on my phone.” I went through the directory, found my home address, and set the phone on the dashboard.

  “This was the easiest escape we’ve ever had,” Mom said. “We’re getting better at this solving crime thing. Thanks to Dakota, the police now have Mr. Franklin’s confession. This case is signed, sealed, and delivered.”

  I reached across Mrs. Rogers and grabbed her hand. “You’re the best sidekick a girl could want.”

  “We do make a good team.” Mom squeezed my hand in return. “How did you get away?”

  “I rescued her,” Mrs. Rogers said, opening one eye. “But that doesn’t mean I like her. I’m still going to try and get her run out of town.”

  “Duly noted.” I laughed. I, quite possibly, owed the woman my life. She could put up as many fliers about me as she wanted.

  “What do you have against my daughter?” Uh-oh. I recognized the Mama Bear look in Mom’s eyes.

  “She’s a romance writer.”

  “So?”

  Mrs. Rogers sighed. “Romance novels ruined my marriage.”

  “You’ve got to do better than that,” Mom said.

  “I’m injured.”

  “You don’t know injured. Injured is what I’ll do to you unless you have a good reason for bullying my kid.”

  “Fine. I was so involved in reading about fictional romances, that I ruined my own.” A tear slid down her wrinkled cheek. “I compared my Horace to the heroes in the novels. The house was dirty, dinner was either late or burned, until the poor man couldn’t take it anymore. I swore then and there not to open another romance novel.”

  I cocked my head. “Just because you don’t read them, doesn’t mean a lot of other people don’t. Besides, my books are romantic true-crime mysteries. That’s a little different.”

  “That’s right,” Mom said, with a nod. “She’ll be writing about this fiasco with Dennis. You’re a hero, Mrs. Rogers.”

  She made a sound deep in her throat. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Ask Matt to meet us at the hospital,” I said. “I don’t like Mrs. Rogers’s color.”

  “Now, you’re criticizing my looks?” She opened both eyes. “I’ll have you no that I was quite the beauty in my day.”

  “You look a bit pale. I think you need to see a doctor.”

  “Fine.”

  Two hours later I pulled up to the emergency entrance of the Oak Meadows Hospital. Matt and Wayne met us at the door and helped Mrs. Rogers to a wheelchair.

  “I’ll go with her,” Wayne offered. “You deal with your girl.”

  “Gladly.” Matt grinned and wrapped me in his arms. “That was close.” He pulled back and rested his forehead against mine. “Are you finished scaring me by going on these wild adventures?”

  I laughed. “Oh, honey, I’m just getting started. Remember,” I said, tapping his nose with my finger. “I’m getting my investigator’s license.”

  He groaned and lowered his head to kiss me.

  Camera flashes and shouted questions from Nancy Rhino surrounded us. What other girl in Oak Meadows received such a homecoming?

  The End

  JOGGING IS BAD FOR YOUR HEALTH

  A Nosy Neighbor Mystery, Book 5

  By Cynthia Hickey

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  Copyright 2015

  Written by: Cynthia Hickey

  Published by: Winged Publications

  Cover Design: Cynthia Hickey

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  No part of this book may be copied or distributed without the author’s consent.

  1

  I’d managed to kill off another three people. On paper, of course.

  I, Stormi Nelson, best-selling author of romantic mysteries, typed The End on my latest manuscript and sent it via email to my agent. That also felt so good. I was especially pleased with the fact that this time, I’d used my imagination to write the book, rather than copy the most recent murder I found myself mixed up in.

  Sadie, my beloved Irish Wolfhound, lay her massive head in my lap and looked up at me with soulful eyes. She whined deep in her throat, letting me know we were late for our walk.

  “How about a jog?” My mother had taken up the health craze. It wouldn’t hurt me to get rid of a little jiggle. Besides, it was my turn on the neighborhood watch, which it normally was, since people were reluctant to join anything I started.

  I closed my laptop and slipped my feet into sneakers. “I’m taking Sadie for a walk, er, jog,” I called out to anyone listening.

  Once upon a time, I’d enjoyed my life as a solitary, introverted writer. That was before my agent sent me out into the world to mingle, and my mother, sister, niece and nephew showed up on my doorstep. How had I managed all alone? Life was more interesting with others around and provided plenty of fodder for my stories. Not to mention my first night “out” introduced me to my love, Matthew Steele, handsomest detective in the Ozarks.

  Sadie and I stepped into a warm late September evening and walk/jogged past Matt’s house. I knew he was on a case and not home, but I took the chance anyway. Mary Ann, Matt’s sister, and my bestfriend and literary assistant, sat on the front porch with her squeeze, rookie cop, Michael Barker. We exchanged waves and I continued, my breathing already sounding like I smoked two packs of cigarettes a day for years. I’d never smoked a single one.

  I stopped at the corner and bent over to catch my breath. Sadie sat next to me, pink tongue lolling.

  “Miss Stormi okay?”

  I glanced up at Rusty Henley, neighborhood peeping Tom, simpleton, and resident sweetheart. “I’m … fine.”

  “Exercise must be started slowly.” He shook his head as if I were the slow one and moseyed away, disappearing in the shadow of a large magnolia tree.

