Chapter 15
Dear Bob,
My new puppy has chewed his way through two rugs, a decorative pillow I bought from an Asheville boutique, and the bottom leg of my dining room table. I’ve tried to discipline him, but he just yawns and goes to sleep.
What should I do? I want to keep this puppy, but my house is starting to look like a war zone.
Signed,
Doggone Tired
Dear Tired,
Get thee to the library and check out one of those Dog Whisperer videos pronto! Cesar Milan is a brilliant man. And very hot!
Sincerely,
Bob
The Glory Examiner
August 13, section B3
“Where are you going, Mark?” Roxie smiled at her brother. “Heading to the Bigger Jigger for a beer?”
Mark buckled his seat belt. “I need to return Susan’s thumb drive.”
“Right now? It’s almost eight.”
“She might need it before tomorrow.” It was a lame excuse to see Susan and he knew it, but he hadn’t been able to catch her alone all day, though he’d tried his best. She’d been somewhat elusive, though he’d managed to sneak in another conversation or two.
She always participated with enthusiasm, but he would have rather had kisses over mere conversations. But that was not to be; except for a week ago when she’d yanked him into the bushes and planted one on him, she hadn’t initiated a single kiss. Damn it, she seemed aloof all of the sudden. I don’t think I’ve said or done anything to tick her off … or have I?
The question had nagged him all day, until he’d finally decided there was only one way to find out: he’d have to ask Susan.
Roxie crossed her arms and rested them on his open window. “Mark, what’s going on? You left Mother in midsentence.”
He shrugged. “Just feeling restless.” Hungry was more accurate.
“Is it your work? Maybe you need to go back to Raleigh for a few days.”
“I’ll go as soon as I get the newspaper running in the right direction.”
Her expression softened. “I can’t thank you enough for doing that. I know you have your business in Raleigh to run and—”
“Nonsense. It’s been fun.” It surprised him to realize that was the truth.
Roxie looked curious. “Mark, do you like living here in Glory?”
“It’s OK, I guess. Do you?”
“For the time being.” She smiled, her expression sweet and happy. “Nick and I have something special. I want to see where it leads.”
A pang of envy hit Mark. “I’m happy for you two. I keep expecting you to announce a date.”
“Mother hates him,” Roxie said happily. “She hasn’t said a word to him in a month.”
“He’s lucky.” Mother was a much better enemy than friend.
“So am I.” She eyed Mark a moment, her smile fading. “What about you? Are you happy?”
He narrowed his gaze. “Don’t start on me.”
She sighed. “Fine. I won’t. By the way, Tundy came by looking for Nick and she seemed pretty upset.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know, but she said she shouldn’t have to find the po-leese in an emergency, that they should find her.”
“Did she call nine-one-one?”
“No.”
“His office?”
“No.”
“So how’s he supposed to know there’s an emergency?”
Roxie grinned. “I didn’t ask and she didn’t tell.”
“You and your don’t ask, don’t tell policy. Whole conversations disappear that way.”
“It’s nice,” Roxie agreed.
“It’d make you a lousy reporter.”
“I leave that to you and Pat and Susan.”
“Not me. Pat and Susan are the pros.” He was just starting to realize what that meant. “Susan put together a PowerPoint presentation and … Roxie, she is sharp.” He explained Susan’s plan.
Roxie’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “You’d better watch out. If people find out that all it takes is a PowerPoint presentation to change your mind, you’ll be in big trouble.”
“It wasn’t just the PowerPoint. It was more the entire package.”
“Oh ho! Was it now?”
“Yes, but not the way you think.” Actually, it was exactly the way Roxie thought, but he wasn’t about to admit that. There were certain things one did not discuss with one’s sister. “Numbers never lie.”
“Uh-huh. I think you’re growing soft—” She threw up a hand when he started to protest. “That’s not a bad thing. We could all use a little softening now and then.” She moved away from the car. “If you see Nick, let him know Tundy’s on the warpath. He should be at Micki & Maud’s, swapping stories with old Sheriff Thompson.”
