Death of the Couch Potato's Wife: Cozy Christian Mysteries (Women Sleuth, Female Detective Suspense)

by Barritt, Christy

  After I’d found the bugging device, I’d dropped it down the garbage disposal, my stomach tight with anxiety as I’d listened to the plastic crack and shred as my sink digested it. At that point, I’d given up any thoughts of cooking dinner and come here to the café.

  It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like Kent would make it home in time to eat together. No doubt this would be another long day at the pharmacy, as well as another long day of me feeling disconnected and utterly alone, not to exaggerate or anything. I mean, what kind of husband didn’t come home when something on his property was ablaze? I knew Kent thought I was self- sufficient, but really? Really?

  Did he not know that someone had bugged our home? That someone had sent me a threatening note? Okay. I guess he didn’t know. But still—shouldn’t he be able to read my mind?

  I savored each bite of my meal as I watched the TV perched high in the corner. Dr. Phil giving marriage advice. Maybe I’d learn something.

  I never thought I’d be one to need marriage advice. Never. Kent and I both came from stable homes. We had good educations and had dated a respectable two years before marrying. What did we have to worry about? Obviously, I should have listened more in our premarriage counseling courses. Certainly you weren’t supposed to feel so disconnected in a good marriage.

  I tuned Dr. Phil out. Thinking about my marriage was getting me nowhere except deeper into my tense ball of stress.

  Beside me, Emma Jean chatted—rather loudly, I might add—with the owner of Pronto, Barbara Ann, about the way the town used to be. Two golfers sat on the other side of me, and they might as well have been speaking a different language. Two men three seats over talked about the upcoming Ginseng Festival here in Boring.

  My ears perked when someone in a booth behind me mentioned Candace. I took a sip of my soda and leaned back, trying to eavesdrop. Yes, my mother taught me manners. I just chose to forget them for the time being.

  A female voice said, “Everyone knows that Jerry’s a no- good cheater.”

  “But that doesn’t make him a killer.”

  “Who do you think did it, then?”

  “Maybe it was—”

  “Fancy seeing you here, chickaroonie!”

  I jumped and splashed soda all over my blouse. I gasped and grabbed a napkin as the icy liquid chilled my skin. “Babe!”

  “Thought you saw me come in. Sorry ’bout that.” She slid onto the seat across from me and ordered some hot chocolate. “Cold day out there.”

  “Even colder now,” I muttered, still wiping at my wet shirt. She didn’t seem to hear me or notice the spill. Maybe it was the sunglasses she was wearing—stylishly oversized and so dark I’m surprised she recognized me.

  “Heard about your shed. Freaky.”

  “Freaky,” I repeated. And it was. How much could I tell Babe? Could I tell her about the threats? The phone call? The letter? No, I decided. The fewer people who knew, the better.

  Babe reapplied her pink lipstick under the guidance of the mirror on her powder compress. “Shouldn’t you be at home cooking for Kent?”

  I scowled, and threw my napkin on the counter. “He’s working late.”

  She lowered the mirror and peered at me. “Doing that a lot lately, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Could be worse. He could be lazy like Jerry.”

  I nodded. “Point taken.” I ignored the chilly liquid splattered across the front of my shirt and turned toward my friend. “Babe, I just met my new neighbors—”

  “Are they nice? Italian, I hear. I bet she makes a mean meatball.”

  “Yes, but that’s beside the point. The woman—Gia is her name—she said that she saw Jerry after she arrived in Boring. She moved here four or five days ago—when Jerry was supposed to be out of town.”

  “Now that’s juicy news.”

  “Should I go to the police with it?”

  “Probably. They’ll figure things out. I hope.”

  I raised an eyebrow. I hope. My thoughts exactly. Just how reliable were the police here in Boring, Indiana? I’d bet they spent more time playing Halo than they did solving real crimes. They had the bellies to prove it.

  Babe eyed my meal.

  “I always took you as more of a salad type of girl,” Babe said.

