Good Night, Sleep Tight,
Don’t Let the Stalkers Bite
A Charlie Bannerman Mystery
By
Teresa Watson
Good Night, Sleep Tight, Don’t Let the Stalkers Bite
By Teresa Watson
Copyright 2013 Teresa L. Watson
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Other Books by Teresa Watson
The Lizzie Crenshaw Mysteries
Death of a Cantankerous Old Coot
Death Makes the Front Page
Death Stalks the Law
Death Goes to the Dogs
Death Catches a Killer
Death of a Gossip Queen (coming soon)
The Charlie Bannerman Mysteries
Good Night, Sleep Tight, Don’t Let the Stalkers Bite
Acknowledgements
In November 2010, I signed up for National Novel Writing Month, known as NaNo, to those who participate. The goal is to write 50,000 words in 30 days. Most of this story was written during that time; I wrote over 56,000 words in 15 days. For some reason, I never finished the story. A couple of months ago, I pulled it out of mothballs, shared it with a few friends, and waited to see what they said. All of them said “FINISH IT!” They are the reason you are now reading this on your Kindle, Nook, iPad, iPhone…well, you get the idea.
The main contributor to this story is my son, James. He listened to me read every chapter, and told me it needed more crash, bam, BOOM! So you have him to thank for all the flying parts in the story.
I have two assistants (yes, it takes that many people to keep me in line!): Erin Maurer-Lang, who takes care of my blog, my Facebook page, as well as coming up with awesome ideas for awesome gifts for our readers. More details about that coming soon. My other assistant is an in-house nag: my son, James, who constantly tells me to get busy. I think he would chain me to my desk if he could. Maybe I shouldn’t write that part…it might give him ideas!
I have a wonderful group of proofreaders: Kristi Spinks, who has read every single story I have written. Thank you for always encouraging me, giving me a swift kick when I needed it, and for all the great story ideas. I have two new proofreaders/brainstormers/butt kickers that have joined my group: Stacy Jeziorowski and Holley Buckalew. You both brought some fresh air and fresh ideas to my writing. Thank you all SO much!
My parents, Jim and Charlotte Massey, who have also read everything I have ever written (and probably wonder where I get some of my crazy ideas). You have always stood by me and encouraged me. It means more to me than you will ever know. I love you both very much!
My wonderful cover designer, formatter, and friend, Jamie Livingston-Dierks: you’ve been with me from the beginning. I appreciate all the support and encouragement you have given me for the last three years. Thank you!
To my husband, who lets me pursue my dreams. I love you.
GOOD NIGHT, SLEEP TIGHT, DON’T LET THE STALKERS BITE
CHAPTER ONE
I knew it was going to be a bad day when I slipped on the bathroom rug as I got out of the shower. Things didn’t get much better when I opened the front door and Duke, my Malamute, ran out. I checked my watch: I needed to be across town in fifteen minutes to have breakfast with my mother, Grace. It would take at least ten minutes to track Duke down and coax him back to the house. At this point, I seriously considered going back inside, locking the door, and crawling back into bed. Tossing my purse on the couch, I grabbed the leash and started walking down the street, calling Duke’s name.
“If you’re looking for your dog, he headed for Mrs. Rodriguez’ backyard,” Mr. Crubbs, my next-door neighbor said from his front porch. He was scrubbing dried egg off his living room window.
“I see the rugrats have struck again,” I replied.
“Gosh darn kids,” he grumbled. “One of these days, I am going to get them good.” He was embroiled in an ongoing war with the neighborhood kids. They loved tormenting him, throwing toilet paper in his trees, egging the house, and letting the air out of his car tires. He did not have actual proof they were doing it, but everyone in the neighborhood knew it was them. Mr. Crubbs spent a lot of his time planning his revenge, but he never actually did anything. Not yet, anyway.
“I’ll come back later and help you finish cleaning that off,” I told him as I took off for Mrs. Rodriguez’ house. He grunted and waved in reply. A man of few words, that Mr. Crubbs.
He was right. I found Duke in Mrs. Rodriguez’ backyard, his front two paws on the trunk of her oak tree, barking his head off at her calico cat, Blinky. She was standing on her back porch, yelling at Duke and waving her broom in the air.
“Ah, Charlie, it’s about time you got here! Your dog has chased my sweet Blinky up the tree again! I thought you were going to keep him locked up inside!”
“He ran out when I opened the front door, Mrs. Rodriguez,” I said, ducking as she swung the broom in my direction. “I promise I’ll help you get Blinky down.”
“You know where the ladder is,” she snapped. “Just put it up this time after you get my sweet baby down.” She turned and went back inside, muttering something in Spanish that I couldn’t quite make out, but pretty sure it was nothing I could repeat to my mother.
Walking around to the front of the house, I grabbed the ladder from inside the garage, dragged it around the back, and leaned it against the tree. I attached Duke’s leash to his collar and tied him to the clothesline pole. “Sit,” I ordered him. He sat down and gave me his patented angelic look, the one he always used whenever he knew he was in trouble. It was a look that said, “Honest, Mom, she started it!”
