Taking the Fall: A Cozy Mystery (Brenna Battle Book 1)

by Laney Monday

  I held my breath as I slowly lifted the gate handle. Don’t do anything stupid, I recalled Blythe saying. Well, this might be stupid, but I hadn’t exactly promised her I wouldn’t, had I? I pulled the gate open. It caught on the uneven concrete with an awful scraping noise. I froze, waiting. For what? The killer to whack me? I shook off my fear and lifted the gate a little as I pulled this time. It opened the rest of the way with relatively little noise. Well, at least now I knew this gate’s quirks, just in case I ever needed to trespass onto a dangerous criminal’s property again.

  I found myself on a broken-up concrete path running along the edge of a grassy backyard dotted with a few too many dandelions. The dandelions contributed to the demise of the path, competing with the thistles sprouting up through the cracks. It pains me to say that my bare feet discovered the thistles. But I bit my lip and gingerly stepped forward. I glanced back at the gate, and decided to leave it open in case I needed to make a quick escape. Hopefully the homeowner wouldn’t look out the window and notice it was ajar. Then again, if anyone looked out the window, I was pretty much doomed. This yard offered no cover whatsoever for my covert operation. I was hardly small enough to hide behind the smattering of toy dump trucks, and my butt was a bit too round to flatten myself to the ground behind the classic plastic turtle-shaped sand box.

  Was this the killer’s house, or had he or she merely chosen this as part of an escape route? I had to look for another clue. Or at least find out who lived here. Even if it wasn’t the killer, chances were this house was known to them. I didn’t know what else to do, so I darted to the side of the house and flattened myself against it. At least, if anyone was inside, they wouldn’t see me. That’s why they do that in all the spy movies, right? Or was that just to avoid stray—or not so stray—bullets? Either way, it made me feel better than standing by the fence.

  But now what? I studied my surroundings as best I could without actually moving. No sign of green paint, as far as I could tell. I edged closer to the window. Maybe a peek inside would provide another clue. The window was open to the spring air. On the other side of the screen, yellow curtains wafted back and forth in the breeze. With the slope of the yard, I had to pop up on my tiptoes to get a glimpse inside. So, this was the kitchen window. I spotted a sink full of cereal bowls. I don’t know what I’d expected to see—a bloody spatula floating among the soggy Fruity-Os, which forensics would discover was the real murder weapon, thanks to me and my sleuthing?

  I could hear distant murmurs within the house. Someone was home! But the sounds seemed like they were coming from upstairs. There was no way I was going in there while someone was home, and there was little chance of spotting anything useful through the windows, especially without getting caught. Thinking about the occupants on the second floor brought to mind the obvious—the neighboring house was a two-story, too. The occupants would have no trouble looking over the apple tree in their yard and into this one, and seeing me lurking around like a criminal. Getting arrested for snooping would be just as bad for our newly forming reputation in Bonney Bay as that graffiti declaring us murderers. The backyard was just so open. I opted to try slipping out the front first. There were some garbage cans there, and a decent-sized evergreen bush. I just had to hope there was a gate at that end, too. I scurried toward the front of the house, feeling like a rat. It was so unfair. I told myself I wasn’t a rat, but I sure smelled one around here.

  Yes! Just past the garbage cans, there was a gate leading to the front yard. I hurried to open it and slip out. I couldn’t help noticing the shiny red Prius in the driveway. I knew that car. I’d watched Stacey Goode get into it with her little terror of a son, right after Riggins broke up her and Rebecca’s bullying attempt in the dance studio parking lot.

  My heart slammed against my rib cage. I knew it! And then the door slammed. Not the house door; the car door. Holy moly! I crouched down and ducked back behind the gate.

  17

  “Leo! Let’s go!” a woman said.

  Definitely Stacey. Thank God, she hadn’t seen me. Still in a crouch, I peeked around the gate. I had to see if there was anyone else with her, an accomplice maybe.

  “I’m looking for my new truck. I wanna show it to Sam!” Leo called. I could hear the threat of tears in his whine. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

  “I’m going to be late for work! Get in the car!”