“Will do.” Mark left and was soon on his way to Susan’s house. He wondered if she’d be glad to see him. Probably not.
A loud horn brought him from his reverie as he turned onto the road leading to Susan’s house. He glanced in his rearview mirror, sighed, and pulled to the side of the road.
A large white van followed suit. As he exited his car, Tundy leaned out the window. “Mr. Mark, have we got a story for you!”
“Really? What’s happened?”
Clara leaned forward and said in an excited voice, “Someone broke into Miz Tundy’s apartment at the assisted-living center!”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope,” Tundy said proudly. “Trashed the whole place.”
Mark frowned. “Did they take anything?”
“Not that we could see. I think someone’s intimidated by our investigate skills and is tryin’ to throw a wrench our way.”
Rose crowed, “We’re hot on the trail and the perps know it! I bet it’s the same guy who tried to kill Miz Susan.”
“But no one’s tried to harm Susan in over two weeks. I think she was probably right in saying it was just vandalism.”
“Psssht,” Tundy hushed him. “If that’s true, then why did someone break into our supplies and try to scare us off? By the way, if you see the sheriff, tell him we got evidence.”
Rose nodded. “We dusted the entire room and got over forty sets of prints!”
“Some were ours,” Clara said.
Mark frowned. “You dusted for prints? But that’s a crime scene—shouldn’t you leave that to the police?”
“We’re criminal investigators, too. We’ve got the tools.” Tundy’s smile faded. “The problem is, we need the sheriff to run these prints through that FBI fingerprint data bank.”
“Nick’s at Micki & Maud’s. Roxie just told me.”
“Why in the hell didn’t you tell us that before! Time’s a wastin’!” Tundy revved the engine and they were off, the tires spitting gravel.
It was a quarter after eight when Mark pulled up to Susan’s house.
He walked up the drive toward the stone path that led to the porch, realizing as he neared the garage that the bass boat was gone, along with Susan’s Jeep.
Suddenly, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Someone cut her Jeep brakes. What if something else has occurred?
A flicker of worry traveled down his spine. Surely she hadn’t gone fishing alone. Surely she—
WOOF! A huge bundle of fur hit him square in the chest and sent him flying. When he regained his bearings, he realized he was flat on his back in a petunia patch, a huge puppy sitting on his chest, tongue lolling to one side. “Good God,” Mark muttered. He pushed the puppy off, rubbing his chest as he sat up.
The dog looked at him. “You’re huge!” Mark told him.
Krypton wagged his tail so hard, his butt wagged with it.
“Looking for Susan?”
Mark looked up to see Mr. Collins standing on the porch wearing a ratty housecoat and apparently not much else. Mark scrambled to his feet and brushed the dirt from his jeans. “Good evening. Sorry to disturb you. I came to see Susan, but I don’t see her Jeep.”
Susan’s father rubbed his unshaven jaw, blinking blearily. “I was asleep, but your car door woke me.”
“Sorry about that.” Mark crossed the walk to the porch. “How are you doing, sir?” He held out his hand.
“Fine. Fine.” Squinting as if the streetlight hurt his eyes, Mr. Collins shook Mark’s hand and then shoved Krypton inside. “I don’t usually take a nap in the evening, but I was up late last night working on—something for Susan.”
Mark nodded, catching a strong whiff of soured beer. The first time he’d met Mr. Collins they’d been at a high school ball game and Susan had been a cheerleader. Mr. Collins had rarely come to the games, but he’d come to this one. He’d arrived with two or three other men, all reeking of beer and shouting hellos to Susan whenever the crowd wasn’t roaring at the game. He’d felt embarrassed for her, though she’d never shown anything other than pleasure that her father had come to see her cheer.
Mark wondered if she’d been embarrassed but too proud to show it. She had more than her fair share of pride, that was for sure. Just try and help her do something and she’d prickle up like a porcupine.
