“Greenberg,” he answered in a terse voice. Barry Greenberg was a homicide cop and my ex. I always hesitated over what to say after ex though. I refused to say ex-boyfriend, since he was in his fifties and it sounded stupid.
Since we’d been broken up for months, it didn’t really matter anyway, but there was still a tie that bound us: Cosmo, the black mutt, was technically Barry and his son’s dog, though he lived with me. Jeffrey came over every week or so to play with Cosmo and brush his long fur. He had a key, so my presence wasn’t necessary.
I ignored the twinge of emotion at hearing Barry’s voice and got right down to it. “I think one of my neighbors is trying to kill his wife.”
“Molly?” Barry said since I hadn’t identified myself. I heard just the slightest break in his cop voice. So I wasn’t the only one who still felt a reaction. It seemed the question in his voice had been purely rhetorical, though, since he went right into asking me for details.
I quickly told him what I’d seen. “He was going to push her off the balcony and then he was dragging her inside when he hit her.”
“Okay, I’ll get a cruiser and check it out.” I told him the location and urged him to hurry.
I waited to hear the whine of sirens, but there was only silence. I couldn’t help pacing up and down near my front door, wondering if I should go out into the yard and see what was going on. I was about to head for the kitchen door when there was a soft knock at my front door.
Though it was quiet, Cosmo and Felix awakened instantly and rushed to the door to do watchdog duty. Of course, Blondie the Greta Garbo of dogs had not joined them. As soon as I opened the door a crack, Barry slipped in. Felix continued to bark, but Cosmo recognized Barry and made a play for attention.
“Well?” I said impatient to hear the details as Barry gave the black mutt a hello pet. Felix stood his ground until Barry crouched down and held his hand out. The gray terrier mix approached him hesitantly, but seemed to take a hint from Cosmo and decide Barry was okay. After a sniff, he let Barry ruffle his fur.
“Well?” I said again. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
Barry blew out his breath and looked directly at me. “Where exactly were you when you saw what you thought you saw?”
I led him into the kitchen and pointed out the large windows that looked out onto the yard. “I was back there,” I said.
“Could you be more specific?” he asked.
“Okay,” I said. “I used an old gate and went into their yard.” I quickly added that it was because of the cats. Barry shook his head with dismay.
“Molly, that’s trespassing.”
“It was a cat emergency,” I countered. “Anyway, I could have seen the same thing from my yard.” To prove it, I took him outside and we went to the back of the yard. True, we had to squeeze in next to a tree and hang on to the gate, but I was able to point out the back balcony on the house. “What is it?” I said. “Did he kill her and you need me to be a witness?”
Barry’s cop face broke, and he smiled. “No. How about you completely misread what was going on,” he said. “I’m just glad I had the good sense not to come with sirens and flashing lights.”
When we were back inside, he finally gave me the details. “What they said was that they were practicing the tango for some television dancing show and what you saw as abuse was simply drama.”
“What?” I said, incredulous. “I’m telling you, I heard a slap, and the woman sounded like she was crying.” I paused a moment as what he said sunk in a little more. “Did you see them both?” I asked. “Did you check her for bruises?”
“Molly, they were very cordial and didn’t seem to be hiding anything.”
“Did you look around?” I asked.
“Yes. They showed us that their kids were asleep. Apparently it was the live-in nanny’s night off, because she came home while we were there.” He looked at me. “And no, she didn’t have any bruises, either.”
“Did you tell them who sent you over?”
“Don’t worry. I just said a concerned neighbor called us, but not which one.” He appeared tired, but then that was his natural state. He’d been a detective so long that he’d learned how to survive on little sleep. There were shadows under his dark eyes and stubble was starting to show on his chin. He kept his dark hair cut short so that it never really looked mussed. He clothes still looked neat. He’d never divulged his secret, but I had a feeling he’d somehow found clothes that never wrinkled. He gave me that look, the one that was somewhere between scolding and teasing. “You do realize you have crime on your mind all the time.”
