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

by Cynthia Hickey

  The screen went to sleep and, since I didn’t know Wayne’s password, there wasn’t much more I could do. I grabbed my trusty fluorescent pink clipboard from next to the refrigerator and pulled a pencil from the cup next to the phone. Maybe some old-fashioned note taking would clear my head.

  “You’re up early,” Mom said as she appeared at the top of the basement stairs.

  “Or late, if you consider how long I slept.” I studied her for a minute, taking in the bags under her eyes, and the lines in her usually smooth skin. “Who do you suspect, Mom?”

  “I can’t tell you. If I’m wrong, and focus is put on this person when it should be put elsewhere, I’ll never forgive myself. If, when, I have enough information, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Are you putting yourself in danger?”

  “Are you?”

  “Touche.”

  She poured a cup of coffee and joined me at the table. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking I want to go back to Carol’s house. There has to be something left behind. Something we missed.” Since we’d almost been discovered by a potential murderer, it was quite possible.

  “When do you want to go? It’ll be light soon.” She glanced at the window where sunlight was beginning to peek through the curtains.

  “Maybe going during the light of day will be less suspicious. We are the Neighborhood Watch. We could go on the pretense of checking the yard and making sure vandals haven’t disturbed the house. I don’t have any other ideas. Time is flying by and I’m so worried about Matt and Cherokee, that I feel ill. If we don’t discover something at the house, then I’ll keep pounding the pavements.”

  She raised her mug in a toast. “Here’s to a wonderful idea! Let’s not forget our guns.”

  “Our guns?” I widened my eyes.

  She raised her chin. “I bought one. It has a purple handle. Or is it called a grip? Anyway, I love it.”

  I groaned. The world would never be the same.

  17

  Wearing normal jogging attire, mine black and hot pink, Mom’s highlighter yellow and black, we jogged down the sidewalk toward Carol’s former home. Jogged being a very relative term. It was always obvious we weren’t trying to be secretive. Not with Mom waving and “yoo-hooing” to everyone we passed, or with Sadie wanting to squat every three feet.

  It took thirty minutes to make our way to the house which sat two blocks away. If we’d been moving any slower, we would have been going backward.

  “What are you two up to this morning?” Betty Rogers, a crotchety neighbor who passed around an unsuccessful petition a few months ago to have me run out of the neighborhood, stepped from around an untrimmed evergreen bush. After being held prisoner with me and Mom, we’d formed a shaky alliance. Still, she kept looking over her shoulder toward her house in an uncharacteristically nervous fashion, which set my senses tingling.

  “Uh, we’re out for a jog.” I followed her gaze. The front curtains twitched.

  “Very good. Wonderful.” She beckoned with one finger for us to step closer.

  Mom and I glanced at each other and stepped behind the bush.

  “I have a girl in my house,” Betty whispered, frowning at the sight of our guns sticking up from the waist of our pants. Or mine, anyway. Mom’s was hidden in a fannypack. “I need you to remove her. I’m not made out for a life of danger. I’m too old.”

  “Is she a family member?” I asked.

  “No. Never met her before the other day. I found her hiding in my shed.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  She sniffed. “They aren’t exactly keen on responding to me after all the times I called on you. It seems you’re an officer’s pet.”

  “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Mrs. Rogers,” I said, “but Mom and I are on a mission—”

  “I know what you’re doing. I get around.” She crossed her arms. “This is one of those girls. The heavy one.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I told you I get around. I know what goes on. Are you going to help or not?”

  “I am.”

  Mom and I followed her across her lawn and around to the back of the house. Mrs. Rogers shook her head and pointed to Sadie. “She stays outside. I don’t want the hair or the drool.”

  My dog didn’t drool. “Sorry, girl.” I looped her leash around a post on her back patio and entered into a kitchen so stark white, I was momentarily blinded. The only spot of color, if a person was to consider black a color, was the girl dressed all in black. Until Mom and I, with our colorful vibrancy, entered, the room was a cold place indeed.

