Pamela Frost Dennis - Murder Blog 01 - Dead Girls Don't Blog

by Pamela Frost Dennis

  I hunkered down in the couch and muttered, “Yeah, right.”

  I’d pushed Mom’s last “patient button” and she lost her cool. “In the last few days, you were attacked twice by a crazy person. It’s amazing you’re even alive. Why don’t you try to be grateful, instead of whining about a patch of stupid hair. I could have lost my child last night, who by the way is not a child, but a thirty-one-year-old woman, even though sometimes I wonder.”

  “Actually it was three times.”

  Mom put her hands on her hips. “What do you mean, three times?”

  “She crashed into my car at the mall yesterday afternoon, too.”

  “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I was unconscious at the hospital and it slipped my mind until now.”

  “You know, come to think of it, a cup of tea would be nice,” said Angela. “Don’t you think so, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes. Tea would be lovely.” She made a show of opening her notebook, and setting a digital recorder on the coffee table.

  Mom started to leave for the kitchen, but I stopped her. “Sorry, Mom. I’m acting like a jerk.”

  “I’m just glad you’re alive so you can act like a jerk.”

  “Last night you had no control over anything that happened,” Angela said to me, “so it’s understandable to overreact now. You’re only human. And it’s your hair. Come on.”

  “Actually, that’s not quite true,” said Mom, her tone back to normal. “You did take control of your situation last night. You kept a cool head and got yourself saved.”

  “Thanks, Mom, but it was Daisy who saved me.”

  Daisy was still tucked in beside me, recuperating from being poisoned by that wacko, but thumped her tail when she heard her name. Angela and Yee leaned from their seats and petted the hero.

  Mom fanned away threatening tears. “I’ll go get the tea now.”

  Angela straightened up. “We went to the hospital last night, but you were in no condition to answer questions.”

  Yee snickered. “You were sawing logs.”

  “I was trying to be delicate,” Angela chuckled. “But now, we really must go over everything while it’s still fresh.”

  I’d been avoiding thinking about it, literally blocking it out by sleeping most of the day. The pain meds had made that easy, but she was right. Time to talk. “What about Penny Hobart? Is she in jail? Please say yes!”

  The women were silent. Did that mean she was on the loose? Yee frowned and my fear spiked.

  “You’re scaring me.” I glanced out the windows, expecting to find the skillet-wielding wacko lurking in the shrubbery.

  Angela leaned from her chair and closed her warm hand over mine and steadied me with her compassionate, brown eyes. “It’s okay, Katy. She can’t hurt you now. She passed early this morning.”

  I was stunned. “You mean Daisy killed her?”

  At the sound of her name, my sweet girl lifted her head, her gentle brown eyes flicking between us.

  “Yes. She saved your life, no doubt about it. Totally amazing, considering the condition she was in.”

  “Do you know what poisoned Daisy?”

  “Antifreeze,” said Angela.

  “Lucky you’re a vegetarian and your dog isn’t,” said Yee. “Hobart laced a plate of lentils with it and Daisy only ate a small amount. There was no internal damage and she will have a full recovery.”

  “Thank God.” I hugged my girl. “I don’t know what I would do without you Daisy.”

  Angela released my hand and stroked Daisy’s back. “What a brave girl you are.” Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat. “We knew how hard everything had been on Penny. Her son being convicted and sent to prison. Her husband dying of a heart attack during the trial. Her daughter having so many troubled years.”

  “So much grief,” said Yee, “and yet, she continued to do a stellar job at the station, and over time she seemed to be her old self again.”

  “That’s right,” said Angela. “It was years ago and we thought she’d gotten past it. Especially the last couple years. Like the huge weight had finally lifted when Christy got married and found happiness. Penny was so excited about her daughter’s pregnancy and becoming a grandma.”

  “Yeah. She was even trying to quit smoking,” said Yee. “Always saying how second-hand smoke wouldn’t be good for the baby.”

  “Then I come along and stick my nose in and ruin everything.” I said. “Was it worth it?”

  “How could you have known?” asked Angela. “You were trying to do the right thing. Most people wouldn’t bother. They’d rather just complain about the system than actually get involved.”