He suddenly seemed to notice the confetti that was still on the floor and the balloons stuck to the ceiling. “It’s your birthday,” he said. He glanced at his watch and, seeing that it was after midnight, said, “It was your birthday. I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“You’re not under any obligation now that we’re . . .” I searched for a title. “. . . just sharing custody of a dog,” I said finally.
It seemed to register that it was a big birthday for me. “Even so, I should have remembered your birthday.” He hesitated. “Particularly since it is an important one.” He said the last part gingerly, as if he was testing the waters to see if I was going to be one of those people who claimed to stay forty-nine for life.
“It’s okay. I can handle being fifty. I heard it’s the new thirty, anyway,” I said with a smile. Maybe it was bothering me a little, but I wasn’t going to show it. “There’s all kinds of food left,” I said. “And cake.” I led him to the dining room. “Are you hungry?” I asked.
“That’s okay,” he said. I noticed that he seemed to be avoiding even looking at the array of food.
“C’mon. Whatever you eat I won’t have to worry about putting away.”
“When you put it that way, it sounds like I’d be doing you a favor.” He looked over the plates of cold cuts and side dishes hungrily. I knew only too well how Barry operated. He had trained himself to get by on little sleep and long hours without food. It was as if he was able to turn off his hunger, but once there was food available, it roared back to life. He was Mr. Self-control. I encouraged him to take lots of food and even take a plate home for Jeffrey. He made himself a roast beef sandwich on a brioche bun and then added some chopped Italian salad, roasted potatoes, truffle macaroni and cheese and some green salad. He pulled out a chair and began to eat with gusto while I cleared up the wrapping paper.
“You said my neighbors were practicing for a television dance show. Who are they?”
Barry put down his fork and flipped out his notebook and opened it. “Her name is Cheyenne Chambers. Or that’s what she goes by. I suppose it is really Cheyenne Chambers Mackenzie. His name is Garrett Mackenzie, and he’s her manager as well as her husband.”
I saw that my mother had come across the house and was hanging in the shadows near the entrance to the dining room. Barry stopped to take a bite of the sandwich he’d made as she sailed into the room. “Cheyenne Chambers lives over there?” She turned to me. “You must know who she is. She and her sisters are the group ChIlLa.” She pronounced it Shyla. “They had that hit that became a classic.” My mother began to sing it. Not just sing it, but belt it out and do some footwork along with it. I remembered it. It was one of those songs that was supposed to give you hope that the next day would bring something better. My mother stopped after a few bars. “And now she’s a judge on that program Show Me Your Tune.” When I didn’t seem to place it, my mother explained more. It was another one of those popular talent competition shows, but it was all about show tunes and production numbers.
“She really knows how to keep herself out there,” my mother said. “Maybe I should take a lesson from her. I’ll have to talk to Peter and see if he can help.” I didn’t say anything, but I was thinking, Good luck on that one. If Peter was concerned about me embarrassing him
, I could just imagine his reaction to his grandmother wanting him to get her on a reality show. She was talking to me, but I noticed her throw Barry a dirty look. Not that he saw it. All his attention seemed to be on his impromptu meal. She’d never been a fan of us as a couple. The next dirty look was for me, and without a word I knew she was wondering what was he doing there and hoping I wasn’t going to mess things up with Mason. She was a big fan of Mason’s.
To keep the peace, I hustled my mother out of there and into the kitchen, where she gave me the mini lecture I’d expected. I let her think he’d just dropped by to wish me a happy birthday rather than explaining the real reason. I could only imagine what she would say if she knew that I had sent the cops to check on Cheyenne. I waited until she got mugs of herbal tea for herself and my father and retreated to my bedroom before I went back into the dining room.
I went to pick up the detective set Peter had given me, but Barry saw it first. “What’s this?” he asked, reading the cover. He flipped open the box and smiled when he saw the deerslayer hat and the magnifying glass. Then he noticed the binoculars still around my neck. He tried to give me a stern look. “What were you doing out there—playing detective?”
