Curried Away

by Gail Oust

  “He paid me a visit, too,” Caleb said. “Came by the garage. Asked if I knew where she might be.”

  “Chief rolled by the construction site where I was working.” Clay stuck his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “Said if I knew anything, I’d better come clean.”

  “Your momma’s one smart lady. I’m sure she’s fine,” I said, trying to reassure them as well as myself. “She might assume that with her out of the picture McBride will concentrate on finding other suspects—and she’ll buy herself time.”

  They nodded, their expressions glum.

  I wished I could say something, or do something, to lessen their worry but felt helpless. “Promise you’ll let me know if you hear from her.”

  Casey and I left shortly afterward to walk home. The night was dark and windy, the moon hidden beneath a thick layer of clouds. Hunching my shoulders against the nip in the fall air, I quickened my step. Instead of trotting at my heels as he usually did, Casey lagged behind. “What’s the matter, boy?”

  My pup’s uncharacteristic behavior was starting to have an untoward effect on me. I’d walked this same route hundreds of times—alone and at night—and never felt a bit anxious. McBride had lectured on the importance of trusting your instincts to avoid dangerous situations. Well, my instincts were hollering for attention. Was I being watched? Followed? To be safe, I crossed to the opposite side of the street.

  I thought I heard muffled footsteps but couldn’t be sure with the wind whistling through the bare branches. I stopped walking, pretending to tie my shoe, and the footsteps stopped, too. Casey twisted around and barked. I dove into the pocket of my hoodie for my cell phone and came out empty-handed. I’d forgotten it. Lights shone from behind closed drapes in some of the homes. As a last resort, I’d run up on a stranger’s porch, bang on the door, and ask them to dial 911. If I was wrong and no one was following me, I’d feel like a fool. But better a live fool than a dead one.

  “C’mon, boy.” I tugged on Casey’s leash. “Let’s hurry.” We walked briskly another ten feet before I cast a quick glance over my shoulder in time to see a figure melt into the shadows.

  Confront your attacker; don’t show fear.

  “Coward!” I yelled, whirling around. My heart slammed against my rib cage. “I know you’re following me. If you don’t show yourself this second, I’ll calling nine-one-one.”

  With agonizing slowness, a form materialized from behind the trunk of a tree. “Nine-one-one at your service.”

  I squinted into the darkness. “McBride, that you?”

  Casey, bless his traitorous little heart, broke free and ran to greet his favorite lawman. McBride didn’t disappoint the mutt. Squatting on his haunches, he scratched Casey’s sweet spot, making the pup squirm with pleasure.

  I advanced with less enthusiasm. “Why are you stalking me? Do I need to take out a restraining order?”

  “When you try my patience, a restraining order might not be a bad idea.” McBride rose to his feet. In the light spilling from a nearby house, I could see he was dressed in his favorite black—jeans, T-shirt, and a windbreaker with the BCPD logo.

  “I bet as a child you dressed in a Darth Vader costume on Halloween. Now,” I said, “why are you skulking around in the dark? Hoping I’d lead you to Reba Mae?”

  “It’s called surveillance.” He sauntered closer, his expression unreadable. “I drew the short straw. Moyer and Tucker are keeping an eye on the twins.”

  “Reba Mae and I have become quite adept at surveillance. Trust me, McBride, your technique sucks. If I was in a friendlier state of mind—which I’m not—I could give you a few pointers.”

  “Your friend will eventually contact you, Piper, and when she does I want to hear about it.”

  I patted my thigh, a command for Casey to heel. When he returned to my side, I picked his leash off the sidewalk. “Your department’s time and money would be better spent looking for the real killer than harassing innocent citizens. If you’d gotten any closer without identifying yourself, I’d have blasted you with pepper spray.”

  I didn’t bother to inform him I didn’t have any. Turning on my heel, I trudged home. Black Friday had certainly lived up to its name.

  CHAPTER 29

  I LET MYSELF in through the back door. Unzipping my hoodie, I shrugged it off and hung it on a hook along with Casey’s leash, then stomped up the stairs with Casey maintaining a safe distance. Fury emanated from me like steam from a boiler. Why was McBride being so narrow-minded? Couldn’t he see there were plenty of others who might’ve wanted to kill Sandy? But, no, he’d zeroed in on Reba Mae and couldn’t see the forest for the trees.

