Hillary looked speechless. The gavel dangled in her hands, and her bottom lip dropped slightly.
An idea struck. Before I lost courage, I stood up and rubbed my hands on my slacks. “I have an idea, everyone.”
Silence. All eyes zeroed in on me.
I swallowed and glanced quickly at Kent, who stared at me with wide, questioning eyes. I turned my gaze back to the crowd around me. “Why don’t we add more people to our Neighborhood Watch program? Harry does a great job, but it’s really too much work for just one person. We need to have a constant patrol, someone who can be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary.”
Noise erupted.
“Great idea.”
“Let’s do it.”
“It’s the perfect solution.”
I could tell by looking at Harry that I’d just stepped on his toes. The Neighborhood Watch was his territory. I waited for his reaction. With the entire association around me, he couldn’t throw much of a temper tantrum.
He nodded slowly, and his gaze never left me. It was as if he tried to send me a silent message, and I got it loud and clear: He did not appreciate my suggestion.
Finally, he said, “I guess it couldn’t hurt to expand the program—at least until this killer is behind bars. The problem is, who’s going to help? Everyone here has families, or they work full-time.”
I slowly brought my hand up. “I will.”
I felt Kent’s sharp gaze on me.
“I mean, I’m not working right now. It makes sense that I should help.”
“You have no experience with something like this!” Kent whispered. “It could be dangerous being out there by yourself.”
Babe stood. “I’ll help her. We can be partners.” She grinned widely at me.
I couldn’t help but smile back, even though the thought of working with Babe was enough to make my blood pressure skyrocket. Babe was likely to find trouble and jump into the middle of it instead of calmly calling the authorities.
Besides, wasn’t she a suspect? I needed to talk to her later about her questioning down at police headquarters.
Harry shook his head. “Two women doing Neighborhood Watch? I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Aren’t there any men who can volunteer?” He looked back to the crowd.
“A woman can do this job just as well as a man!” Hillary cried. “I resent that comment, Harry.”
He held up his hands in protest. “All right, all right. I guess since there’d be two of you, I’d feel better about it.” Harry stared at us, his brows furrowed in thought. “I’ll have to train you. This isn’t a position for the weak.”
Babe held up those three fingers again. “Weak isn’t in my vocabulary.”
Everyone looked at me.
“And I’m a city slicker. You know how we are.”
Everyone nodded, as if that response satisfied them.
Hillary slammed her gavel onto her podium. “It’s settled then. Laura and Babe will join our Neighborhood Watch. We’ll have someone on duty at all times. This neighborhood will be safe!”
“Neighborhood Watch, huh?” Kent ran the razor down his cheek, plowing a puff of shaving cream, after we returned home from the meeting. He couldn’t stand to go to bed with prickles on his face. It was one of his little quirks. “You never fail to surprise me. I never thought you’d be interested in something like that.”
I sat in bed and continued to rub lotion over my hands. “I just want to do my part to contribute to the community. I think it will go a long way as far as establishing trust. Don’t you?”
His eyebrows went up as he considered it. He moved the razor under his nose. “You’re probably right. I just worry about you. There is a killer out there. And someone did leave pork rinds on our porch, not to mention that creepy DVD.”
I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. In reality, this was the perfect excuse to get involved in this case. I had to find out who was threatening my husband and me before we both ended up six feet under.
“I’ll just be doing patrol. I have no intention of tracking down any killers or taking the law into my own hands. I’m not Harry.” My throat burned as the words left my lips. I didn’t lie to Kent. Until today. But I couldn’t tell him about the note. What if—just what if—whoever wrote that note was not only videotaping me, but also monitoring my conversations? I felt like a loon even thinking the thought. But right now I knew that the killer was three things: psycho, stupid, and technologically-savvy.
“It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s Babe. The woman has no fear.”
I couldn’t argue. Apparently the police had questioned her for three hours. Did she fret? Of course not. She enjoyed telling everyone, detail by detail, how the police had practically tortured her to get information. It had been worse than the interrogation methods at Guantanamo Bay, only they didn’t use water torture. Instead, they used the good cop/bad cop routine.
Apparently, Babe’s fingerprints had been found on the bag of pork rinds. She claimed she contemplated buying them at the General Store last week, then proceeded to telling an agonizingly long story about how she put them in her shopping cart, then put them back on the shelf, and repeated the process numerous times before deciding on Funyuns instead. Sadly, I believed her.
Kent climbed in bed beside me and turned on the TV. The theme song from CSI blared into the room. Using the remote, he set the timer for an hour before placing the controls back onto the nightstand. He kissed my forehead. “Goodnight, honey.”
I bit back a frown. “Good night.”
Next thing, we’d have Lucy and Ricky Ricardo beds.
Our marriage was not going according to the script I’d envisioned. I’d dreamed of being Hart to Hart . Instead, we were turning into that couple from the sitcom Mad About You —you know, the one about the crazy-in-love couple who almost gets divorced at the end of the series?
My mom had always warned me that my storybook fantasies would only disappoint me. I’d grown up watching too many Disney movies and reading too many fairytales. Marriage wasn’t like that.
My self-talk did nothing to lift to my spirits.