Looking up the tree at Blinky, I could believe it. Contrary to what Mrs. Rodriguez thought about her “poor, sweet baby”, Blinky was a known terror. While she complained about everyone allowing their pets to run free, Mrs. Rodriguez was not one to practice what she preached. Blinky was let out every night to roam around the neighborhood, and she seemed to know which room the dogs slept in at each house. She appears in the window of that room, and sits there, smiling that little cat smile, while the dog stands with their paws on the windowsill, barking their brains out.
If anyone dared to confront Mrs. Rodriguez, she would vehemently deny the charges, sweep Blinky into her arms, and storm into the house. I tried this once, and I swear that cat looked at me over Mrs. Rodriguez’ shoulder and stuck its tongue out.
Climbing the ladder, I reached out for Blinky, who promptly reached out her paw and left five red scratch marks on the back of my hand. Cursing, I glared at her. She just sat there, smiling that evil cat smile. I climbed a little higher, grabbed Blinky by the scruff of her neck and climbed down. I contemplated letting Duke have another go at her, but my conscience prevailed and I knocked on the back door. “Here you go, Mrs. Rodriguez, safe and sound.”
“Oh, my poor little baby! Did that mean old dog scare you to deat
h?” she exclaimed, taking Blinky from me and cuddling her. “Mamita will give her little sweetie pie some extra milk and treats, yes she will.” She slammed the door, leaving me standing there with an overwhelming urge to throw up.
I put the ladder up, banging it around so Mrs. Rodriguez could hear me putting it away, untied Duke, and walked home. He seemed quite satisfied with his morning workout, bounding into the house and lapping water from his bowl while I washed the blood from the back of my hand. Giving him an extra treat, I grabbed my purse off the couch, opened the door as I checked my watch…and ran smack into Keaton Lawson, who was coming up the steps. As we tumbled to the ground, I heard a distinct ripping noise and groaned.
“Whoa, what’s the hurry?” Keaton asked, helping me up.
“I am late for breakfast with my mother,” I said as I looked for the rip. Figures, right on the knee.
“You should have gotten up earlier.”
“I got up on time, not that it’s any of your business. Duke got out this morning.”
“Which explains the fresh marks on your hand,” Keaton said. “He went after Blinky again, huh?”
“Yes, he did. I’d really love to stand here and talk about this, but I have got to get going,” I said, unlocking the car door and getting in.
“Are you free for dinner tonight?”
“I had planned to do some writing this evening.”
“How about I bring something over? Pizza?”
“I don’t know, Keaton,” I said, putting the key in the ignition. “Can I get back to you on that?”
“Sure, no problem. Just give me a call.”
I turned the key, but got no response. “What the heck?” I muttered, trying again. Nothing. “Oh, lovely, just what I need. A dead car.”
“I have been telling you to get rid of this old Beetle for years, Charlie. It has finally kicked the bucket.”
“It was working just fine last night,” I grumbled. I looked at my watch. “I better call Mother and tell her I can’t make it.”
“I’ll give you a ride.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind. Where are we going?”
Climbing out of the car, I locked it and followed him over to his car, a new midnight blue Mustang Shelby GT. “Edna’s Country Kitchen.” I sat down in the black leather seat, inhaling that new car smell. Oh man, I really wanted this car. The car, not the man.
Ten minutes later, we parked in front of Edna’s Country Kitchen. I eat here at least three times a week, mainly because I hate cooking for one. Everyone came here to eat, even the bank president, Winston Tracy, whose daughter, Sydney, is my best friend. It was owned by Rachel McQueen, who served simple, home-cooked meals at reasonable prices. She makes the best cherry pie in the whole world. The crust is nice and flaky, the cherries are sweet, and she always gives you a generous portion, not those little slivers that wouldn’t feed a squirrel other restaurants give you. It’s to die for. You’ll just have to take my word for it.
“Charlotte, you’re late,” my mother gently admonished me as we walked up to her table (she is the only one who calls me by my given name – the only one allowed to, I might add). “And what happened to your jeans?”
“It’s all the rage, Mother,” I replied, bending down to give her a kiss.
Mother saw Keaton behind me. “Keaton! What a pleasant surprise!”
He kissed her cheek. “Always a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Bannerman. You look lovely today.”
She blushed. “Thank you. Please, sit down and join us,” she added before I could stop her.
“Thank you, ma’am, I’d be delighted,” he accepted, sitting down before I could send him away. So much for a nice, quiet breakfast.
Rachel came over with a glass of sweet tea for me. “I didn’t know you were going to be here, Keaton,” she said, placing my glass down in front of me. “Is there something I should know?”
“Nothing!” I said quickly. “He was kind enough to give me a ride when my car wouldn’t start.”
“You all want your usual?” she said before walking off without an answer. She knew her customers so well we rarely had to tell her what we wanted.
“What happened to your car, Charlotte?” my mother asked after Rachel left.
