by Nene Adams
Mere curiosity had driven her before, but now that she’d been threatened, she was absolutely determined to uncover the truth.
She blew her nose, started the car and pointed it toward home.
Chapter Sixteen
Loud drums and guitars woke Mackenzie from an afternoon nap. She sat up on the sofa, scowling at her cell phone. Why had she thought “Smells Like Teen Spirit” would be an appropriate or even desirable ring tone?
She answered the call while wiping sleep from her eyes. “Cross speaking.”
“Mac, it’s Ronnie,” Veronica said hesitantly.
Mackenzie’s spine stiffened. “Hey Ronnie,” she said. “How are you doing?”
“Not so good.”
“What’s wrong?”
“My best friend’s angry with me and I’m an idiot.”
“Look, honey, you just don’t know Debbie Lou Erskine like I do.”
“I didn’t know you two used to date,” Veronica suddenly blurted, “and I’m very sorry if I hurt your feelings and I won’t be seeing her anymore—”
“Slow down, take a breath before you keel over,” Mackenzie said, getting worried.
“Fine, but I want to talk to you about Deborah.”
“Who?”
“Deborah Louise. Debbie Lou. Anyway, please don’t hang up.”
“I won’t.” Mackenzie ran a hand through her hair, trying to work out the snarls left by her nap. Did she want to have this conversation? Not really.
However, she’d cooled down since yesterday and had time to consider the situation more rationally. She and Veronica were friends, period. If Veronica was having a sexual identity crisis or a post-Debbie Lou crisis, she ought to be supportive.
The tightness in her neck eased. She could do this. She could give Veronica a shoulder to cry on, lend an ear and pass the tissues. What else were friends for?
Besides, Debbie Lou was horrible enough to turn a confirmed lesbian straight. God knew what she’d done to poor confused Veronica, who wasn’t even bisexual. Hallmark needed to make a “sorry your big gay experiment didn’t work out” card.
“Did Debbie Lou want you to do…you know…something kinky?” she asked, recalling a few moments in the bedroom when she and Debbie Lou hadn’t seen eye to eye. Or other body parts to other body parts for that matter. “She’s not exactly vanilla, if you know what I mean. More like a Neapolitan ice cream sundae with extra crazy sauce on the side.”
Veronica spluttered incoherently, finally producing a negative wheeze.
Indignation filled Mackenzie when the obvious answer surfaced. “She broke up with you, didn’t she? Hell, I knew she was bad news the minute I saw her skulking around. If she broke your heart, Ronnie, I swear I’ll go to her house right now and snatch her baldheaded!”
Veronica made a sound like a choked off laugh. “Really, it’s okay,” she said at last and paused. “Are we okay, Mac?”
“Yes, we are.”
“You aren’t upset?”
“At you, no. As for Debbie Lou, if she was on fire, I wouldn’t p—”
“I get the picture,” Veronica interrupted hastily. Another pause. “Can I come over?”
Mackenzie checked the time on her wristwatch and mulled over the contents of her refrigerator. She still hadn’t had time to go to the grocery store. Her empty stomach grumbled. The pancakes at breakfast, while appreciated, hadn’t lasted long, and she’d skipped lunch.
“I could make us dinner if you don’t mind scrambled eggs,” she said.
“I could swing by the Chinese place,” Veronica offered.
“Golden Buddha? I’m not a fan of their cook. Honestly, I’d rather make a run to the store and whip up something, if you don’t mind.”
“That sounds nice, Mac. I get off work in an hour. I’ll come over then. ’Bye.”
When the call abruptly disconnected, Mackenzie pulled the cell phone away from her ear. She considered the looming conversation with a sinking heart and thought about running away or feigning an infectious disease, but Veronica would track her down or break in the door. Better to steel herself for an evening of being Veronica’s completely asexual BFF with motives of shining purity. She should be prepared for tears, back patting, sympathizing, possible ranting, and if she was very good, a little platonic hand-holding.
She sighed, depressed by the prospect, and left the apartment.