I repeated that I had just been looking for the cats. Barry poked through the rest of it. “This is real stuff.” He looked at the fingerprint powder and the bottle marked “Blood Detector.” I explained that it was designed by the forensic department of some university and showed off the fingerprints I had collected from my guests.
“I suppose Mason gave it to you,” he said. I corrected him and told him it was Peter.
Then I explained that Peter had gotten it as a joke and had thought it was just a board game.
I cut Barry a piece of cake and suggested he take some home to Jeffrey. “I feel bad not doing something for your birthday,” he said. “I know you probably don’t want another bottle of perfume, but how about this? I’ll do a repair of your choice.”
I should explain that Barry could fix anything—except maybe our relationship. Anyway, when we’d been together, literally everything in my house was in tip-top shape. Since then, well, there were quite a few things that needed attention. I thanked him and said I’d take him up on it, though I really didn’t intend to.
There was an awkward moment at the door. I didn’t know what else to do, so I patted his arm. “So that’s what we do now,” he said, giving my arm a mechanical pat. His lips curled into a half smile. Then he told me to stay out of trouble and thanked me for the food.
I shut the door behind him. And then I had a troubling thought: If Cheyenne and her husband had been practicing the tango, where was the music?
CHAPTER 3
My mother was in the kitchen when I got up the next morning. Something in the oven smelled good and I heard the whir of the blender. I could tell by the green color in the blender carafe that my mother was making her famous morning drink. It resembled pond scum, and the only way to drink it was by not looking at it.
She was pouring me a glass before I could get to the coffeepot. “This will wake you right up,” she said, pushing it on me. I closed my eyes and started to hold my nose as well, but then the flavor hit me. It had a mild green taste, mixed with raspberry.
I was waiting for her to ask what Barry had been doing here last night, but she said nothing, and I took that to mean she didn’t really want to know. She poured the rest of the drink in two glasses. “Your father lives by my green drink,” she said.
“What’s in the oven?” I asked, taking in the delicious scent.
“Granola. We like the homemade version so much more.” She started to rattle off the ingredients and then said she’d leave me some.
“We’re just going to stay in this furnished apartment for a month or so, until we find a place.” She came over and gave me a squeeze. “It’s going to be such fun to be so close to you. Maybe I’ll join that crochet group of yours. It would be a great thing to do when I’m hanging around, waiting to go onstage.” My mother smiled at me. “Isn’t it fun how we’re both in the midst of new chapters in our lives.”
There was one little difference, though: Hers was by choice; mine was by necessity. When my husband died a little over three years ago, everything had changed. I had helped him in his public relations business, but wasn’t in a position to take it over. I’d been suddenly adrift, with a lot of time on my hands, and lonely. The job at the bookstore had been a new beginning for me and had led me into the crochet group.
Thinking of my life now, it was hard to imagine how desolate I had felt right after Charlie died. My life now was full of yarn, people and pets. And Mrs. Shedd kept giving me more responsibilities at the bookstore.
The thought of those responsibilities whipped me back to the present. “I’m late,” I said, putting the glass down.
“You should finish it,” my mother said. “Look at all the energy I have.” She did a little dance to prove it.
I laughed, then went to my room to grab some clothes and came back across the house to use the small bathroom to shower and get dressed. My mother was just taking the granola out of the oven when I zipped through the kitchen to the back door. The dogs and cats had figured out I was leaving, even though my pattern was different. They knew the drill and were sitting by the door.
I doled out a treat to each of them. My original plan had been to use the treats to keep them busy when I went out the door. I’d hoped they’d associate my leaving with something good. It didn’t work. They expected the treats now, and they still stayed by the glass door looking sad as I walked across the yard.