  “I know! I left it out back!” Leo said.

  Faster than I could crab-leap back from the gate, little footsteps skidded toward me.

  Stacey was still screaming at the kid to get in the car, but he ignored her. I crawled behind the garbage cans, wincing as my hand pressed down on something alarmingly squishy. It stank so bad back there I could hardly breathe. Stacey More-than-Likely-the-Murderer came striding through the gate after her son, and that didn’t exactly do anything to help me breathe easier. The trash can only partially obscured the view of my snooping self; I hadn’t had time to hide completely, and now I didn’t dare risk making a sound. Leo was pretty focused on that truck, but Stacey had that shrewd look about her, like not much got past her. I squatted there in an awkward position, pain shooting through my knee, not daring to move, while Leo retrieved his truck and Stacey chased him back toward the car.

  Halfway there, Leo paused, looked back, and held out his hand to Stacey. “Come on, Mom. I don’t want you to be late.” For a second there, the little terror actually looked sweet.

  Stacey squeezed his little hand, sighed, and kissed the top of his head. “It’s okay, Leo,” she said. Like a normal mom with her son, not like a dangerous criminal.

  As soon as I heard both car doors shut, I straightened my bad knee out. I waited until I heard them pull out of the driveway before I dared to stand up.

  I wiped what I could only guess to be rotten peach pulp from my hands, onto the grass. I kept seeing Stacey kissing her little boy, then picturing her beating Ellison with Blythe’s hairbrush. I wanted to throw up. What would happen to Leo if Stacey went down for this? Maybe his dad was a great guy. Still, the kid would have to move again, and he’d have to live with knowing his mother was a murderer.

  Maybe she wasn’t the murderer. The paint, the note, they might have nothing to do with the murder at all. But I didn’t want to believe that any more than I wanted to believe the mother of a five-year-old was a killer. Those threats were the only real clues I had to go on.

  I walked down the hill, trying to look casual. As though every grown woman went walking around Bonney Bay barefoot. I turned back into the deck area to retrieve my flip-flops. Maybe I should wear real shoes more often, like Blythe had been telling me to for years. Flip-flops seemed to keep causing me trouble. But they made me feel comfortable. I’d practiced judo so often, for so long, and they were the easiest footwear to remove and put back on by the side of the mat. After all, we don’t wear shoes for judo, and footwear on the mat is a big no-no. Flip-flops made me feel like me.

  For some reason, knowing that Stacey wouldn’t be anywhere nearby didn’t make me feel much better entering that shadowy nook. I got out of there quick, and flip-flopped my way back to the studio. Alice was still there, but she was packing up her things. A tarp had been hung over the defiled windows, secured with duct tape. Blythe gave me a wide-eyed look as she folded up a step stool.

  “What?” I mouthed.

  She looked me up and down. I looked myself up and down. Oh, dear. My jeans were smeared with grass stains and garbage juice. I’m pretty sure I smelled like a dumpster.

  Blythe gestured toward the back. I hurried away before Alice could see or smell me.

  Blythe was on the stairs, right on my filthy heels, in no time. “Brenna! What happened?”

  “I had to hide, in a hurry.”

  “What happened!”

  “Nothing really, except I discovered our little trail of lime vandalism led to Stacey Goode’s house.”

  Blythe might’ve clapped her hands, if they weren’t balled up in fists. “Stacey Go
ode! I knew it!”

  “Let me get a quick shower, and then I’ll tell you everything.”

  I ended up telling Blythe all about it while I was in the shower. When I told her about the pictures, she got my phone and took a look. “We’ve got to show these to Officer Riggins!”

  I pulled the shower curtain back and popped my half-shampooed head out. “Not yet! She’s getting sloppy and reckless, threatening us like that. I don’t want her to know anyone has their eye on her just yet. Let’s give it just a little while longer and see what she does, and what we can find out.”

  “I guess you’re right. I can see the police just dismissing the whole thing. Anyone could’ve run through her backyard. And what about the little boy? Would she have taken him with her?”