  “I’m splurging.” So were my hips, but no need to mention that.

  I glanced over my shoulder quickly, trying to get a glimpse of who had been mentioning Jerry a moment ago. Of course, who in town hadn’t been mentioning Jerry lately? I spotted a lady from church and her sister sipping milkshakes. I couldn’t remember their names, but they seemed nice enough. Their voices were low now, and I couldn’t make out a thing they said.

  “Everything okay?” Babe snitched one of my fries.

  I shrugged. “I suppose. After I eat this heart attack on a plate, I guess I’ll make my way over to the police station. I’ll see what they say about Jerry. Maybe they have an update.”

  “Take that, scum bag!”

  Okay, so it wasn’t the combat video game Halo. It was video game Mortal Combat. But there Chief Romeo and Officer Maloney were, sitting in a back office at the police station with controllers in their hands. They didn’t even hear me come in.

  I cleared my throat and set my purse on the front desk with a loud thump. Both men jumped, dropping their remotes, and tripped over themselves to get to the front. Officer Maloney’s face flushed. I had to give him credit for at least looking embarrassed. I supposed if they couldn’t catch the real bad guys, maybe it made them feel better to catch fake, video game ones.

  “Well, hello Mrs. Berry. What brings you in?” Romeo tucked his shirt into his pants as he approached me at the desk. Beyond him I could see an empty jail cell—a jail cell where a killer should be right now. Candace may not have been well liked, but she deserved justice. Everyone did.

  I glanced at the TV screen as it flicked to black. “How’s the investigation going? I’m surprised you’re not still at my house after the shed exploded.”

  Chief Romeo laughed, but it sounded fake, especially when his chuckles died in a fit of coughing. “Now, aren’t you a concerned citizen? Despite what people around here say about you city slickers, you really do care, don’t you?” He cleared his throat again. “I’ve done everything I can pertaining to your shed. Now it’s the fire chief’s job.”

  I stared at him, pondering my reaction. Finally, I nodded and said, “So, about the investigation into Candace’s death?”

  His smile disappeared. “We’re following up on every lead. Have some strong suspects.”

  I glanced at the blank TV screen. “I can see.”

  He finished tucking his shirt in, and I noticed sweat beads appear on his forehead. “What can I help you with?”

  I shared my discovery. Romeo nodded and jotted down notes on his desk calendar. The cops in Chicago would have never stood for this. When I’d been attacked, it had taken them less than 24 hours to track down the man who’d held a knife to my throat in the alleyway beside my apartment building.

  Don’t get me wrong—I don’t think all small-town police departments are inept. Just this one. I’d do a better job than they did. And I just might end up proving that fact.

  “We’ll look into it, ma’am.”

  I stared at Romeo for a moment, trying to find some measure of confidence. Nothing. I couldn’t even fake a look of trust. Should I tell him about the phone call? The threatening note? No, I decided. It wouldn’t do any good.

  I nodded. “I’ll be going then.”

  I climbed back into my 4Runner and locked the doors—a killer was on the loose, after all. It could be anyone in this sleepy little town. I soaked in Boring in all of its glory as I drove back home. The town had its charm, that’s for sure. Main Street was lit with lanterns and the sidewalks were cobblestone. Little benches were placed every so often to add to the ambiance. Just past downtown was the General Store, and across the street from that the high school, where we had our Homeowners’
Association meetings. Old houses, original to the town, scattered behind those buildings on neat little streets.

  Beyond those houses were fields of ginseng. I’m not sure how Boring ended up being a major producer of ginseng, but it had. Ironically, ginseng helped people stay awake. How appropriate.

  Apparently, they had a big festival every year where they served everything from ginseng tea to ginseng ice cream. Now that I thought about it, that festival should be coming up soon. I’d heard the buzz about it going around town, and there had even been a couple of articles in the paper.