  “Reba Mae,” I said, addressing the deserted apartment, “this disappearing act of yours isn’t going over well. Sure hope you know what you’re doing, girlfriend.”

  Casey sat on the floor and watched uneasily.

  I thought about making coffee, but caffeine would only make me more hyper, so I settled on herbal tea instead—soothing and relaxing chamomile. I paced while waiting for the water to heat. Thus far, all my snooping, all my sleuthing, had been for naught. I hadn’t turned up a single tangible clue to prove Reba Mae had nothing to do with strangling Sandy. All I had to show for my efforts was a rapidly dwindling number of suspects on my persons of interest list.

  I stopped pacing long enough to take a mug from the cupboard and a tin of tea bags. Casey got excited at the sound of me prying the lid off a container. His tail swished back and forth like a dust mop on steroids in a pathetic plea for a doggy treat. I couldn’t resist the look in his soulful dark eyes. “Here, you go, boy,” I said, tossing him a dental chew Doug had recommended. “Not only will that keep your gums healthy, but it’s full of antioxidants and omega-three fatty acids.”

  Casey didn’t seem the least bit interested in the benefits as he tackled his treat with enthusiasm.

  When the teakettle whistled I drowned my tea bag in a flood of boiling water. This was a far cry from the civilized ritual with bone china and a delicate teapot that Doug and Madison performed nightly. I hadn’t heard from Doug in days. Did he ever think of me? I wondered. Did he miss me as much as I missed him?

  I moved into the living room and was about to take my first sip of tea when my cell phone jangled. I’d been distracted when I left for my run and couldn’t remember where I’d put the darn thing. Its persistent ringing led me to the dresser in the bedroom. By the time I reached it, the ringing had stopped. The display read CALLER UNKNOWN.

  “Telemarketers,” I muttered in disgust. Who else calls at all hours? I didn’t need vinyl siding, replacement windows, or my carpets cleaned. I had no desire to participate in a Nielsen survey. The world didn’t need to know my TV-viewing habits. I’d done that once but had been too embarrassed to return it. Shortly after CJ announced he needed his “space,” I’d fallen into a crevasse filled with tabloid talk shows. The sleazier they were, the more I watched. It was bittersweet consolation knowing some folks were worse off than me. After a period of moping, I started to climb out of the hole I’d dropped into, regained more solid footing, and switched to cooking shows. These proved my salvation. They renewed my love of cooking and revived my desire to own and operate my own business. Spice It Up! was the end result.

  Perching on the edge of the bed, I blew on my tea to cool it, then took a cautious sip. I’d no sooner lowered the mug to the nightstand when my phone rang again. I frowned at the display: CALLER UNKNOWN. Against my better judgment, I answered, “Hello—”

  “Hey, honeybun,” Reba Mae responded, sounding remarkably chipper for a fugitive from justice. “Since when have you stopped answerin’ your phone? Coulda been the Georgia lottery callin’ to say you hit it big in the Mega Millions jackpot.”

  “Reba Mae Johnson,” I practically yelled into the phone, “where are you? The boys and I are half out of our minds with worry. McBride issued a BOLO; you know that’s—”

  “—be on the lookout. I know, I know, I watch cop shows al
l the time. Listen up, hon; I only got limited minutes on this burner phone I bought at a fillin’ station.”

  “Burner phone?” I gasped. “Aren’t those for drug dealers?”

  “Yup, drug dealers and folks on the lam. Problem is, I can’t stay hid forever. My clients will drop me like a hot potato if I stay away too long.”

  “McBride is having your boys and me watched to see if you make contact.” At the mention of McBride, I sat up straighter and cast an involuntary glance over my shoulder. If he loitered outside, would he be able to spot me gabbing on the phone?

  “Hey, hon, you still there?”

  “Hold on a sec, Reba Mae.” I scurried to the windowless bathroom, closed the door for good measure, and sat on the rim of the bathtub. “Okay, shoot.”

  “I’m callin’ to find out what you’re doin’ to get me out of this predicament. You’re my last chance to clear myself. I’m dependin’ on you, Piper.”

