A Fatal Romance

by June Shaw

  “Your petunias still look good,” I told Miss Hawthorne, kneeling beside the purple blossoms lining the concrete path to her front stoop.

  “Thank you. Oh, Sunny, look. The girdle you sold me still works great. Two years old and still holding me in.” She struggled up to her feet. Miss Hawthorne was probably older than my mother and didn’t like help. She’d insisted on a girdle, not that newer stuff she said was smaller than her gloves, and bought it from me while I still worked at Fancy Ladies, our town’s only upscale dress shop. I’d needed to quit that job since I had developed excruciating heel spurs that wouldn’t get better until I stopped standing all day every day, and surgery wouldn’t correct them.

  The top of Miss Hawthorne’s plump face hid beneath the wide floppy brim of her straw hat, which didn’t hide her pleasant smile. Dirt tumbled off the knees of her slacks. The girdle pushed her stomach up and made the thick roll above her waist more pronounced through her knit shirt. I’d learned to notice details while I fitted ladies with undergarments and determined she had gained fifteen pounds since I sold her that girdle.

  “You look good, Miss Hawthorne. But next time you’re at Fancy Ladies, you might check out the newer styles. You could find a control panty or shaper that’s more comfortable.”

  “Oh no, hon, this works just fine.”

  “Good. I’ll see you later.” I strolled off, pleased to know her smile finally returned after her misery because a relative’s pet she had been keeping escaped from her fenced backyard.

  A couple of houses to the left, I reached mine, a gray brick with a darker gray stucco entrance. I entered, experiencing the same stir of unpleasant emotions as every other time I returned from Eve’s. My place was pleasant, yet now felt like it held too much clutter, even if there wasn’t much extra. The house even smelled dull. I plugged in a vanilla-scented air freshener.

  Standing beneath the foyer light, I yanked my jacket pocket wide open. Course grayish bits of a man lay inside. I strode to my kitchen trashcan and stepped on the pedal to pop it open, ready to turn my pocket inside out.

  No, that wouldn’t be right. I let the can’s top close. Where else might I put these powdery flakes? I couldn’t dump them in my yard or even think of flushing them.

  This was part of a person that needed to be treated with respect. I hung the jacket in the foyer, grabbed a phonebook, and looked up a number, relieved to find the person listed. I punched in numerals and listened to the phone ring. A click sounded.

  “Snelling residence,” a woman said. “We can’t get to the phone now, but we will return your call as soon as we’re home if you leave your number.” Daria Snelling sounded much more pleasant on the machine than she had in church.

  I hitched up my chin and tried to sound cheerful. “Hello, Mrs. Snelling. This is the tall redhead who blurted a song this morning at St. Gertrude’s. I’m sorry I sang and really sorry about your husband.” I cleared my throat. “I called to tell you I have something of his. I’m sure it’s something you’ll want.” I gave my number in case she didn’t have caller I.D. and hung up.

  My stomach rumbled, reminding me of why I’d stopped at Eve’s in the first place. I considered eating leftover red beans and sausage, but instead yanked rice from the fridge, heated a pile of it in a bowl, and squirted my initials over it with ketchup. I munched on this entrée with a chunk of lettuce topped with a few raisins, fat-free ranch dressing, and crunchy chow mein noodles.

  In my bedroom, I peeled off church clothes and struggled to snap my jeans, then yanked on a purple T-shirt with gold letters in front that said TWIN SISTERS. Small letters on its back said Remodeling & Repairs.

  I slipped into my backyard, where flats of flowers waited. Sunshine and temperatures in the mid-sixties made the spring afternoon appealing. A cool breeze pushed off earlier mugginess that reminded us soon south Louisiana would treat us all to steam baths.

  Digging up scraggly plants, I tossed them aside, noting sirens in the distance. A harsh memory trying to erupt froze me in place. I fought the remembrance from my youth and forced it away.