I had to think about something else. Candace seemed a good option.
I turned over in bed, trying to get comfortable. What had happened to my friend? Who could have killed her? Someone I knew? I couldn’t stop considering the possibilities. It could have been anyone: one of my neighbors, someone I went to church with, a respected member of the community. The possibilities were endless.
And what did dear, sweet Kent know about it?
There my thoughts went back to Kent. We used to not have any secrets. Maybe that was our problem now—we both had too many secrets, too many separate interests. Would one of those secrets end up killing us?
I sighed, and tuned out the sound of the television.
Kent was right. This whole investigation was none of my business.
Of course it was my business. Candace was my friend. I was nothing if not loyal.
That was the conclusion I’d come to by the next morning. I’d tried to ignore my obsession with my neighbor’s murder. Really. But I had a new reason to wake up each morning now in suburbia: murder.
As morbid as that sounded, I’d accept that reality in my life. It beat the other alternatives—that I was bored to death or clinically depressed.
That morning, for example, I had cleaned the floors, dusted the entire house, and reorganized the bathroom closet—an obvious sign of desperation. I moved one step beyond desperation and into insanity when the highlight of my hour was walking around the house while balancing five folded towels on my head. Being a housewife just wasn’t my gig.
But solving a murder and saving my marriage just might be. I was walking to my home office to retrieve a pen and paper—to write out a list of suspects—when I heard a loud thud in the backyard.
I froze in the hallway, and placed my hand on the wall to brace myself. Had I been hearing things? What was that sound? Someone tryi
ng to break into my house? Someone planting evidence to make Kent look guilty? Or maybe someone trying to hide bugs so they could hear if I ratted them out about the note?
I waited, holding my breath, because apparently my breathing’s so deafening I might miss a loud—
Bang!
I threw myself into the wall. My heart raced.
The sound definitely came from my backyard. It wasn’t crisp enough to be a gun, or concise enough to be a hammer.
Maybe someone was trying to break into my house to put some—bam!—on my food. Maybe that unlocked door the other day wasn’t a coincidence in the least. After all, I was obsessive about locking all my doors and windows. I’d lived in downtown
Chicago, for goodness sakes!
Okay, I had to think with a clear head. I needed to call the police. I needed to protect myself from whatever evil lurked outside my doors.
Where was the phone? I’d been carrying around the cordless earlier when my mother had called from Cincinnati. Of course I hadn’t left it on the charger. That would make my life too easy.
I mentally retraced my steps. I thought I’d left it in my bedroom.
I slowly took a step, still clinging to the wall. Once I got to the doorway, I dropped to my knees, just in case anyone could see me through the window. I didn’t want to be an easy target.
Two bangs sounded from outside. My heart raced.
I scrambled toward the bed and grabbed the phone. My fingers paused on the buttons.
Laura, think clearly. It could be neighbors in their back yard. Maybe it just sounds like your backyard.
Get a grip!
I needed to peek outside and make sure something suspicious was going on before I called the police. The noise sounded close. My gut told me so, and I had to trust my instincts.
I took a deep breath and crawled out of my bedroom, slid down the stairs, and crept into the living room, where the windows faced the backyard. Usually I enjoyed looking out those windows onto the deck. Behind the deck and the semi- green grass sparkled the retention pond—or lake, as others in the neighborhood liked to call it. A fountain spouted in the center, and ducks dotted the blue water. I caught glimpses of the golf course beyond the lake.
Today, the lake didn’t matter, nor did my deck or the oh-so- popular golf course.
I only cared about the sound. Like a kid at a fun house who feared someone jumping out from behind a corner, I approached the window. I darted to the wall, pressing my back against it. Great, I’d turned from a kid at a funhouse into a James Bond wannabe.
I decided on the count of three, I’d move the curtain and glance outside. The action would be swift and stealth-like, so that if anyone outside were watching, he wouldn’t even notice it. After all, I was a part of Neighborhood Watch. I could handle this.
My hands trembled as I reached for the drapes. I recited jargon I’d learned in the stress management classes I’d had to take when I worked for the PR firm. Focus your breathing. Visualize your goal. Maximize the moment.
The recitations weren’t effective with my PR work, nor were they much use in life-threatening situations.
I moved the drape an inch and angled myself to take a peek. Sunlight streamed through, and I saw the edge of my new lawn furniture. The sun reflected on the lake.
Another bang ricocheted through my backyard.
The noise sounded close. My gut told me so, and, I had to trust my instincts.
Just then, I heard someone turn the knob at the back door.
Chapter 6
“Laura, I can’t get into your shed!” Someone pounded at my backdoor hard enough to make my whole house shake. “Laura, I know you’re there. I haven’t seen you leave your house today.”
Babe? Babe was making all of that noise? I was going to kill her.
Maybe “kill” wasn’t the best word choice when I considered the events of the past few days. I let my head fall back against the wall and laughed halfheartedly—it was either laugh or scream. Babe. Of course.
“Laura? It’s cold out here. Are you trying to give an old woman pneumonia?”
“Coming!” I hurried across the room to the French doors off of the kitchen, and threw them open. “Babe, what are you doing? You scared me to death.”