  He was right. I should walk. Jogging could come later, when I improved my lung function. I might be slim, but writing was a sedentary occupation.

  I turned around in a cul de sac, surprised to see a young, very pretty girl sitting on the curb. I guessed her to be fifteen, maybe sixteen-years-old. She twirled a thin stick in a water puddle next to her foot.

  “Hello.” I smiled.

  She jerked, obviously so lost in her own world she hadn’t heard me approach. Eyes wide, she jumped to her feet and raced down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. A light-colored sedan stopped next to her and she climbed in.

  Strange. Some people tended to leave a room when I walked in to avoid my endless questions, but few ran away without knowing me. I shrugged and continued.

  “Hi, Stormi!” Lucy Snyder, a single mother of four rowdy boys, watered a small garden of flowers. I’d met her while previously researching a murder and found I liked her a lot. I’d put out a few feelers in town and got her a job at the supermarket as a cashier. Because of that, she was able to rent a cute little bungalow in the same community I resided in.

  “Hey.” I stopped and let Sadie drink from the hose.

  “Have you met our new neighbors yet?” She motioned her head to the large house next door. “They keep to themselves, but I’ve heard it’s a foster family. Lots of kids in varying teen ages come and go. Adults, too, come to think of it. I’ve yet to meet the parents.”

  “
No, the Salazars might have.” They were my next door neighbors, little people, and the only other community residents interested in patrolling the neighborhood. I made a mental note to ask them. “Your house is quiet.”

  “The boys are with my mother.” She grinned. “I’m relishing the peace and quiet. They’ll be home tomorrow.” She shuddered. “I love them with all my heart, but gee whiz! They wear me out. Not to mention the evil looks Mrs. Olson is always giving me.”

  “She’s just warning you away from her husband.” Mrs. Olson seemed to think every woman in Oak Meadows Estates had the hots for her portly, balding husband.

  “Gross.”

  “I’ll catch you later, Lucy. I don’t want my body to forget why I’m torturing it.” I tugged Sadie’s leash and resumed what was not quite a jog, but rather a fast walk. As I passed the Olson house, I waved. “Good evening, Mr. Olson.”

  Mrs. Olson glared and turned the hose in my direction, just barely missing my shoes. I laughed and continued. I shouldn’t tease her so, but really, the woman needed to lighten up.

  Mrs. Rogers, a former nemesis who tried to have me tarred and feathered and run out of the housing development, gave me a nod. While we might not be bosom buddies, narrowly escaping death together, have formed a bond, of sorts, between us. As long as she was no longer passing around a petition to get rid of me, I’d take what little civility I could get.

  “Boo!”

  “Rusty!” I put a hand on my chest. “What in the world?”

  He laughed and ducked back into the bushes.

  I glanced at my dog. “You’re supposed to warn me of things like that.”

  She wagged her tail.

  Heart still threatening to beat out of my chest, I continued my walk and fought the urge to leave the gated community and visit my friend Norma at her coffee bar. A former prostitute, Norma had risen above her past to become an influential business owner and a close friend. Willpower being as weak as it was, I headed out the gate and down Main Street.

  I looped Sadie’s leash around a vintage-style lamp post and headed into Delicious Aroma. Sure enough, my friend sat at a corner table rather than in her office.

  “Hey.” I sat down across from her and waved to her son, Tyler, to bring me my usual. The largest frozen, blended Mocha they had.

  “What brings you out at eight o’clock?” Norma asked, closing her laptop.

  “Jogging.”

  Her laughter was totally uncalled for.

  “O-o-o-kay.” She snorted and crossed her arms. “Now, tell me the truth.”

  “That is the truth. I was out jogging,” I held up a finger to ward off another bout of loud laughter, “and realized how hard it was and continued walking. It’s my job as president of the neighborhood watch.”

  “Of course it is. You wouldn’t be trying to dig up another mystery, would you?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt if I came across one.” I did enjoy sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. “Now that I have my private investigator’s license…”

  “You got it!”

  “Came in the mail today.” I grinned. “I can now snoop legally.”

  “As if you needed an excuse.”

  Tyler brought me my drink, waving off payment as usual.

  I took a sip, closing my eyes with pleasure. “Heard any good gossip lately?”

  “Not a thing. It’s very quiet around Oak Meadows. Has been since the real estate fiasco. That was four months ago.”

  I was glad we’d managed to stop that whole taking over picturesque downtown so a few people could make a few bucks. It had taken a while for people to stop asking Mom for information regarding the bookstore owner being found dead in a vat of baking chocolate in her bakery, but it hadn’t hurt her business any.

  “I should probably start heading back.” Already I could feel unused muscles tightening in protest at unaccustomed exercise.

  “Thanks for stopping by.” Norma opened her laptop.

  I retrieved my dog and spotted the skittish teenage girl from before getting out of yet another car. She flashed a grin at someone inside before turning as looking as forlorn as a boy who had lost his dog.

  She kicked at a rock on the sidewalk, thrusting her hands into shorts barely long enough to be called decent. It wasn’t until I took a good look at her face that I noticed the ruby lips and smoky eyes of skillfully applied makeup.