  “Yeah, well I will have to think long and hard before I get involved again, that’s for sure.”

  Angela turned on the digital recorder. “Now, Katy, tell us what happened. Take your time, starting with the mall.”

  Reliving the experience was highly emotional and my tears flowed freely. It was hard to believe that my lovable doggy had killed Penny Hobart. As I was telling them about Daisy struggling to climb through the broken window, I abruptly stopped, shocked at what I suddenly had remembered.

  “Penny Hobart killed Belinda Moore!”

  THIRTY-NINE

  Wednesday, April 24

  By Katy McKenna on Sunday, May 5

  I was lounging under a shady Chinese elm in my parents’ yard and lusting over Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard on my laptop, wishing I had a handsome knight in shining armor who would protect me. In my peripheral vision, I detected someone approaching and hit pause, expecting to see a parental unit bearing snacks. Instead it was the Viking, limping in a plastic aircast, followed by my furry bodyguard, Daisy.

  I slapped my sunglasses over my mascara-free eyes and tried to fluff my hair over the bandage wrapped around my head. “What happened to you?”

  “It’s nothing.” He collapsed in the chaise lounge next to me and hoisted his jean-clad leg up on the cushion with a groan. Daisy stood next to him, and he unconsciously scratched her head.

  “Doesn’t sound like nothing. Tell me.”

  His eyes swept the length of my sweats-attired body, taking in my injuries: backs of ankles scraped raw by the chair legs while bouncing to safety, broken elbow, bandaged head covering my stitches, a black eye—hidden by my sunglasses, grazed cheek and swollen nose from my face-plant on the porch, and, last but not least, my gruesome neck. Too bad Halloween was six months away.

  “The short story is—I slipped in Hobart’s blood and sprained my ankle.”

  I shut my laptop and set it on the table next to me. “Like I haven’t heard that one before. Tell me the long version.”

  He pulled his troubled eyes from my face and gazed at the billowy clouds floating by. “I was trying to stop the flow of blood from her neck with a towel, when she grabbed my hair and yanked me into her face. Caught me completely off guard.” A muscle bunched in his jaw beneath his blonde stubble. “My feet slipped out from under me on the bloody floor and I fell on top of her.” Josh shuddered a full body shiver and my heart went out to him. “I had to head-butt her to get away. In the struggle I wrenched my ankle.”

  “God. How awful.” There was probably more to it than what he’d told me, but it was more than enough for me. I already had enough fodder to fill my nightmares for years to come. “I’m so thankful you came when you did.”

  “Daisy had things under control. Hobart was all but done when I got there.” Josh was quiet a moment, then he softly chuckled. “You know, if I was still on the force, I’d never live this down. I mean, come on! I’m six-three, 198 pounds.”

  All muscle. Sure would like to check that out to make sure. Then I mentally slapped myself. Stop it! The man is injured.

  He continued, oblivious to my steamy musings. “And she was five-three–five-four? Maybe one hundred and ten? And half-dead at the time.”

  “But it was a lunatic one hundred and ten. You should have seen her throw that skillet
through the window. I can barely lift it with one hand.”

  Josh reached over and picked up the hand attached to the good elbow and encircled my wrist with his big, strong fingers. I curled my fingers so he wouldn’t see my chewed up nails and almost passed out in a lust rush.

  “That’s because you have such dainty wrists.” Then he noticed the watch on my dainty wrist. “Whoa! I’ve got to go.”

  In my drunken state of horniness, I slurred, “Where?”

  “I have a date. My first in months.”

  Date? What? “Oh? Who?” I tried to sound casual. And what did he mean by that crack, My first in months.

  “Don’t know. It’s a blind date a friend of mine set up. He convinced me it’s time to get back on the horse and ride.”

  Ooo. Bad choice of words.

  He set my limp wrist down and gave me a playful punch on the arm. “Wish me luck, buddy!”

  Buddy?

  After he made a hasty exit, I sat there feeling pretty darn stupid and more than a little disappointed. I’d already picked out our kids’ names, Barbie and Ken.