  “What can I do that McBride hasn’t done already?”

  “You believe in me,” she said simply. “He doesn’t. Now who else is on our list? It’s all a matter of elimination, right?”

  “Right”—I nodded—“but there aren’t many names left. I spoke with Bunny. She swears she went straight home and into a bubble bath.”

  “Calgon or Mr. Bubble?”

  “This isn’t the time for wisecracks. Limited minutes, remember.”

  I heard Reba Mae expel a breath. “Yeah, yeah. I remember. Check out Bunny’s alibi. See if anyone can vouch for her.”

  “Like who—the water department?”

  “Now who’s being a smart aleck?” Reba Mae asked. “Who else have you talked to?”

  “Craig Granger dropped in the other day. Seems Vicki’s been plying him with homemade goodies. And hinting she’d like to be his partner for golf or tennis. Before he left, Craig made an odd comment. He said something along the lines of not only were Vicki and Sandy good friends, but Vicki wanted to be Sandy.”

  “Creepy, but Craig might be on to somethin’. Vicki’s lookin’ for a replacement for Kenny. I’ve seen her sizin’ up Doug and Wyatt. If she could find a man with a fatter bank account, even better.”

  “I heard her complain once that Sandy had it all—and she didn’t appreciate it.”

  “Well, girlfriend, sounds like you got your work cut out for you. Check out Bunny and Vicki, but do it right quick. Klassy Kut to Spice Girl, over and out.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but all I was left with was a dial tone. I’d been about to tell Reba Mae that Wanda Needmore wasn’t in the clear alibi-wise yet either. That Wanda was not only secretive but also not forthcoming and had a strong motive.

  I was still sitting on the rim of the tub, pondering my next move, when Lindsey charged up the steps.

  “Mom…?” she called from the kitchen. “Mom, where are you?”

  “I’m right here,” I said, coming out of the bathroom, cell phone in hand.

  Lindsey frowned at seeing me. “You’ve been in the bathroom, talking on the phone?”

  I gave a little shrug as though sitting on the bathtub with my cell phone for company was the most natural thing in the world. “Did you find any bargains at the mall?” I asked, although the multitude of shopping bags she held told the tale.

  Her eyes lit up. “Wait till you see what I bought Chad. He’ll freak when he sees it.” She pawed through her spoils, then held up a T-shirt with a humorous saying that would resonate with her brother’s fondness for bacon. “By the way,” she said, stuffing the shirt back into the bag, “why is Chief McBride parked behind your car?”

  I mentally counted to ten before answering. “Because, sweetie, the man’s a pit bull with a Sherlock Holmes complex.”

  “Whatever,” Lindsey said, gathering her purchases and reaching for her cell as she headed for her room. “I told Sean I’d call him after I got home.”

  My anger rekindled. So McBride was sitting out back. I returned to my bedroom and peeked through the blinds. Sure enough, there he was in a squad car behind my Beetle, plain as a wart on your nose. Was he waiting to see if I’d be stupid enough to rendezvous with Reba Mae? Or was this an intimidation tactic? His way of sending a message: Big Brother is watching. Some “big brother,” I thought in disgust.

  Hurrying into the kitchen, I dumped the chamomile tea that had grown cold down the drain. “So much for its soothing effects,” I grumbled as I brewed a pot of coffee. Who did Mr. Law and Order think he was? I didn’t appreciate the notion of a guard dog monitoring my every move. When the coffee—Colombian—finished perking, I poured some into a travel mug.

  I considered a sneak attack—exiting through the front door, slipping down the narrow passageway between my shop and the building next door, and coming up on McBride from behind—but abandoned the idea for a straightforward approach. I threw on my hoodie and marched brazenly, coffee in hand, across the vacant lot separating my shop from his cruiser. I smiled with satisfaction at seeing his surprise when I motioned for him to roll his window down.

  “What the…?”

  “Here.” I shoved the mug at him. “I thought this might keep you awake while you’re on a fool’s mission. All you’re going to show for this tomorrow are dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep.”

  I heard him call after me as I fled back inside but didn’t turn around.