  As was normal for me, curiosity reared its head and I decided to follow her.

  She ducked between the bakery and the bookstore, now with new owners. I hurried across the street after her.

  She turned right at the alley, back toward Oak Meadows Estates, but stopped behind the drugstore. My nephew, Dakota, stepped from the shadows and pulled her into his arms.

  Very interesting. He hadn’t said anything about having a girlfriend. I pressed against the building, keeping a hand on Sadie’s muzzle to keep her quiet.

  “I thought you were never going to show,” Dakota said.

  “I had a hard time getting away,” the girl replied. “I only just now snuck out.”

  “Your foster parents shouldn’t keep such a tight rein on you.”

  The girl was lying. I’d seen her leave her house an hour ago. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe teenagers didn’t lie, they did, but why would she lie to Dakota?

  I averted my face when they started an embarrassingly heavy make-out session. After what seemed like an eternity, they kissed one last time and parted. The girl ducked back between the buildings and Dakota continued in the alley. This time I actually jogged as I caught up with him.

  “Hey.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and scowled. “Are you spying on me?”

  “Nope.” I held up my coffee. “Jogging and drinking. Who is your friend?”

  “Heather Miller. She’s new to the neighborhood.” His eyes narrowed, glittering under the street lamp as we stepped onto the sidewalk. “You were watching me.”

  “Completely by accident.” I wrapped my lips around my straw so I wouldn’t say more than I should and get myself into trouble.

  “We need to help her,” he said, his young face hardening. “Her foster parents are horrible. They hardly let her out of the house, and I’ve seen bruises on her arms and thighs more than once.”

  “Have you told anyone?”

  “I’m telling you.” He stopped and faced me. “As your investigating assistant, I’d like this to be our first case.”

  No one actually said he was my assistant, but he wouldn’t hear otherwise. “We can look into it if you think she’s being abused. What about the other kids? Have you spoken to them?”

  “I’ve only seen them. There’s two other girls. One black and one Mexican. Heather said her foster parents only take in girls. She won’t talk much about her home life. If I mention the bruises, she changes the subject.”

  It definitely sounded like abuse to me. “I’ll talk to Matt and see what he has to say.”

  “We can’t get the police involved!” Dakota shook his head. “And you call yourself an investigator. Just ask some questions. Make friends with her mother. Do your job.”

  “My job is writing books. My PI license is to give me leeway when investigating.” I held up a finger as he opened his mouth to protest. “But … I will look into this. My way. And you will remember your manners when speaking to me.” I gave him a stern look and strolled away. Yes, strolled. Jogging hadn’t done anything that night other than cause me more work. Besides, I didn’t want to risk spilling my drink.

  I wasn’t making light of his friend’s plight. To the contrary. Abuse of any living creature did not sit well with me. I’d be knocking on my new neighbor’s door come morning.

  2

  True to my word, the next morning I stood in front of Dakota’s friend’s house with a baked spaghetti casserole in my hand. To my family’s delight, I tended to cook for relaxation and had a full freezer. The spaghetti was the largest casserole I currently had on hand. Balancing the aluminum
baking pan in the crook of one arm, I pressed the doorbell.

  A tall, very pretty black girl wearing a tee shirt that barely covered parts best left hidden opened the door. My mouth opened and closed like a beached fish. I finally managed to get out, “You look just like this woman…”

  “Ivy?” She raised one eyebrow. “Yeah, she’s my mother. You must be the person who put her in jail.” If she had any trace of friendliness on her face, it fled like chaff on the wind.

  “She killed someone.”

  She shrugged. “And I’m in hell. We all have our problems. What do you want?”

  “May I speak with your, uh, foster mom?” I was out of my element for sure.

  “Yeah, wait here.” She closed the door before I could get a peek of the inside of the house.

  The pan in my hands got very heavy before the door opened again. A woman close to six feet tall, dark hair pulled tightly away from her face, and sensible shoes on her feet, glared at me. “Yes?”

  “I’m Stormi Nelson, one of your neighbors, and I’ve brought you a casserole as a welcoming gift.” I pasted on my best smile and held out the dish.

  She grinned, something between a grimace and a shark getting ready to take a bite out of its prey, and took the offering. “Why, thank you very much. I’m Carol Forbes. You met Melody.”

  “I heard you’re a foster home?” I tried to peer around her. “How wonderful. The world needs more people like you.”

  “It’s a tough job for sure.” She moved an inch to the side, effectively blocking any glimpse of the inside I might have gotten. “We’re very busy with getting settled. Thank you for stopping by.” She closed the door, leaving me on the porch like a bag of garbage.

  I glanced at the lawn, badly in need of mowing, and declared right then and there, I’d pay Rusty to do it. That man managed to find out information no one else could. And there was definitely something suspicious about Carol Forbes. I felt it in my gut.

  The For Rent sign still stood in the yard, proudly displaying the name of our local realtor, Jane Weston. It wouldn’t hurt to pay her a visit and ask a bit more about my new neighbors. On behalf of the Neighborhood Watch, of course.