  I stabbed soil with my shovel, knowing something was definitely not right with Daria Snelling. Years of working in close contact with women at Fancy Ladies let me learn much more than I wanted to about their private lives so that now my initial instincts were normally correct. Dragging topsoil to the flowerbeds, I mentally weighed the probability of what police decided happened to Zane Snelling and shook my head. Why had he tripped and slid into the deep water in their backyard near the seating area Eve and I recently completed?

  Uneasy about his drowning, I added weed preventer to my beds and topped the mounds with cypress mulch. Next came tall coneflowers as a nice backdrop. I set daylilies in front and filled in the closest section with coreopsis.

  When the sun was dipping behind rooftops, my riot of color pleased me. I watered everything and kicked off my dirty shoes near the backdoor. Walking into the kitchen, I was ready to develop a bid for Anna Tabor’s window that would add to our other pending jobs. A flashing red light on the answering machine caught my attention. I pressed the button, expecting Mrs. Snelling.

  “Sunny! Where are you?” Eve yelled.

  My heart slammed against my ribs. Something happened to Mom?

  I played the next message. “Sunny, it’s Eve. I need you!”

  My quivering finger pressed her number in Memory on my phone.

  “Where have you been?” she asked with a sob. “I’ve been calling.”

  “Planting flowers. Is it Mom?”

  “Somebody broke into my house!”

  “What? Are you okay?”

  “No. Come over.”

  “I’m there!” I raced toward my sister.

  Chapter 2

  Swallowing a song, I rushed beyond the plywood plastered across the sliding glass door leading to Eve’s art room. I sped across the patio to her locked kitchen door and shoved on the bell. She didn’t answer soon enough, so I beat on her door. It swung open.

  “Oh, Sunny!” She flew into my arms, her intense trembles matching mine.

  I gripped her as though my strength could protect her. “Are you hurt? I’ll get an ambulance.” I stepped back, scanning her head, arms, and torso.

  “I’m fine. I wasn’t home.”

  “What happened?”

  Shrugging off my attempt to inspect her more, she drew me inside and locked her door. She guided me to the den and pointed to her studio’s shut door. “They got in there.”

  “Did they take anything?”

  “It’s awful.” She shoved the door open to the room where she painted.

  My knees locked while I stared at massive red X’s spray painted across every one of her paintings now tossed like trash by the roadside.

  “And look at this.” She stepped behind a cluster of her ruined art. On the wall, painted words looked like dripping blood: WHERE IS WHAT’S HIS?

  “What does this mean? What do you have? Who does it belong to?”

  “I don’t have a thing.” She wore an annoyed expression.

  “But you must.” I stared at the words.

  “Sunny, I have no idea what that’s about. The police just left. They asked enough questions and didn’t seem to believe everything I told them, but I sure thought you would.”

  “I do.” I gripped her hands and shivered from the possibility of what could have happened to her.

  “Thank goodness I was gone.” She walked toward the shattered sliding door that 3/8 inch plywood shielded. “The police think the burglar saw me leaving for the gym and then broke in. The intruder searched this room but didn’t find what he was looking for and tried to reach the rest of the house. Look.” Deep scrapes sliced into wood around the door’s locking mechanism. The double-keyed lock she’d installed prevented that person from going any farther inside the house.

  Eve stared at the art, her face rumpled with sadness. “Those weren’t Rembrandts, but they were impor
tant to me.”

  “Maybe you can paint more.”

  She looked barely energetic enough for a shrug.

  “Who boarded the door?”

  She shuffled from her studio and tilted her head toward the left. “Jake Angelette brought over some of the wood he keeps in his garage and helped me nail it up.”

  “He just moved there. I could have done it with you.”

  “But I couldn’t reach you. And slamming a hammer against something felt good.”

  I understood why she hadn’t wanted to use her power tools. I nudged my chin toward the ruined paintings. “Which one of those men would the intruder be talking about?”

  She dropped to the sofa that released a soft whoosh. “I don’t know. The police asked what I had that belonged to a man. I don’t have a thing. They wanted to know why anybody would break in there and smash everything and write those words on my wall if it wasn’t true.”