“It’s nothing major, Mother. It just wouldn’t start, that’s all.”
“Excuse me a moment,” Keaton said, standing up and moving away.
“What was Keaton doing at your house this morning?”
“Nothing, Mother. He was coming up the steps as I was leaving.”
“And you ran right into him, causing the rip in your jeans,” she said. “I can tell you had another run in with Blinky this morning, too.”
“I do not lead a dull life, Mother.”
“That is so true.”
“So what did you want to talk about?”
“Well, your father and I are planning our fall vacation, and I was wondering if you would mind asking Sydney if she could recommend some places to stay in New England.”
“I can, but why don’t you just ask her yourself?”
Mother squirmed in her seat. “Because I have had a bit of a falling out with her mother. I would rather not run into her right now.”
Isabella Tracy is an indomitable force. Few dared to cross her, and when they did, it was like the Titanic running into the iceberg. Isabella always wins and it could be months before you were in her good graces again. “What happened this time?”
“I simply suggested that we hold our circle’s annual dinner at another location this year instead of at the country club. I thought it was a very good suggestion, considering the recent recession. Many people are feeling the pinch, and I believe having it somewhere else will cut down on the costs.”
“And Isabella did not take the suggestion well?”
Grace shook her head. “I’m afraid not. She became very defensive, and said that if the country club was no longer good enough to host the dinner, then perhaps our circle was no longer good enough to have her as a member.”
Keaton sat back down. “Perhaps you could find a sponsor for your dinner, Mrs. Bannerman.”
“What a lovely idea, Keaton!” my mother exclaimed, as if it was the most brilliant idea she had ever heard. “Do you know anyone we could get to sponsor us? It would be for charity, of course.”
“I have a few ideas. Let me see what I can do for you. We’ll find a place for you to hold your dinner that won’t cost you too much money.”
“Oh, this is great! I am so glad you invited him to join us, Charlotte. He is an answer to my prayers.”
Would it do any good to point out that I hadn’t invited him? Probably not.
Chapter 2
One thing you should know about me if you haven’t figured it out already: I am a natural-born klutz. Put me in a car, and I do just fine. But walking around is a different matter entirely. I’m pretty sure I paid for Dr. Lance’s new Cadillac last year. If I had stock in Johnson & Johnson, I would probably be the CEO by now. That is how much of a klutz I am. In other words, cat scratches and a skinned knee are mild injuries compared to some of the other things I have done.
Keaton drove me home after breakfast, rather proud of his noble gesture to my mother. I am pretty sure he thought that would get him in my good graces. Poor, delusional fool. He has been trying to get me to go out with him for three years. Sydney, Keaton and I grew up together, and in all those years, I have never considered him anything other than a friend. I am not sure why he suddenly started to ask me out. Lord knows I have never encouraged him in any way. Sometimes I think my mother is behind it, but I would never flat out ask her.
Anyway, as we pulled up to my house, I noticed a truck parked in front and someone’s butt bent over the engine of my beloved light blue Beetle. “Who in the world is that?” I muttered.
“My mechanic, Harry,” Keaton replied. “I called him and asked him to take a look at your car.”
“I didn’t ask you to d
o that, Keaton.”
“I know. I wanted to help.”
Unsure how to respond, I got out of the Shelby and walked over to Harry. “Excuse me? I’m Charlie Bannerman.”
He stood up, wiped grease off his hand and shook hands. “Harry Conway. Hey Keaton, good to see ya again. How is that backhoe workin’ now?”
“Just great, Harry. Have you figured out what is wrong with this hunk of junk?”
“Hunk of junk?” I said indignantly. “She is a classic, thank you very much! I would appreciate it if you didn’t insult her in front of me!”
“Sorry,” Keaton said, holding his hands up. “I did not mean to insult your precious baby.”
Any brownie points he thought he had earned just went out the window.
“Well, I ain’t sure. I mean, I have an idea what’s wrong with her, but without a closer inspection, I won’t know. But I think someone poured sugar into your gas tank.”
“What?”
“Like I said, I ain’t sure. I’m gonna tow yer car back down to my place and check her out. I ain’t got no loaner car to give ya, sorry, ma’am.”
“It’s ok,” I sighed, running my hand across the roof of the car. “Just take good care of her for me.”
“No problem, ma’am. She’s in good hands, I guarantee it.”
Giving my beloved Beetle one last glance, I walked up the steps and unlocked the door. Keaton was right behind me. “Do you have some errands to run, Charlie? I’ll be glad to help out if you need me to.”
I turned and looked at him. “Don’t you have a construction company to run or something?”
“I don’t always have to be there. That is why I have foremen. They can handle the jobs when I’m not around. I am at your disposal.”
Harry interrupted. “I found this note on the windshield. Thought it might be important,” he said, holding out an envelope
“Thank you, Harry,” I said, taking it from him and opening it.
“No trouble. I’ll call you later when I have had a chance to work on yer car.”
Good Night Sleep Tight Don't Let the Stalkers Bite (Charlie Bannerman Mysteries) Page 1