  Oh, well, maybe it’s for the best since he lives next door. But he’s so darned hot. But what if it didn’t work out? It could be awkward. Maybe he could be a friend with benefits. A boink buddy. Oh jeez, Ruby was right. I needed to get laid. I shifted on the chaise lounge and sharp pain slammed through me, leaving me breathless and immediately putting the kibosh on my lusty reveries. What I really needed was more pain meds. And ice cream.

  I heard the screen door slap and saw Mom approaching with the house phone. “It’s your father. Are you up to talking?”

  Not really. I took the phone and said hello to bio-father-Bert.

  “Hey, kitten. How’re you doing?” His voice boomed so loud, I didn’t need to use the speakerphone.

  “Fine.”

  “Not according to Marybeth. She told me you got hit with a frying pan.”

  “No big deal.”

  His voice dropped to a quiet, concerned level. “Sounds like a big deal to me, Katy.”

  “It was pretty scary. And it sure hurts. And I have a bald spot.” Those were the most words I’d said to him in months. Maybe years.

  “Is your beautiful face all right? You know I’m pretty good at what I do,” said my Palm Springs plastic-surgeon-to-the-stars father.

  “She got me in the back of the head, so not to worry.”

  I heard him sigh with what sounded like genuine relief. “Listen. I was thinking when you’re feeling better, you and I could do something special.”

  My father has been married five times since Mom, and every time he is going through a breakup, he starts thinking about what a lousy no-show father he’s been. Then he wants to make amends by spending quality time with me, but usually before we actually do anything, he gets hooked up again and that’s the last I hear from him, except for his requests to be a Facebook friend. I haven’t even met his current thirty-three-year-old trophy wife.

  “How’s Bridgette?” I asked, not really caring and already knowing the answer. There was no point in even remembering the wives’ names.

  “She’s great. For someone so young, she sure has an old soul. She’d like to get to know you, but this get-together needs to be just you and me. I was thinking I could drive up there and take you to Carmel for a few days.”

  Should I call his bluff? Yes, I should! “How about in a couple of weeks or so? I should be feeling pretty good by then.”

  Now came the part where he would say he’d check his calendar and then in a few days he’d call back and tell me he had too many facelifts and boob-lifts and butt-lifts scheduled.

  He called my bluff instead. “Perfect. I was hoping you’d agree, so I went ahead and booked us a two-bedroom suite with an ocean view at The Highlands Inn.”

  FORTY

  Saturday, April 27

  By Katy McKenna on Monday, May 6

  “I’m afraid,” I whispered. I stood on the porch, feet rooted to the spot, unable to step over the threshold into my once-cozy, safe refuge. Daisy glanced up at me, gave me a reassuring smile, and trotted in.

  Pop put his arm around my shoulders. “It’s not the house that hurt you, Katydid. It was Penny Hobart, and that poor, demented woman is at peace now. But you will remember to always to lock the door and set the alarm from now on, right? I don’t care how big a rush you’re in.”

  “I will.”

  “And I want to get you a gun.”

  “No way,” I said, wincing. “Guns scare me.”

  “And they should, but remember your old man was a cop. I will teach you how to shoot and safely handle a gun. We’ll go to the shooting range—“

  “Kinda like a father-daughter thing?”

  “Yeah. It’ll be fun. And once you’re back to full steam, let’s get you enrolled in a self-defense class.”

  That was definitely a good idea. I peeked inside toward the kitchen, thinking about Josh slipping in the blood.

  “Everything is back in order. Come see for yourself.” He guided a reluctant me through the door.

  The broken picture window had been replaced and the floor looked pristine—actually better than before—I guess that’s what a good scrubbing can do. Thank goodness she’d died in the hospital and not on my kitchen floor. The last thing I needed was Penny Hobart’s restless spirit working on her phantom cookbook in my kitchen.

  “We had a disaster team come in and clean up, and now you have a dual pane window.”

  At least one of the windows in my old house won’t be drafty. “Thanks, Pop.”