  “I told you not to tell anyone!” Miranda Jones stomped her foot, no longer a chubby teen, she’d lost at least twenty pounds. A temporary thing from the looks of a half-eaten plate of cookies on the table.

  “I can’t keep you.”

  “But they’re after her.” She pointed at me.

  “Can you tell me who they are?” As a person might approach a skittish horse, I took slow steps toward her, my hand outstretched. “If I know, maybe I can stop this.”

  “No one can stop this.” She plopped into a chair. “They’re going to kill you, and me, and probably your mom, too.”

  “Then help us. We’re going to the house. Do you know of any place Carol might have hid important information?”

  “She’d be stupid to keep stuff like that around, but I do know of a hidden panel in the wall.” Miranda twisted her mouth as she thought. “You promise to get me somewhere safe?”

  “I promise.” I’d turn her over to Wayne for safekeeping the moment we were finished searching. “They have my niece and my boyfriend.”

  “Then you need to pray for their safety.” She snagged two cookies and headed for the back door.

  “Maybe you should tell us where the panel is. We can take you somewhere safe first.”

  The terror in her eyes as she glanced over her shoulder confirmed I’d made the right decision. “The walls have that old paneling. The type in the old movies from the 70s.”

  I nodded.

  “As you’re going down the hall, count each panel. When you reach twenty-three, you can slide it free.”

  Next to a wall phone, who had those anymore? was a pad of paper and a jar of pencils. I snagged one and wrote a quick note explaining what was happening, then handed it to Betty. “Take this to my house. Officer Wayne Jones is there. Give him this note. He’ll make sure Miranda is safe.”

  Betty nodded. “Come on, girl. We’re taking a hike through the woods. This is probably the only time I’m glad that tick-infested stand of trees borders this community.”

  I gave Miranda a quick hug. “It will be okay.”

  She nodded. “Talk to the old man who owns the car repair place. He knows things.” With those parting words, she raced out the door and into the trees.

  “Don’t let me die being a good Samaritan,” Betty said before following Miranda.

  I didn’t intend on anyone dying. After retrieving Sadie, who napped under a Magnolia tree, Mom and I resumed our pretense of jogging to Carol’s house.

  Crime scene tape, faded by the autumn sun, had lost its grip on one stake in the ground and waved an eerie greeting as a breeze lifted it. As we stepped onto the driveway, a cloud slid in front of the sun. I shuddered and reached for Mom’s hand.

  “We’ll be fine. It will all be fine.” She closed her eyes, said a silent prayer, and squeezed my hand before releasing it. “Let’s go move that panel.”

  “Right.” Showing more bravery than I felt, I headed for the back door, hoping it was unlocked like last time. It wasn’t.

  Mom picked up a rock from a nearby flowerbed border and shattered the window on the door. With a shrug, she reached in and flipped the latch. “We’re already breaking the law, again, so why not go all the way?”

  I released Sadie’s leash and let her follow us inside. Maybe she could give a warning if someone came. Not likely, considering she was less brave than
me, but miracles could happen.

  The house didn’t seem near as frightening as it had the last time. Without the cover of darkness, it looked like any other house built and decorated in the 1970s. Plain cabinets, gold countertops, wood paneling, and green shag carpet. No wonder the poor house was still a rental. It would take a small fortune to renovate it, and houses in Oak Meadows weren’t cheap.

  Since there most likely wouldn’t be anything left that wasn’t hidden, I made a beeline for the hallway and started counting.

  “If there is something important here, or was here, why would it be left behind?”

  “That’s probably what the intruder was looking for when we were here last time.” I backed up to start counting again. “We scared him off.” But…he had had a box with him. I couldn’t help but wonder what he’d gotten away with.

  “Good point.”

  I got to eleven.

  Mom leaned against the wall. “How do you think Miranda got away? Do you think she saw Cherokee?”

  “We’ll ask her when we get back to the house. Please let me count.” I started over. Again.