  The next turn was into our neighborhood—the worst thing that could happen to Boring, according to many. Suburbia had come to Boring, and Boring didn’t particularly welcome the new faces. But Hillary’s husband, a developer, had purchased the land and built the homes about a decade ago. Slowly, they were filling up. Many people from Indianapolis moved down here to get away from the crime of the city.

  A few of the town’s “originals” had eventually moved into the neighborhood. Those houses were bigger and closer to the golf course, which had also gone up with the neighborhood. No one complained about that.

  As I drove into my cul-de-sac, I noticed everything seemed especially dark. I pulled into the driveway and saw that my house had no lights on.

  I glanced at my watch. Eight o’clock. What was Kent doing at this hour that required the whole house to be black? Had he gone to sleep already? His car was in the driveway, so he was home.

  A terrible thought entered my mind. What if the killer had knocked Kent off also? What if some of those sleeping pills had gotten onto his food? I should have warned him to watch what he ate! I should have monitored his sack lunches better, maybe even insisted that he grab a bite at the pharmacy.

  I jumped out of my car and ran to my front door. My fingers fumbled until finally the key pushed into the lock. I twisted and the door opened.

  My heart beat in my throat as I stepped inside. Thankfully, I didn’t hear a TV in the background.

  “Kent? Kent? Are you home?”

  I flicked the lights in the foyer. My house remained black. What was going on?

  I slowly crept forward. My hand stretched in front of me, feeling for any obstacles. Hand me a lantern, and I could make the cover of an old Nancy Drew novel. I felt like I was in a scene right out of one of her old books. Only my house wasn’t nearly creepy enough.

  Kent’s car was in the driveway, so I knew he’d been here. Maybe he’d simply gone to visit one of the neighbors. Still, something felt wrong.

  Please, Lord, let Kent be okay.

  I pictured Candace, and nausea churned in my gut. I might’ve been upset with my husband, but I wasn’t ready to let him go yet. This couldn’t be the end.

  “Kent?” I called again, my voice shaky this time.

  I rounded the corner into the living room, my hand brushing the wall to keep me steady. I could only make out the outline of my furniture—the couch, the TV, and a couple of end tables. No Kent. Where could he be? I’d check the bedrooms before calling the police.

  I turned around to go upstairs when I collided with someone. A killer?

  I screamed and my hands flew into the air, along with my leftovers.

  Kent pulled the headphones from his ear. “Laura? What’s the matter with you? Where have you been?”

  “Kent!” I threw myself into his arms, drinking in the scent of his aftershave. I could still hear the strands from a Casting Crowns’ song drifting from his MP3 player and through his earphones. “You’re okay. You’re okay. I was so worried.”

  He patted my back as if I were a small, naive child. “Of course I’m okay. What did you think? I ate poisoned pork rinds?” I backed out of his embrace and scowled. He had no idea. My feelings must have shown through to my face because his goofy grin disappeared and he brushed my cheek with his fingers.

  “Oh Laura, I’m sorry.” He pulled me into his chest. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sure you’re still going through post traumatic stress and—”

  I backed out of his arms. “Post traumatic stress? Is that what you call it? How about calling it what it is? I saw my friend dead.” My voice grew louder with each word and my hands pounded each other to emphasize my point.

  His eyes softened. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Laura. Can we start over?”

  I hung my head for a moment. I had to get a grip. What was wrong with me? Flying off the handle wasn’t like me. “Yes, of course we can.”

  He took my elbow. “Let’s go sit down. I’ll fix you a cup of tea, and we can talk.”

  I plopped on the couch while he wandered into the kitchen. I heard the clanging of the metal teapot as Kent set it on the burner. I heard the clanking of my teacups as he pulled one from the cabinet. While he waited for the water to boil, he came and sat beside me.

  I glanced over at him. “Why are the lights off?”

  “I guess our entire cul-de-sac is without power. I have no idea why.”

  Fortunately we had a gas stove and a match.

  “Where have you been?” Kent pushed his glasses up on his nose. The edge of my lip started to curl. I used to love it when he did that.