“I just need to trim my bushes, and I can’t find my hedgers. I was hoping to borrow yours, but I can’t get your shed open.”
“That’s because we put a lock on it.”
“Now why would you go and do that? How am I supposed to get in now?”
Exactly.
“I’ll get the hedgers for you, Babe. All you have to do is ask.”
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Well, you scared me. I nearly called the police. There’s a killer out there, Babe!”
“Flash!” Her fingers sprouted in the air and she looked at me with a “duh” expression.
I had no idea what she was trying to convey. “What?” I could hear the exasperation in my voice.
“You know, as in news flash.”
I shook my head, still clueless.
“Okay, how about this one? ‘Hello, Captain Obvious.’”
I put my hand on my hip. “I see. You’re insulting me.”
“Flash!” She grinned, proud of herself.
I narrowed my eyes, but before I could retort, Babe’s eyes lit up.
“Hey, speaking of killers. Have you heard anything about Candace’s funeral?”
Now that she mentioned it, I sure hadn’t. And though I didn’t want to let the subject of Babe insulting my intelligence to drop quite yet, I decided maybe it was best. Otherwise, I might be arrested for assaulting someone.
“No. I wonder who’s planning it.” Jerry and Candace didn’t have any children. “Her parents?”
Babe shook her head. “They’re both deceased.”
“Brothers or sisters?”
“She’s an only child.”
I crossed my arms. “Well, the woman’s got to have a funeral. Who would plan one in a case like this?”
“Jerry, I suppose.”
“But he’s missing. And maybe a killer.”
“Now you’re thinking like a member of the Neighborhood Watch, chickaroonie.” Babe knuckled me on the chin. “I’m so proud.”
“Maybe we should go to The Couch King. Maybe someone there knows something. I mean, it’s been five days since we found her body. The woman needs a funeral!” I’d been thinking about visiting the store all day. This would be the perfect excuse. Not to get a couch, of course. To find out information.
“Just let me get my purse!”
Babe reappeared five minutes later. We climbed into my SUV and started down the road to The Couch King. I’d never been in the store myself, but I’d seen it enough times on television. I couldn’t be sure, but I think Candace was offended that Kent and I insisted on shopping for furniture up in Indy. I didn’t like to mix business with pleasure. It always ended up a disaster.
I pulled into a parking space outside the wooden building, which sat alone on a stretch of country road. Why Jerry had chosen this location for his business remained a mystery to me. The only people who ever passed this way were farmers or people traveling the back roads to Ohio. I supposed they needed furniture too, but still, hadn’t Jerry ever heard the saying, “Location, location, location”?
“They should’ve used part of that advertising budget to fix up the place, huh?” Babe glanced back and forth from the building to me.
I stared at The Couch King. The store was nothing fancy, just an old storefront with big glass windows all along the front and a rugged wooden overhang that reminded me of the Old West. A cement slab served as the welcome mat, and I noticed the trim work on the building needed a fresh coat of paint. The mocha brown was peeling.
“You can say that again,” I agreed.
Babe examined her bubble-gum pink fingernails. “You know rumors were flying that this business was about to go bust.”
“Really?”
/> “Really. I mean, everyone knows that Jerry wasn’t much of a businessman.”
Had Jerry killed Candace in hopes of collecting a life insurance policy? It happened all the time in movies. But was Jerry really that smart? I’d have to think about it before suggesting the theory to Babe, who was likely to throw some teenage slang on me again if she didn’t agree.
We hopped out and approached the front door. A little bell chimed as we walked inside. A woman with big hair and small clothes greeted us with a lipstick-on-the-teeth smile.
“Welcome to the Couch King. I’m Yvonne. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”
I gripped my purse. I hadn’t thought this far ahead. “I, uh, I’m looking for a—”
“I’m interested in a new couch.” Babe plopped onto a puffy leather sofa and crossed her legs. “Maybe something formal.”
“We’ve got plenty of those! Let me show you our selection. Any particular color?”
“What color do you think, Laura? You’ve got great taste.” Babe stared at me with wide eyes.
Color? What color? I fixated on the lipstick on the sales woman’s teeth. “Coral.”
“Follow me.” She curved her finger and wiggled it, instructing me to hurry along.
Couches were situated every which way, in no particular order. There wasn’t even a distinct walkway. I dodged sofas— big ones, small ones, leather ones, floral ones. The floor inside matched the floor outside: cement. I could really give them a few marketing tips.
“I’m going to use the bathroom,” Babe announced. “Laura will tell you what I want.”
Babe slipped away toward the back and I stared at her retreating figure, trying to keep my mouth closed. How did Babe always manage to leave at the most convenient times— convenient for her, that is, and totally inconvenient for me?
“You new in town?” Yvonne asked, glancing back over her shoulder.
I double-timed a few steps to catch up with her. “As a matter of fact, yes, I am.”
“It’s a great place. I just love Boring. I don’t actually live in town. I live up in Indy. Small towns are just a little too close-knit for me, if you know what I mean. But I love to visit them!”
Death of the Couch Potato's Wife: Cozy Christian Mysteries (Women Sleuth, Female Detective Suspense) Page 4