  This time I made it to twenty and stared at the infamous panel. I felt around the edges until my fingernail slipped into a slot. I popped off the panel. A manila envelope was propped between the two by fours. I grabbed it, slid it under my shirt, and replaced the piece of paneling. “Let’s go.”

  Mom had her gun out. “We’re being watched. There. By the tree.” She motioned out a bedroom window. “Someone knows we’re here.” Her eyes narrowed. “Someone whose shape looks very familiar.”

  Great. Wonderful. We’d probably found the evidence we needed, but would be killed before using it. “Out the back. Fast and quiet.” Feeling like a heroine from an action spy thriller, I pulled my own weapon and led the way. Please, God, don’t let me have to shoot someone.

  The moment we stepped outside, we raced for the next yard and slipped through an unlocked gate. This side of the community didn’t have the trees ours did. Instead, we’d have to use the protection of houses. I hoped the person watching wouldn’t notice we were gone for a few more minutes. At least until we were back on the street where any of the neighbors could see us.

  Pounding footsteps alerted us to the fact we were being followed. I plastered my back against the wall of a house and held my weapon at the ready. Remembering what Matt had told me, I kept my finger to the side of the gun so I wouldn’t pull it too quickly.

  A man careened around the corner.

  Mom screamed.

  Her gun fired.

  Rusty shrieked.

  My knees sagged. “We could have killed you, Rusty.”

  “Bad man coming. Follow me.” He squeezed through a hedge.

  Without a second thought, I shoved Mom ahead and followed. We were in Rusty’s backyard. Ducking through fences or hedges, anywhere there was an opening, he led us through until my hair was tangled, my pants ripped, and I realized I’d left Sadie behind.

  “Sadie.” I forced her name from my tortured throat.

  “She ran home.” Rusty held a finger to his lips. “Dog safe. You’re not.”

  I nodded. He hadn’t made this much sense in the months I’d known him.

  He waved us on again. When we crossed onto the street where I lived, we came out of hiding and tried to appear as casual as possible as we walked down the sidewalk.

  “Mom. Back at the house you said the person out the window looked familiar. Who was it?”

  She opened her mouth to answer.

  A shot rang out.

  Mom collapsed to the ground as a pool of blood spread under her head.

  Rusty screamed, or maybe it was me, since the big man scooped my mother into his arms as if she weighed nothing and ran for my house. Another shot rang out. He stumbled, but kept running.

  I put my finger on the trigger and glanced back.

  The shooter hid in the shadows of a willow tree. His next shot rang out as we ducked behind Mom’s trusty van. By now, Wayne was outside, his weapon drawn, and crouched beside us.

  “Who is it?”

  I shook my head. “Mom thought she knew, but…”

  He took one look at her and grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket.

  Rusty cradled Mom in his arms. Big crocodile tears ran down his cheeks as he rocked back and forth.

  Dread filled me to my core.

  18

  “Is she dead?” I crawled toward her, my vision obscured by my tears.

  Wayne pulled me back behind the protection of the van. “Let me check.” Sirens wailed in the distance as he moved to my mother. Our attacker’s shots ceased. Wayne put his fingers against Mom’s pulse. “She’s alive. It looks like the bullet grazed her, but she has a knot on her forehead the size of a golf ball.”

  He peered over the van’s hood as the first of the emergency personnel arrived. Several police officers did a quick sweep of the area. “They’re waving that the shooter’s gone,” Wayne said. “We can get up now.”

  The moment the ambulance came to a screeching halt in front of the house, Angela burst through the front door and ran, wailing, toward us. “Mama!”

  Wayne stepped in front of her and wrapped his arms around her. “She’s alive. There’s no need to work yourself into a frenzy.”

  The man knew my sister well. I wiped the tears from my face and hovered as the paramedics assessed her situation, making a nuisance of myself until they asked me to step back. They placed Mom on a gurney and loaded her into the ambulance. I jumped in next to her and gave them a look that defied them to say anything against me riding along.