Twenty-three minutes later in the Little Giant grocery store, listening with half an ear to the classic country tunes piped over the intercom, Mackenzie ran into her cousin James Maynard, the police detective, striding purposefully into the same aisle with a shopping basket over his arm. According to the items in the basket, he appeared to be living on a diet of beer, corn chips and canned chili. No wonder he’s such a miserable so-and-so.
“Hey, Jimmy, y’all get the autopsy report from Doc Hightower yet?” she asked, reaching for a box of yellow shi noodles. Thanks to the Buddhist temple and monastery just outside town, the local stores had been stocking more Asian ingredients.
He glared. “Birdwell been telling tales out of school?”
“Nope, Ronnie hasn’t said a mumbling word.” Mackenzie pushed her cart to the produce department with Maynard trailing behind her like a morose stray dog in a Brooks Brothers suit. She picked a bunch of green onions and a hand of fresh ginger from the displays. “By the way, I talked to Mama about the victim.”
“By all means, Kenzie, do tell.”
While making the rounds of the store, she told him what she’d discovered about Annabel Coffin and Billy Wakefield, including the information Larkin had told her that morning. Finally concluding her shopping, she led him to a checkout lane that had miraculously just opened. “I’ll try to trace Billy further,” she said. “Maybe I can run down some folks who knew the Wakefields when they lived in Emorysville.”
“I want you to stay out of the case,” Maynard said, scowling and pointing a finger at her. “Thank you for your help. Now you’re done, so mind your own business and let the police do theirs.”
Mackenzie paused in the act of unloading the groceries in her cart onto the conveyor belt. “Seriously, Jimmy? Is that all you can say to me? I did your job, you know, helping build the victim’s profile when I could’ve been earning money doing other things. You could be nicer about it, show a little gratitude instead of acting like a Grade-A asshole.”
“I’m not arguing with you—”
“I mean, I can’t help it if you’re too chickenshit to talk to Mama yourself.”
“That’s not fair—”
“Bwok-bok-bok-bok,” Mackenzie made chicken noises at him. He’d always hated that when they were kids.
The middle-aged cashier giggled.
“Goddamn it, Kenzie, quit that!” Maynard exploded. He stopped, clearly exasperated. “I asked you to talk to your mother, not run around town acting like an amateur private eye.”
“Why not talk to Mama yourself?”
“Because I was busy doing other things…”
Mackenzie scoffed. “Really? That’s the best you can come up with?”
“I figured if there was a story to be had, Aunt Sarah Grace would know, but this Coffin thing isn’t my only case. I couldn’t spare the time to run over there, so I asked you. I thought it wasn’t a big deal.” His sour expression deepened the lines on his brow. “Had I known you’d take it as permission to go all Murder, She Wrote on me and imagine you were a real investigator, I wouldn’t have bothered.”
Mackenzie bristled, ignoring the cashier’s guffaw. Maynard always knew the surest way to dump gasoline on the flames of her temper. She caught herself slamming the rest of her groceries on the conveyer belt. Except the eggs. She made a deliberate effort to lay the box of eggs down gently. “You are an inconsiderate dickweed, James Austin Maynard. It’ll be a cold day in Hell before I do a favor for you again.”
Maynard relented in the face of her withering scorn. “Okay, okay, I wasn’t looking for a fight, Kenzie. I’m really so
rry. Truce?”
“Ronnie’s coming over to my place tonight,” she said, angling for a concession. “Can she tell me what’s been found out already? To satisfy my curiosity, of course.”
“Kenzie…” he sighed. “Fine. Anything that’ll be public knowledge soon. No more digging around on your own, you hear?”
Her fingers crossed behind her back, she said sweetly, “Promise.”
He stared at her suspiciously, but she smiled, paid the cashier and left.
Chapter Seventeen
Dripping sweat from four trips over the street to the car and back to the apartment, hefting grocery bags up the stairs in the dark since Sam hadn’t fixed the fluorescent light yet, Mackenzie finally staggered into the kitchen with the last of her burdens. She felt wrung out. Thank God she hadn’t planned on anything more elaborate than Szechuan noodles.