  * * *

  The next day was Saturday. Business had been brisk all morning. News of Reba Mae’s vanishing act drew people like spectators to a circus. In a relatively short span of time my friend had turned into Brandywine Creek’s very own version of Houdini. I-don’t-know-where-she-is-but-while-you’re-here-have-you-tried had become my sales pitch du jour. To my surprise, it worked more often than not. Around lunchtime, things had slowed to a point where I felt I could leave Spice It Up! in the capable of hands of my daughter and ex-mother-in-law for a brief period.

  “Melly, I hope this isn’t an imposition,” I said, whipping my apron over my head and stashing it beneath the counter. “I won’t be gone long, but I can’t put off my errand any longer.” “Errand” seemed a much nicer word than “interrogation,” which was what I planned for Bunny Bowtin.

  “Don’t worry, dear.” Melly waved me off. “Lindsey and I can handle things.”

  I felt overwhelmed with a sense of urgency as I ducked out the back door. I felt the weight of Reba Mae’s freedom rest heavily on my shoulders. My BFF was on the lam, communicating via a burner phone. Unless I found the killer soon, her clientele would desert her like rats on a sinking ship. I didn’t want that fate to befall the best little ol’ beauty shop in Brandywine County.

  Thankfully, there was no sign of McBride either in his truck or in a squad car. I assumed even an intrepid cop had to sleep sometime. I hopped into my VW and headed for the historic district. I’d been to Bunny’s once, years ago, for a Halloween party when CJ and I had masqueraded as Hansel and Gretel. Bunny and her husband lived in a stately colonial not far from the Turner-Driscoll House, Brandywine Creek’s premier bed-and-breakfast.

  I wasn’t certain I’d find Bunny home on a Saturday afternoon, but since I suffer from poor impulse control I took a chance. I parked in the drive next to a late-model black Camaro, made my way up a flagstone walk, lifted the heavy brass knocker, and let it fall. The door, which was painted a glossy fire-engine red, was opened by their teenage son, a high-school senior with stringy hair and acne.

  I smiled, not sure whether he’d recognize me even though he and Lindsey had been classmates since grade school. “Is your mother home?”

  “Yeah,” the kid said. “I’m on my way out, but go right in.”

  “Umm, thanks.”

  “Mom!” he yelled upstairs. “Some lady here to see you. You’re just in time to hear my parents go another round.” He tossed the latter remark over his shoulder as he brushed past, leaving me standing in the foyer. The next sound was the throaty purr of the Camaro’s engine as it fired up, then faded as the car backed dow
n the drive and disappeared down the street.

  Feeling like a trespasser, I waited, expecting Bunny to appear any minute.

  “That’s the final straw!” a male voice rang out. “First thing Monday morning, I’m making arrangements.”

  “Dennis, don’t be this way,” Bunny pleaded. “I can stop drinking any time I want. Promise, I’ll quit.”

  I shouldn’t be here, I told myself. I should leave. Now. This instant. This is a private conversation between husband and wife. Although my first instinct was to leave, my feet felt glued to the floor. I seemed to have stumbled into a scene from a movie I’d seen ages ago—Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? starring Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton as a couple engaged in marital warfare fueled by alcohol. The argument between Bunny and Dennis was just as vitriolic.

  “I’ve had it with you. You either enter a treatment program—or else.”

  “But Dennis,” Bunny whined. “You’re never home. I get lonely.”

  “Sure, blame your drinking on me,” Dennis said angrily. “If I hadn’t gotten home early the night Sandy was killed, you could have died, too. I found you dead drunk in the Jacuzzi. You could easily have fallen asleep, slipped under the water, and drowned. And then again, last night.…”

  I quietly let myself out. I’d found out what I’d come for. Bunny had been home alone all right. Passed out cold with a bottle of liquor for an alibi.

  CHAPTER 30

  “YOUR ERRAND CERTAINLY didn’t take long,” Melly said upon my return. “I didn’t expect you back this soon.”

  “Mom,” Lindsey said after she finished waiting on a customer, “you need to make more of those cute little gift baskets. There’s only two left.”

  “And it’s time you reorder paper for your credit card machine. What would you do if you ran out?” Melly wagged her head in disapproval. “Folks don’t carry cash like they used to do.”