  Wayne told Rusty to stay down, propped Angela against the van, and marched to meet the arriving Michael Barker. With Matt gone and Wayne busy with us, the poor town was seriously understaffed for emergencies. I squashed down the bit of guilt I felt about monopolizing the time of the local police officers and concentrated on my mother.

  Blood matted hair the same shade as mine to her face. Always fair-skinned, the pallor of her skin caused me to check for myself that she still breathed. I leaned close, feeling the whisper of her breath on my cheek. I closed my eyes and sent a prayer of thanksgiving to God. I’d come so close to losing her. I still could, but as long as she drew breath, there was hope.

  The ambulance made the drive to the hospital twenty miles away in fifteen minutes. I hopped down without waiting for help and jogged alongside the gurney as we raced into the Emergency Room.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off Mom’s face, hoping, praying she’d open her eyes and say something snarky. A woman in mint green scrubs stopped me before I could follow Mom into an examining room. I sighed and turned to the waiting room as another gurney rolled up.

  “Miss Stormi?” Rusty held out his hand.

  “You were shot?” I ran my gaze over his body, noticing for the first time the hole in his upper leg as I took his hand.

  “You have to come with me. Don’t let them take me past those doors alone. People don’t come back.” His grip ground my fingers together.

  I glanced at the doctor next to the gurney. The man shrugged, then motioned his head toward the examining room next to where they had taken Mom. I nodded. If I couldn’t be with her, I’d be with the sweet man who had, quite possibly, saved her life.

  The doctor let me stay only until Rusty succumbed to the effects of a shot to relax him. I patted his cheek, and blinked back tears as they wheeled him to surgery.

  Instead of heading for the waiting room, I slipped down a different hall, then another, not sure where I was going, but feeling as if I needed to be there. Time was of the essence.

  I ended up on the patient floor. I glanced at name plaques next to the doors until I saw the name Brian Colville. Could this be Dakota’s friend? The young man I’d meant to visit several times, but had never gotten the chance?

  I knocked and pushed open the door. Yes, it was the same young man who had lain bleeding on the street. Now, purple and yellow bruises mottled his skin.
He was dressed to leave the hospital in jeans and a tee shirt sporting the logo of a rock band. “Brian, I’m Dakota’s aunt.”

  He glanced around me. “I know who you are. You have to leave.”

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “I’m going away for a while. My parents will be here soon. If those men find out—”

  “What men, Brian?” I stepped around the curtain out of view of the door. “Please talk to me.”

  “They said if I told, then I’d get more than a beating the next time.” He closed his eyes. “My parents just think it was some jerks that beat me up over my skateboard. I want them to think that. Those men threatened to hurt my parents if I said anything to the cops.”

  “I won’t say anything to them, and I’m not a cop.”

  He opened his eyes and stared at me for a few minutes. “I don’t know all of their names. One of them starts with a B. He’s a real slimy character. The old man at the auto place knows him, I think. I’ve seen them talking together.”

  “Why are you involved?” I put a hand on his shoulder, feeling the frailty of his bones. “You haven’t been eating or sleeping, have you?”

  He shook his head. “I keep having nightmares. They’re horrible. Rosie is my girl, but those men make her do things. When they found out we were seeing each other, they beat her, then came after me.” His eyes shimmered with tears. “I don’t care what she’s done. I really, really like her, Miss Nelson.”

  “She’s a very pretty girl. What else do you know?”

  “That Carol woman works for them. Rosie told me a lot. She wanted me to help her get away. Carol takes in foster kids. Only teenage girls. You know why.”

  Unfortunately, I did, and the knowledge curdled my blood. “Do you know where they took the girls?”

  “Do you know that old motel on the highway? The Pink Flamingo?”

  “Yes. It’s been closed for years.”

  “That’s—” Men’s voices reached us from the doorway. Brian’s eyes bugged.