  “I grabbed a bite to eat. I didn’t know when you’d be home.”

  “I know. I’m so sorry about that. I had too many prescriptions to fill. When people need medicine, they can’t wait. Their health depends on my timeliness. Getting the business off the ground is a lot of work.”

  “But you’re glad you did it, right?” Please don’t say we’ve gone through all of these life changes for no good reason.

  He grinned. “Absolutely.”

  The teapot screamed and Kent retreated into the kitchen. A moment later, he reappeared with two steaming drinks. He set them on the coffee table.

  “Did you have dinner yet?” I asked, guilt suddenly pounding at my temples.

  “No, I just got home.”

  I reached down to the floor and grabbed the measly doggie bag I’d brought home. It had landed by the couch when Kent surprised me. I offered my husband a half-frown. “I have leftovers.”

  “That’s generous of you, but no thanks.” I saw the twinkle in his eyes. “I’ll make a sandwich. But first, tell me about the shed. When you said it ‘exploded,’ you really meant it, didn’t you? I had no idea it was that bad.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, they said something about the propane tanks. I’m still not sure how everything happened.”

  “The important thing is that you’re safe. There have been some strange things happening around here lately. I guess we all need to keep our eyes open.”

  That sounded like Kent. My Kent.

  I would show him how much I supported him, I decided.

  Tomorrow, I would buy a couch for his man cave. I would surprise him with a place where he could relax after a hard day’s work. He wanted a space of his own, so a space of his own was exactly what I’d give him.

  But before I made too many plans to transform our garage into a space that would make ESPN proud, I had to partake in my civic duties.

  Tonight was my first night of Neighborhood Watch patrol.

  “I’m driving,” I insisted to Babe. The Neighborhood Watch patch on my new shirt irritated my skin underneath. Harry had insisted we had to wear them when on duty. I couldn’t be sure, but I’d bet Harry was sitting at his window, counting the number of times he saw us drive by just to make sure we did a good job.

  He was having trouble releasing his grip as sole citizen patrolman for the neighborhood.

  As Babe and I circled the neighborhood, I listened to Babe tell her stories about a Backstreet Boy concert she went to years ago. She even sang a few songs for me, trying to demonstrate how good they sounded. Nothing like her, in other words.

  I pulled into our cul-de-sac for the fifth time. Being a part of Neighborhood Watch patrol wasn’t nearly as exciting as I’d envisioned. Everyone in the neighborhood appeared to be asleep, except Harry, who at thirty minutes past midnight h
ad found every excuse to be outside, from cleaning his car to searching for a key he dropped on the front lawn.

  Finally, I pulled up the car to the curb and rolled down my window. A chilly wind swept inside, instantly cancelling out any heat blowing through the vents. Harry knelt on the ground beside his Seville. “How’s it going, Harry? Did you ever find that key?”

  He stood and approached the car. He panted and, even in the dark, I could see the dirt patches on his clothing.

  “I’ve been looking. Wish the lights would come back on.”

  “What happened? The whole neighborhood is out.”

  “Some idiot must have been doing something stupid.” He shrugged. “And now I can’t find my house key.”

  I pointed behind him. “But your front door is open.”

  “There’s a killer out there. I can’t have him finding my key.”

  I nodded. “Good point.” Babe nudged me, a signal she wanted to go. “Good luck, Harry. Maybe we’ll see you later.”

  “Seen anything going on tonight?” he asked.

  “Absolutely nothing. But if something happens, we’ll be sure to report it to you.”

  We pulled away and continued to cover our “beat.”

  “Are you always such a kiss-up, chickaroonie?”

  I gave Babe a sharp glance. “I’m not a kiss-up, and I resent that comment.”

  “Resent or resemble?”

  Light suddenly appeared in our car—blue and red lights, to be exact. I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a police cruiser behind us. I pulled over and rolled down my window as Chief Romeo approached, compulsively tucking his shirt in, as always. He leaned on my window, shaking his head when he spotted Babe and me.