  I sat with her. “What did you tell them?”

  She threw out her hands. “They were taking the word of a crook instead of me.”

  “What about all the men your paintings represented?”

  She shoved up to her feet, eyes wider. “You don’t think I told the police that?”

  “If you don’t, how will they have any clue as to what this is about?”

  She bent to look me in the eye. “Sunny, the meaning of those paintings is private. Art is a personal thing.”

  “One of the guys you dated must have left something here.”

  “Don’t you think I’ve checked? I went over every room. There’s nothing.”

  I walked back to her studio and stared at WHERE IS WHAT’S HIS? Gooseflesh erupted on my arms. “This is my fault.”

  “How could it possibly be your fault? Did you do it?”

  “Of course not, but maybe I did something stupid that caused someone to come and create this mess. I left a message on Daria Snelling’s answering machine saying I have something important of her husband’s. You know, those parts of him in my jacket. She probably came for what I have and did this.”

  Eve narrowed her eyes. “What else did you say in your message?”

  “I gave her my number.”

  “Then why would she break in here? All she’d have to do is pick up the phone and call you.”

  “I know. I didn’t give my address or my name, just said I was the tall redhead who sang. Maybe since she’d met you once, she thought I was you and found out where you live.”

  Eve tightened her lips. “I can’t believe she would do this.”

  I blew out a sigh, not reminding her of what I thought of the woman. “But I don’t understand why she hasn’t called yet.”

  My sister ambled to the den. “Maybe she didn’t get home from the church. Who knows how long it takes to do everything she needed to do there and afterward?”

  “Well, you can’t stay in this house. The burglar might return. Come stay with me.”

  Eyes stern, she shook her head. “The police suggested I stay someplace else, especially tonight, but nobody’s going to run me out of my house.” She was always the braver twin, the one who peeked into dark spaces first. “Anyway, he or she wouldn’t come back right away while police are checking so closely. And tonight I’m having company.” Her lips tilted up a little at the edges.

  Ah, a date. “Does your company carry a gun?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. And will this be Dave, the exciting guy from your last painting?”

  “Don’t I wish? No, my second ex is in town and needs a place to stay.”

  My mind took a quick mental scroll. “Stan? You’re going to make him sleep in a guest bedroom, right?”

  “That’s none of your business.” She glanced at the frameless wall clock, large black numbers circling a small center. “Time for you to leave. I wanted you to know what happened.”

  “Call if you change your mind. Or if you need me.”

  She nodded. “Thanks. I don’t think I’ll need anyone else tonight. The police should be driving by my house often.”

  I hummed, afraid for her and figuring she could become intimate with that man, her second ex, which frightened me while I imagined myself wrapped up in a sexual interlude. I didn’t understand how she could enjoy romance so much but couldn’t judge anyone’s actions. Stan currently lived in Shreveport and always seemed nice enough. I hadn’t seen him in a while.

  I departed through the front door and heard Eve throw the bolt. Inspecting outside the doorway, I found no sign of tampering. I checked around the windows in front. Nobody tried to get in that I could see. Creeping beside the house, I rubbed my hand over the stucco and tried to see inside the windows like a burglar might.

  Normally Eve left the drapes in her dining room and spare bedrooms open. Tonight they were shut with only white backing visible. I stepped close to those windows, trying to peer through the sides or middles, pleased that the drapes fit snugly. I could tell there was light in those rooms but saw nothing else. On tiptoes, I tried to peek into her bathroom window.

  Curtains inside ruffled and parted, making me stumble backward. A face against the window stared down at me. It resembled mine. Eve held her cell phone away from her ear. Unhooking her window, she slid it up an inch. “My neighbor said somebody’s looking in my windows, and I should call the police to come back.”

  “Good for her.” I turned to the house on the right. Busybody Mrs. Wilburn might finally have a positive purpose. Maybe she’d help protect my sister.

  “Wait a sec,” Eve said. “Let me tell her it’s just you so she won’t get the cavalry out here.” She placed her phone close to her mouth and spoke.