I was just giving out the last treat when Mr. Kitty slipped out the door. I managed to get outside and shut it before the rest of them escaped, but he scampered across the yard before I could stop him. I ran after him, which only made him run faster. I caught up with him just as he got to the back fence.
“At least you didn’t go over the fence this time.” Going into the neighbor’s yard under the cover of darkness was one thing, but with the sun out, no way. But as long as I was standing at the fence, why not have a look? Maybe if I looked in there now, it would all seem different. The house did look finished, but the rest of the place certainly didn’t. I shuddered when I looked at the yard. It looked like a danger zone. I remembered hearing music playing there before and seeing workmen moving around in the yard. Now I realized that had been a while ago, and it seemed work had stopped.
It appeared a hole had been dug for a pool and some kind of framework had been put up on the sides. I gathered that the plan was to put in a patio below the balcony where all the action had taken place. But for now there were just boxes of pavers lying around the area. A tall shovel was stuck in the dirt, and a wheelbarrow rested on its side.
I remembered that Barry had mentioned kids and a nanny. Seeing the condition of the yard, I guessed it must be off-limits to them. It was certainly no place to play.
I was relieved I’d managed to grab Mr. Kitty before he got into the neighboring yard. Now that I knew who was living there and it was light out, I didn’t want to go past the fence.
I deposited the black-and-white cat inside and gathered up my belongings. Enough time had gone by that I had to give out another round of good-bye treats. This time I made sure no one slipped out the door with me.
I threw my stuff in the greenmobile, as I called my vintage blue green Mercedes. Frankly, with the way cars were these days, it was a relief to just put the key in to start it. Shedd & Royal was barely a five-minute drive away. In no time, I had pulled into the parking lot and was walking around the corner to the front door.
Since it was still fairly early, I wasn’t expecting the commotion that greeted me. Mrs. Shedd was standing with someone and seemed to be fluttering around a woman. Mr. Royal was with a number of people carrying cameras. Rayaad, our cashier, was watching it all from her post at the front of the store.
“What’s going on?” I asked. Better to be forewarned before I walked into something.
“Some local famous person brought her kids for story time. There were a bunch of photographers following her outside. Mrs. Shedd said they could come inside.”
“Do you know the woman’s name?” I asked.
Rayaad shrugged. “I didn’t quite get it. I heard the guys with the cameras saying something about a show she was on. It had Show in the title.”
I stopped in my tracks. It seemed almost too coincidental. “Is it called Show Me Your Tune?” I asked. Rayaad nodded. “Her name isn’t Cheyenne, is it?”
Rayaad’s face brightened in recognition. “Yes, that’s it.”
I slipped to the side of the store and went into the café. Bob, our barista, was behind the counter putting together a bunch of drinks, but for the moment the place was empty. “What’s going on?” I asked as he pushed another cup into one of the holders.
“A bunch of paparazzi were hanging out front when some celebrity showed up with her kids. I got to watch it all from here. She looked like she was all upset that they were waiting for her. Then Mrs. Shedd decided to let them in. I’d bet anyting she’s making sure they get the bookstore name in their shots.”
I asked Bob for a red eye. My mother’s green drink might pep her up, but I still needed caffeine. The coffee with a shot of espresso added was just what I needed. Bob poured the coffee and got ready to make the espresso. Two men with cameras came into the café and stood behind me.
“What an actress,” one of them said. “The fuss she made about us being out front.” He laughed. “Right. The tip we got that she was going to be here was really anonymous.”
The other man shook his head at the absurdity. “More like it was her husband.”
“Nice of the bookstore gal to invite us in.”
“I’m sure Cheyenne or her husband-slash-manager suggested it. Anything to get some publicity shots doing regular sorts of things.” His associate nodded. I was glad that it was taking Bob a long time to make my drink, as I was curious about what they had to say. “Someone is always tipping us off on where she’s going to be.” Then they started to discuss the Internet and the constant need for content and how all the entertainment shows were looking for filler, too.
Hooking for Trouble Page 3