Mark leaned against a pillar on the porch while Susan’s father lowered himself into one of the two rocking chairs, very slowly as if a sudden move might make something break.
“Do you know where Susan is?”
Mr. Collins blinked sleepily and scratched his stomach. “Isn’t she here?”
Mark had to hold off his irritation. “No. And it’s late, after eight. Does she usually stay out this late when she goes going fishing?”
“No, not that I know of. Course, I was passed out, but—” He caught Mark’s expression and flushed. “I mean, I was asleep. I didn’t hear her come in, if she did.”
The flicker of worry flamed bigger. “Was she by herself?” Mark asked.
Mr. Collins waved a hand. “Lord, no. She never goes anywhere alone.”
Mark had to still his irritation. If this was my daughter, I’d be worried. “Who did she go with?”
Mr. Collins shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. But that girl has more men friends than you can shake a stick at. If she went somewhere, you can bet some man went with her.” As if aware how this could sound, Mr. Collins shot him a hard look. “Not that she’s loose, mind you.”
“I didn’t think you—”
“She’s not. She’s a good girl. One of the best. In fact, I don’t know what I’d do without her.” Mr. Collins’s bottom lip quivered, his watery eyes looked suddenly as if they were swimming in tears. “She’s a good girl and I—”
“She’s incredible,” Mark said hastily. Susan lives with this every day and never said a word. He didn’t know much about alcoholism, but it might explain why Susan was so determined to do things on her own, and why she’d never invited Mark to her house. He hadn’t thought of it before now. This was the way she’d lived … and perhaps the way she’d survived.
His heart ached as he looked at the scruffy, unshaven man before him. It explained a lot of things. “Where does Susan usually fish? Perhaps I should check on her.”
“Why would you do that?” The old man stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. “She’ll be fine. She always is.”
A deep anger stirred Mark’s worry. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just go and check on her.”
“On the lake? How? You got a boat?”
“No, but I can check the ramp where she parked her Jeep and go from there.” Hell, he’d swim the damn lake if he had to. “So if you’ll tell me where she usually goes, I’ll—”
A car pulled up and parked behind Mark’s Mustang. The door flew open and Lucy Carpenter emerged. She was dressed in an olive green polyester pantsuit that would have been trendy in the 1970s, and her bleached-blond hair was piled on her head like a huge cinnamon bun. She marched across the lawn as another person climbed hastily from the passenger seat and almost ran to keep up.
She stopped just short of the porch. “I’ve come for Susan!” the older woman said in ringing tones trembling with hate that would have sounded overacted on a Shakespearean stage.
Her companion caught up with her, a younger man who looked like a surfer dude with blond hair and green eyes. “Hi, I’m the new pastor, Scott Lawrence. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Susan’s father wiped his hand on his housecoat and then extended it to the preacher. “Nice to meet you.” He sent a wary glance at the blond woman. “Lucy, I don’t know what Susan’s done to rile you, but I’m sure she’d apologize if she was here.”
“Ha!” Lucy said, throwing her head back for emphasis. “You’re going to pretend she’s not here!”
“She’s not here,” Mr. Collins said. “She went fishing.”
“And we’re getting worried,” Mark added grimly.
Pastor Lawrence frowned. “Should we call nine-one-one?”
“Nah,” Mr. Collins said. “She’s just late, that’s all. No telling when she’ll be back.”
The pastor looked uncertain, so Mark said, “I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”
Pastor Laurence nodded and added in an apologetic tone, “Sorry we bothered you so late in the evening. We just had a church meeting and emotions sometimes run high. Miss Carpenter and I will just go.” He took Lucy’s elbow. “Let’s get back in the car and—”
She yanked her arm free and approached Mr. Collins. “Look here, Collins. I came to see your daughter and I’m not leaving until I do, so you’d better go and get her!”
Mark glanced at the new pastor, who gave an apologetic shrug. “She was determined to confront Susan. Perhaps it would be better if it happened here rather than in church Sunday.”