  “She could’ve plopped him in front of some cartoons with a bowl of cereal, run over to our place, and done the deed. She could’ve even done it before she woke him up.”

  “If she’d kill, she just might leave her son alone for a few minutes.” Blythe paused, thinking. “We’ve got to find out more about Stacey Goode,” she concluded. “As much as I don’t appreciate the threats, this thing is never going to get solved if she gets tipped off and starts lying low.”

  “Well … ” Did I dare say it? “She has gone to work for the day.”

  I could just imagine Blythe narrowing her eyes at me on the other side of the shower curtain. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying the house is empty.”

  “Brenna Battle, we are not Breaking and Entering!”

  But it’s the perfect opportunity! I wanted to argue. Instead I said, “You’re right. But we could keep an eye on her and see what she does, couldn’t we? Maybe we’ll catch her meeting with an accomplice, or throwing out the empty paint can … ” I got out and wrapped myself in a towel, then took my phone from Blythe and started searching social networks. “Ha! Found her. She works at the Bonney Bay library.”

  “So?”

  “So maybe we need to get library cards now that we’ve moved to Bonney Bay. Maybe while we’re there, we’ll find out a thing or two.”

  18

  The library was a modern brick building on the outer edge of Bonney Bay—on the end of town that pointed toward civilization. A few cars were already parked in the best spots right in front of the building, next to the reserved handicapped spots. Mothers emerged from them, unbuckling small children and loading up their arms with infants and all their paraphernalia. I felt a little twang of jealousy as I listened to a mother tell her toddler how they were going to go to story time, then meet up with Daddy for lunch and an ice cream sundae.

  Sure, her eight-month-old was pulling out locks of her disheveled hair and chewing on them while she and her eldest chatted, but she was handling it like a pro. I used to dream of a great guy and a couple of kids hanging off my arms, but now … I’d given up on that kind of thinking. Giving up was easier.

  Wow, thinking of it that way was a real blow to the gut. I was not a giver-upper! I’m not giving up, I told myself. I’m just doing something different.

  I held the door open for the families, then Blythe and I approached the desk. A slender woman with shoulder-length dark blond hair greeted us. I recognized a slight German accent in her hello, and almost greeted her back in German, before I remembered I had no desire to engage a conversation about how I knew German. I’d learned good, conversational French and German, as well as some essential phrases in Spanish, Japanese, and Russian, during my travels as a judo player. Judo is a much bigger sport in the rest of the world than it is in the U.S., and once you get to a certain level, you need to go to lots of training camps overseas in order to improve and learn how to fight the different styles of foreign players. I also had to compete all over the world in order to earn the points I needed to make Olympic and World teams.

  I simply said, “Hello,” back to the librarian. Her name tag said Helen. Were she and Stacey friends? It was kind of hard to imagine. Helen was dressed in a no-nonsense dark cotton skirt and a short-sleeved button-up blouse. Her glasses were the plain, wire-rimmed variety.

  “We’re new in town, and we’d like to get library cards,” said Blythe.

  I scanned the room for Stacey while Blythe took a couple of forms from Helen. There was a slender young man with the kind of intentionally rumpled hair that said, Look at me; I’m too studious to care, staring at the other computer screen on the librarians’ desk, biting his lip as he searched for something for another patron. I spotted another librarian in the rows of books on hold behind us, plucking books from a cart and shelving them. Though she had her back to me, there was no way her round form belonged to Stacey Goode. Maybe Stacey was the librarian in the room to my left, where the mothers and their little ones had gone—the one leading story time. Now, that was a scary thought!

  “We haven’t met many people yet,” Blythe was telling Helen. “Just a few. Carlos and Lourdes Vargas, Stacey Goode—she works here, doesn’t she?”

  “Oh, yes. She should be in any minute now. She will be working in the back, ten to three today.”

  Blythe and I exchanged looks. It was nine-thirty. So, Stacey hadn’t been running late for work after all. Where was she now? What was she doing?