  I waved at Mrs. Wilburn, the frightfully pale woman whose mean dark eyes stared at me from a window in a brightly lit room. Royce stood behind her, watching me. He’d come for a rare visit to his mother?

  She dropped her drapes without either of them returning my greeting.

  “She’s not happy to see me,” I called to Eve.

  “She’s worried. Maybe the guy will come back and grab her. Okay, I need to get ready. And my neck’s twisted with me up on the ledge of the hot tub bending down to talk to you.”

  I gave her a one finger wave. “Have fun.”

  “I always do.” My sister flashed the most beautiful smile. “And, Sunny, the police already did what you’re doing out there.”

  “Maybe I can catch something they missed.”

  “Right.” She smirked. “You might be messing up and covering shoeprints with yours.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that.” Not surprised that I’d mess up, I scooted back from her house.

  “Later.” Eve dropped her curtains.

  I trotted back to my house without noting anything unusual along the way. Inside, I worried about my sister. Then decided the man with her tonight should provide safety, at least letting a would-be thief see his car or truck out front. I hoped Stan drove a large truck. A mean-looking black one.

  Needing to eat before doing paperwork but not too hungry, I fixed a couple of ham and cracker sandwiches and spread jelly between crackers for dessert. Afterward I worked on an estimate for Anna’s window, concern for Eve foremost in my mind. Since my worry wouldn’t help her, I focused on the small job.

  We would need to pull Anna Tabor’s existing window out of her bathroom. We’d never installed glass block before, but it had to be similar to laying floor tile, which we had done often. We’d just finished a job like that in a young couple’s kitchen. I phoned Badeaux Lumber, which stayed open late, and spoke to Luke about what we needed. They didn’t keep glass blocks in stock but would order them. He gave me prices and assured me my plan for the job was correct. We’d build from both jambs toward the center and use flat spacers between the blocks. Of course we’d plumb and level them while we worked. Putting my glasses on, I developed an estimate for Anna.

  In the morning, I phoned Eve. She didn’t answer immedi
ately, scattering jitters through me like sprayed fire ants. Should I rush over?

  “Umm?” she answered, voice groggy.

  “Sorry if I woke you, but I wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

  “No, that’s okay. It’s my sister,” she said to someone.

  “Y’all go back to sleep,” I said. “Or whatever.”

  With a laugh, she hung up.

  At least this morning she was safe. I wanted to stay around her, or especially to get her to come and spend time at my house, away from hers. Maybe if I fixed some of her favorite foods, I could bribe her here and then get her to stay until the police arrested whoever broke into her house.

  My phone rang. “Hello. This is Twin Sisters,” I said, making my voice cheerful.

  “Hey, Sunny, it’s Mona at Fancy Ladies. I hate to call at the last minute, but the last woman we hired developed kidney stones. Could you possibly come in for us?”

  Today? After someone broke into Eve’s house yesterday? “Sorry, I can’t.”

  “We’d need help for at least a week.”

  I did have free time the next few days. The business Eve and I started was growing slowly, and we hadn’t managed to snag any large jobs yet. Women in town knew me as a person who’d sold them their undergarments and sleepwear, while men knew me as a tall redhead. Now that Eve lived here, who knew what her status was, but neither of our reputations so far led people to believe we’d be expert craftsmen. We had been showing them gradually. I was grateful that I was thrifty and had put money aside. Anna wasn’t in a rush for her project, and my heel spurs had been feeling better the last week or so. But Eve needed me available to help keep her safe now. “Sorry, I can’t. Maybe some other time?”

  A sigh. “Okay, thanks. Maybe so.”

  I really hated to turn down that simple task of selling undies since I would soon need my roof replaced, and I could use the extra income.

  On the way to the grocery store, I swung in front of Eve’s place. I’d spoken to her moments ago, but wanted to make certain she was still all right. I dug in my purse and found my eyeglass case empty. I’d probably left my glasses near the pad with estimates.