She took a quick shower and changed into cutoff shorts and a T-shirt. By the time Veronica rang the doorbell, she’d cooked the noodles, put them in ice water and now stood behind the stove cooking lean ground pork with chilies and ginger.
Going to answer the door, she suddenly felt awkward, not sure how she should act around Veronica. Eating dinner together, just the two of them in her apartment, seemed like the world’s worst idea. What if she said something wrong? What if she made an ass of herself? What if Veronica cried? What if—
Enough. She jerked open the door, a smile pasted on her lips.
Light spilled from the doorway to illuminate the darkened stairwell. Veronica stood on the threshold, still wearing her deputy’s uniform. She’d released her hair from its usual tight bun, letting it spill in a glossy brunette wave over her shoulder.
“Hey,” Veronica said.
“Hey,” Mackenzie echoed. The heat outside had brightened the pink in Veronica’s complexion, which in turn made her eyes seem brighter, more sparkling, like green glass polished by the sea. “Come on in,” she said, stepping aside.
Veronica walked into the apartment, her clunky black work shoes squeaking on the wooden floor. “Something smells good.”
“Oh, crap!” Mackenzie ran into the kitchen, relieved to find that dinner hadn’t burned.
She added homemade chicken stock to the pan, followed by Szechuan peppercorns, soy sauce, a spoonful of red wine vinegar, a bigger spoonful of tahini from a jar in the refrigerator and a pinch of sugar.
A long, lush body suddenly pressed against her back. Veronica’s chin dug into the top of her shoulder. She froze.
“You smell good, too,” Veronica murmured in her ear.
Goose bumps erupted over Mackenzie’s body. At the same time, sweat trickled down her spine. She twitched. “Uh, I’m trying a new shower gel. Mandarin orange,” she said. “On sale. Only five dollars. At Peebles Drug Store. On, uh—” Her mind went blank.
Veronica let out a breathy chuckle.
Mackenzie squeaked, “On Brubaker Street next to the Hot Spot café.”
Christ, could she sound any dumber? She savagely poked at the bubbling sauce in the pan, checking the consistency. Almost done. Shuffling away from Veronica, she opened the bag of unsalted peanuts and set it aside. The baby bok choy had been cleaned. The green onions were already on the counter, washed and thinly sliced. All she needed now was—
Something inside the knife drawer rattled.
Mackenzie froze again, panicked thoughts running through her mind: No, no, no, not now, Annabel, not now, not in front of Ronnie!
“Did you hear that?” Veronica asked.
“No,” Mackenzie replied hastily. Too hastily, she thought, caught by Veronica’s confused frown. “I mean, I don’t hear anything.”
The knives in the drawer jangled more loudly.
“I’m sure I heard something,” Veronica said, her hand moving to her hip. Reaching for the gun holster that wasn’t there, Mackenzie realized. “Is somebody trying to break in the window?” She spun around, craning to look into the living room.
A quarter-inch at a time, the drawer crept open.
The blood drained from Mackenzie’s face.
“Are you feeling okay?” Veronica frowned. “I’m sorry, that’s a stupid question. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Mackenzie flinched when Veronica touched her forehead as if checking for a fever. A thin, hysterical giggle escaped her. Her gaze turned to the drawer, visible behind Veronica. It slid shut smoothly, as if Annabel obeyed her frantic mental commands.
“Have you been out in the sun today, Mac? You have, haven’t you? Running around on such a hot day, then you came home to cook dinner…can we hold the sauce a while if I turn the fire down? Maybe you should sit in the living room. I’ll turn up the air-conditioning a notch and bring you a cold cloth to put on your neck.” Veronica tried to take her arm.
A different drawer suddenly shot out of the cabinet, dumping cutlery on the linoleum before flipping upside down on top of the heap with a god-awful clatter.
Mackenzie closed her eyes as Veronica whirled around, waiting for terrified shrieks and the sound of pounding footsteps headed toward the door. Instead, she heard a sharp inhalation of breath, followed by a creak and a thud that had to be a cabinet door opening and closing. Compared to some of the other stunts Annabel had pulled, this one would have seemed mild if it weren’t for Veronica witnessing the whole thing.
Afraid to look, she screwed up her courage and forced her eyes open anyway.