  “So, I will just need to see your identification and something with your Bonney Bay address on it. Any piece of mail … ”

  Being a big fan of books and a member of Friends of the Library back in Sierra Vista, Blythe knew the ins and outs of these things, so we’d come prepared. “We haven’t gotten any mail here yet, but here’s the property assessment from the County they sent me recently. You can see I’m listed as the owner.”

  Recognition registered in Helen’s eyes as she read the address. “Oh, you’re the one who owns Miss Ruth’s place. The Olympian.”

  “Yes.” I smiled politely.

  “Well, we are so honored to have you here. Both of you.”

  Too bad Stacey Goode doesn’t feel the same way, I thought as Blythe and I thanked her.

  Once we had our cards, Blythe and I wandered over to the paperback racks.

  “We should definitely check something out while we’re here,” I said. “So we look legit.”

  “Yes, definitely.” Blythe was a bit distracted, with her nose already buried in a romance novel.

  I aimed for the mysteries. It seemed more fitting. By the time ten o’clock rolled around, we’d both chosen several books, but Stacey still hadn’t shown up.

  “I guess we should check out and go,” Blythe said. “Stacey’s going to be working in the back, and I don’t know what else we’re going to find out here.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Let’s check out.” And then maybe we can drive around town and see if we can spot Stacey’s car and figure out what’s making her late for work.

  A light drizzle of rain greeted us as the library’s automatic doors opened and we stepped into the parking lot.

  “Huh. I didn’t see that coming.” Blythe eyed the pale gray clouds overhead. She’d read up on the downpours that could strike any time of year here on the Western Washington coast. “Like monsoon season all year long!” she’d protested, back in Arizona, where our rainy season was predictable, and pretty much confined to July and August.

  I pointed to a patch of sunshine in the distance. “Just a little mist. This would’ve been nice on those hot spring days back home, huh?”

  Blythe made a little hmm sound, the closest she ever came to grunting.

  “I’m sure the clouds will be gone any minute,” I said.

  Blythe turned her attention back to the paperbacks under her arm. She started telling me how she loved the author. But I wasn’t paying much attention. I’d just noticed the library windows, and how easy it was to watch the job-seeking patrons sitting at the computers, the preschool aged children curled up on bean bags with picture books. Would it be this easy to see into the back room, where Stacey was scheduled to work? Without a word, I headed around toward the back of the buildi
ng. If there were any good windows …

  “Where are we going?” Blythe said.

  “Looking for windows.”

  “Oh-kay.” Blythe shrugged, then continued raving about her favorite author. “You should really try one of her books. They’re so good. The characters—”

  A car door slammed. “Shh!”

  That slamming car door belonged to a red Prius. Stacey stood next to her car, her back to us. She held her phone to her ear with one hand and pushed her purse back up on her shoulder with the other. “Yes. I know. It doesn’t matter where. Yes, of course inside! I have to go. Bye.”

  I looked for somewhere to hide, but Stacey turned around too fast, and we were right in the middle of the back parking lot. Right in her path.

  Stacey looked right at us, and the color drained from her face. “Brenna and Blythe Battle, what are you doing here?”

  I gave her a saccharine smile. “Getting library cards, now that we’re residents of Bonney Bay.” I held up my newly borrowed mystery novels and waved them at her.

  She glowered at me. I’m pretty sure she wanted to say, Not for long!

  Blythe said, “Helen helped us. What a nice, welcoming lady.” She gave Stacey a gleaming smile.

  I looked her up and down, hoping to spy a tell-tale blotch of green paint. If only I could get a good look at her fingernails. Didn’t that kind of evidence always end up under the villain’s nails?

  “What are you looking at?” Stacey spat at me as she brushed past. “There’s something wrong with both of you.”

  Blythe waved at her. “Have a nice day!” she said.

  “How’d I do?” she whispered to me. “I didn’t want her to know we’re onto her.”

  “You did great,” I said. “We’re going to blow her out of the water. Just as soon as I get some binoculars so we can watch her through the back window.”