  I heard Tabitha before I saw her. She was loudly scolding me as she scurried through the house. She slammed full-tilt into my legs and went into purr overdrive. I scooped her up and went to the living room sofa, forgetting that Hobart had clobbered me there, and by the time Tabitha finished telling me off for leaving her alone, I was lovingly coated in gray cat hair.

  FORTY-ONE

  Petition Gathering Day

  By Katy McKenna on Friday, May 10

  My last stop was The Bookcase Bistro. My earlier decision to face the enemy on my terms had fizzled after my first visit to the store. Now I just wanted to get in and get out as fast as possible.

  Chad was always a creature of habit, so I timed my arrival to coincide with his usual three o’clock afternoon break. Luckily he’d only changed wives, not habits, and was nowhere to be seen when I sneaked in and hid behind a bookshelf to recon the shop before approaching the counter. Heather was sitting on a stool behind the register engrossed in paperwork and hadn’t noticed me skulking about.

  “Hi, Heather.”

  Her face lit up in a genuine smile. “Katy.” She struggled to get her rotund self off the stool.

  “No, please. Don’t get up,” I said, waving her back down. “I mean there’s no need to get up on my account. I’m just here to pick up the petitions.” The poor thing is massive and still has at least three months to go.

  “Oh, pooh.” She trundled around the counter and sideways-hugged me. “You’re so sweet. Really, I’m fine.” She pulled back and gazed at me. “But how are you? I read what happened in the newspaper.”

  She reads the newspaper? Maybe I’ve been a little hasty in labeling her an idiot.

  “You’re like a hero. And you solved a cold case. I’m so totally impressed.”

  I had solved a cold case. Hadn’t been trying to, but nevertheless I had.

  “I have your petitions here. We have, like, over six hundred names. Six hundred and thirteen to be exact.”

  She handed me the hefty stack and made me promise to come back and visit. Like I want to be pals with my ex’s wife. How weird would that be? But I promised anyway, because Heather is pretty darned hard to refuse.

  She was hugging me again when Chad walked in and weird took on a whole new meaning, except for Heather, who dragged us into a brief, group hug. Very brief.

  “Hey, Chad,” I mumbled, disengaging and thinking, His hairline is receding. Ha. Hi
s waistline is expanding. Double ha.

  “Hello, Katy. Heather showed me the newspaper story about you. I’m glad you’re all right. Pretty scary stuff, huh?”

  I shrugged nonchalantly, rocking on my sandaled heels. “Yup, pretty dangerous, all right. But it goes with the territory, you know. Helping the police department solve cold cases and all.” I flaunted the petitions. “At least we’ll be keeping one creep where he belongs.” I looked directly into his eyes, but he was too dense to catch my drift. What had I ever seen in this guy?

  It was time for me to shut up and vamoose, so I started backing away. “I guess I’ll get going now.” I wanted to bolt for the door, shouting something brilliant like, ‘Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater, had a wife and couldn’t keep her,’ but that would have been immature, so I kept my cool vibe going.

  “Let me walk you out.” Chad took my good elbow, guiding me toward the door. I glanced back at Heather and she was grinning like she had solved the world’s problems with a hug.

  As we walked, he whispered, “You look so sexy with your new hairstyle.”

  It’s official. I hate layers. Thanks a lot, Mom.

  “God, I’ve missed you, Katy. I didn’t know if you’d ever speak to me again, but when I heard you brought the petition in, I knew you felt the same way.” He leaned close and murmured, “I’ve missed your scent. I’m obsessed.”

  What? That line actually gave me shivers—not the good kind. I scuttled through the entrance with Chad hot on my heels. As soon as we cleared the glass doors and were out of Heather’s sight, I spun around. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re about to have three babies.” I held up three fingers and considered bending back two of them.

  “I know.” He hung his head and murmured, “I know. I’m the world’s biggest fool.”

  “No. You’re the world’s biggest ass.”

  Chad shook his head, staring down at the sidewalk. “What have I done?” He looked up, reaching for my hands and I stepped back, cradling my sore elbow protectively. His eyes raked over my body and he groaned. “Katy. Leaving you was the biggest mistake of my life. I still love you.”