Veronica did not appear frightened. In fact, she looked peeved. “You need to stop this right now!” she snapped in a loud whisper, her mouth a grim line. “That kind of out-of-control behavior is totally unnecessary and I won’t have it.”
“But I’m not doing anything,” Mackenzie protested.
“I mean it!” Veronica cast a ferocious glare at an area near the kitchen sink before she turned to Mackenzie, her attitude apologetic. “Mac, I am so, so sorry about that,” she said. “I don’t know quite how to explain, but I hope you weren’t frightened.”
Mackenzie made an effort to unstick her tongue. “Me? What about you?”
Veronica shrugged, staying focused on her with flattering intensity. “Please pay no attention to…well, to anything strange because I promise I’m leaving and when I do, the…the strangeness will go with me. And of course, I’ll clean up the mess later. And pay for any damages. Again, I apologize. I didn’t know I’d be followed tonight.”
A stuttering silver-gray light materialized in the corner of Mackenzie’s eye and resolved into a familiar ghostly face that just as quickly faded.
Mackenzie groped for understanding. “Do you see Annabel Coffin, too?” she settled for asking, praying she wouldn’t come off as a complete lunatic.
“Oh, my God,” Veronica breathed, staring at her with huge eyes. She seemed to lose her balance, staggering backward until she collapsed in a kitchen chair. “You see her?”
“Sort of. Not always. But I know she’s there.” Reality intruded with the aromas coming from the pan on the stove. Panic retreated. “Excuse me a second.”
Mackenzie rescued their dinner, turning the heat low to prevent the sauce from scorching, and dumped the cold shi noodles into the dish, also stirring in the baby bok choy. A couple of minutes should complete the dish, and then she’d serve dinner, provided Annabel was finished prompting shocks and revelations.
Color flooded into Veronica’s cheeks. “Do you see them all the time?” she asked in apparent excitement. Like me, went unsaid, but not unnoticed.
“Annabel’s my first,” Mackenzie confessed. “So…you see dead people.”
“I knew you were going to say that.” Veronica’s smile took the sting out of her words. She stood and started gathering the cutlery on the floor, putting the knives, forks and spoons into the sink. “I’ve seen spirits my whole life. ‘Wait-abouts,’ my grandmother calls them. I saw Annabel’s spirit hanging around your office when the body was still there, but not since. She didn’t try to communicate.”
Mackenzie turned off the heat a
nd divided the noodles into two bowls. She added a generous amount of sliced green onions and roasted peanuts to the top of each portion. “You never told me,” she said, bringing the bowls to the table and giving one to Veronica.
“People think you’re delusional or untrustworthy if you claim to see ghosts,” Veronica said. “I tend to ignore them unless…well, unless it involves a case. Mostly, they’re confused. They don’t know what happened. They can’t move on.” She tried the dish and nodded enthusiastically. “This is good, Mac. Spicy. What’s it called?”
“Dan dan noodles. Szechuan specialty.” Mackenzie tasted her own serving. Perfect. “What’s Annabel told you?”
“Not much. All I got was she wanted someone named Billy Wakefield—”
“Say no more, Ronnie. I think I’m already ahead of you.”
Between bites of dinner, Mackenzie told Veronica everything she’d learned about Annabel Coffin and her boyfriend, Billy Wakefield. When she finished, she concluded bitterly, “And Jimmy, that noxious pain in the butt, has ordered me to stay away from the case. Except he said you could tell me the stuff that’s going to be public knowledge.”
Veronica slurped a noodle into her mouth, patted her lips with a napkin and set the empty bowl aside. “Sure, I can do that.”
Mackenzie crunched a peanut. “You know,” she mused, “I wonder how come Annabel came to me in the first place. Apart from her body being found in my office, which is technically not my office since I only rent the space, why not someone else? I’m sure Myrtle’s Wiccan group would have helped her out.”
“I was wondering the same thing,” Veronica replied. “You’d think she would’ve come to me a bit more.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“Because she’s my aunt.”
Mackenzie stared, her last bite of dinner forgotten.
Chapter Eighteen