Lucy rounded on the pastor. “I thought you came here to support me!”
“I came to keep you from doing something you’d regret.”
Disdain oozed from her voice. “Had Pastor MacMillan come with me, he wouldn’t have lamely stood by and let that drunk tell us what’s what!”
Mr. Collins’s face crumpled as if someone had slapped him. “I’m no drunk!”
“Ha! Everyone knows you are. I used to feel sorry for Susan, having to deal with your lazy, no-good ass, but no more. She’s gone too far, and I’m paying the price with—”
Scott put a hand on the secretary’s arm. “Mrs. Carpenter, you can’t hold the newspaper responsible for rumors when all they did was write an article that raised some fairly simple questions about our Bake-Off.”
Lucy’s face turned red under her makeup. “Ever since they started asking questions, people have been whispering and suggesting ugly things about Pastor MacMillan!” Her small eyes narrowed. “It’s been hell and I won’t put up with it any longer. I want a retraction—or else.”
“Or else what?” Mark asked.
“Or … or … or …” Lucy stamped a heel. “I demand a cancellation of my subscription and a total refund.”
“I’m the financial officer for the paper and I’ll be happy to take care of that tomorrow. Right now, I need to find Susan. She went out in her fishing boat and hasn’t come back.”
Scott looked concerned again. “Do you think something’s happened?”
“I don’t know, but I am on my way to find out.”
“I should go with you.”
“Thanks, but I think you’ve got other things to do right now. If I need help, I’ll call the sheriff.”
Scott nodded and turned back to Lucy. “We’d better go.”
“I am not le—”
“Yes, you are,” Scott said in a steady voice. “We’re going back to the church office to discuss this. I’m sure there’s something we can do to smooth things over.”
Lucy obviously wanted to argue, but the fact that Susan wasn’t available left her with no recourse. It took the pastor another minute or two, but he eventually got the furious church secretary back in the car and drove away.
“What a mess,” Mark muttered. Susan had certainly stirred things up. He’d never again doubt the power of the press.
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“You’re wasting your time looking for Susan,” Mr. Collins said, giving a mighty yawn. “She’s just having a good time fishing while—” His gaze flicked to the street beyond, and he smiled. “Yep, there she is now.”
Chapter 16
Mark turned as a car door slammed. Susan, drenched head to foot, was saying good-bye to someone as she collected fishing gear and life vests from the back of the car.
Leaving Mr. Collins behind, Mark headed out to help, but she’d finished and was waving off her ride before he reached her.
She didn’t look pleased to see him, but he was happy to see her—and not just because her wet T-shirt was hugging her curves in a very titillating way. She could have been hurt or drowned. His heart sang a joyous song that he refused to examine. “What happened?”
“Someone drilled a hole in my boat.”
His happiness stuttered to a halt. “What?”
“Yeah, I felt the same way,” she said sourly. “That bass boat’s a cherry. Or was, until someone drilled through the hull.” She scowled, her hair plastered back from her face, her pale skin gleaming under the streetlight. “I’ll have to get some fiberglass and patch the damn thing, and then there’s the gel coat to worry about and—”
“I don’t give a damn about your boat.”
She looked startled. “That thing is a Gambler, one of the best ones they make! I saved for three years to buy it and now—” She went on, but he couldn’t listen.
He was just so glad she was standing there, able to storm at him, her long red hair plastered to her neck and shoulders, her wet eyelashes spiked around her blue, blue eyes. He wanted to grab her up and hold her, to bury his face in her neck and tell her how happy he was to just see her.
But her father stood watching from the porch. “Where’s your boat?”
“Swamped, but safely tied up at the marina.” She walked toward the house and pulled her wet hair to one side. She wrung it out on the lawn, great fat drops trickling to the grass.
There was a huge bang as, from the inside of the house, something large thudded against the screen door.
Mr. Collins shook his head. “Your dog is going to break that door.”
“Just let him out,” Susan said.
Lois Lane Tells All Page 17
