Mr. Peabody's House

by Eve Langlais

  Staring at the treats, I somehow missed Mrs. Peabody pouring a mug of coffee. It landed in front of me, along with a bowl of sugar and a creamer of milk.

  Was it wrong that I wanted to marry Mrs. Peabody? The woman oozed sex appeal, and she could take care of a house. Who needed a husband? We’d just invest in dildos.

  I sweetened my coffee, as she used a spatula to serve a gooey cookie onto a plate.

  “So, Ms. Peterson.” The words purred out of her. “What kind of questions do you have that require you to work on such a lovely Saturday?” She leaned on the counter and blinked at me, long lashes over lovely eyes, the red spark in them mesmerizing.

  It took an effort to look away. I stared at my coffee, the cream I’d added turning it a light tan color. I took a sip and found it bitter. I added more sugar.

  “I visited your husband.”

  “How is dear Alfred?”

  Hanging from the ceiling when he wasn’t doing art. “Don’t you know?” I asked, looking at her sharply.

  She turned away and busied herself at the sink, rinsing dishes and placing them on a rack. “His therapist thought it best that we not disturb him.”

  “Who’s his therapist?”

  She waved a hand. “I’m afraid I don’t recall his name. Dr. something or other. This whole ordeal has been so mentally exhausting.”

  The reply seemed off somehow. I mean, we were talking about her spouse. A man she’d been with for more than fifteen years. “Aren’t you curious at all about what’s happening to your husband?”

  “Curious about what? It’s quite simple really. I’m afraid poor Alfred suffered quite a mental break. I blame the stress at his work.”

  Because helping people find shoes was so hard. Ha.

  Given my love of shoes, I could probably make a killing on commission. People would walk into the store, and I’d eyeball their style and feet. I’d whip around, grabbing boxes and flip them at clients like Frisbees. They’d try on the shoes then break into tears because I’d totally understood their arch and sole needs. They’d buy tons of shit, and I’d bring home fat paychecks.

  Which made me wonder why I was still a secretary when my obvious dream job was in retail.

  However, retail didn’t have me investigating dudes who could walk on the ceiling—just like Lionel Ritchie. Was he possessed, too?

  “Mrs. Peabody, are you aware that your husband is claiming this house is haunted and that you’re possessed?”

  Laughter tinkled out of her, bright and clear as bells, yet the hairs on my arm rose. The fact that I had enough hair to rise made me wonder if I should look into waxing or laser hair removal.

  “My poor husband. Suffering from such ludicrous delusions. There is nothing wrong with me or the children. Nor this house, for this matter.”

  “Where are the children?”

  “Hanging with their friends, of course.” She turned from the sink and wiped her damp hands on a towel before leaning against the counter. “This tragedy has taken such a toll on them, but I felt it best they keep a normal schedule.”

  “Of course,” I muttered.

  Mrs. Peabody said all the right things. And yet…ever feel like there was something going on, something you couldn’t quite see? In this case, I didn’t think it was a case of Meemaw’s neighbor sneaking around the apartment building spying on the girls getting undressed at night via the fire escape.

  I sipped on my coffee in order to hide my lack of conversation.

  Mrs. Peabody smiled widely. So wide that I couldn’t help but notice her giant teeth.

  All the better to eat me with…

  “What do you think of the cookies?”

  I’d forgotten about it. Hastily, I brought it to my mouth for a bite. It looked better than it tasted. Dry, flavorless, and possibly less palatable than sawdust. I put it back on the plate and took a gulp of coffee. It didn’t mix well with the cookie.

  My stomach sloshed unhappily, but I pasted on a smile and said, “Delicious.”

  “Let me wrap some for you to take when you go.”

  I couldn’t exactly say no, so I let her place some in a bag. I planned to ditch them on the way home. Or maybe I’d arrange to have them delivered to Mike when he didn’t make any attempt to contact me.

  He won’t call. Why would he? He’d been pretty obvious about his dislike of me the first time we met. That moment in his office wouldn’t change that.

  Maybe I should have saved the smooches and gropes for Sebastian. He’d at least seemed moderately interested in me.

  But he never called either.

  I realized Mrs. Peabody was looking at me expectantly. Had she spoken while I woolgathered my rejections?

  “Excuse me, I missed that.”

  “I said when will the insurance begin to pay out? While we’ve covered for the moment the cost of repair, I’m sure my husband’s care, even if state mandated, will come at a price.”

  “I don’t make those final decisions. Lots of factors go into it.”

  “But surely you have an idea.” She leaned forward, her features sharper than before, the glint in her eye more red than brown.

  An army of ants ran up and down my spine, and my stomach lurched again.

  “It’s not up to me what happens.”

  “A shame. Because you are such an interesting girl. A nice-smelling girl.” Mrs. Peabody leaned closer and inhaled.

  I got the impression she wasn’t talking about my perfume. Someone else close to her also showed a keen interest in my scent.

  Despite wanting to question her some more, I decided it was time to leave.

  “Look at the time,” I said as nausea wracked my tummy.

  The room wavered, one moment sunny and white. Then, for a moment, dark and dingy, the sink full of dishes, flies dancing in a cloud.

  A blink, and everything turned bright again. I, on the other hand, didn’t feel so sunny. “I think I should go. I’m suddenly not feeling well.”

  “Oh, dear.” Said with a lack of sympathy and all too much glee. “Would you prefer to lie down? The couch is quite comfortable.”

  Lie down in this house with her watching over me? The idea didn’t appeal.

  “No, I’ll just go home. Probably just a flu bug.” Or something I’d eaten.

  “Take these with you. In case you get hungry.”

  I’d eat dirt before I ate those cookies again.

  She thrust the bag she’d filled at me, and I grabbed it, not in the mood to argue or let her know how shitty her cookies tasted. I just wanted out.

  As I got to my feet, my vision wavered. I blinked and walked out of the kitchen. The hallway seemed to stretch forever, and sweat beaded on my skin.

  Why did I feel so crappy?

  How far was that damned door?

  I put one foot in front of the other. Focused ahead.

  The space tilted, the bright fresh paint fading to a dingy gray. I put my hand out and caught myself on the wall, the edge of a picture frame digging into my palm.

  Pictures? I’d not noticed any on my way in. For a moment, I saw a blank gray wall, and then I blinked and saw a family picture taken in the Grand Canyon. Mr. Peabody, his arm around a woman and two gap-toothed children.

  Pushing off the wall, I stumbled to the front door, wrenching it open, feeling the warm sun hit my face. I entered the fresh air outside, gladly.

  “Bye-bye,” cooed Mrs. Peabody. “Hope you feel better soon.”

  And was it me, or did she add in a muttered, “not,” under her breath?

  Tottering steps showed the world worked against me, the ground weaving and bobbing as if the whole front yard was at sea. But I’d walked home in a drunken stupor before. I could handle whatever plagued me.

  I remained upright, if only barely, reaching the sidewalk without falling over.

  Goals!

  My truck at the curb looked massive, the lift kit I’d had installed raising it high above the ground. I hoped I could climb into it.

  Fo
otsteps behind me showed I had company, and I almost looked over my shoulder.

  Almost, but didn’t. If this were a horror movie, I’d look back and see that Mrs. Peabody had turned into some grotesque ghoul, fingers stretched for me, her mouth opened wide to eat me.

  I reached my truck and yanked open the door, tossing in my stuff as I eyed the height of the driver seat. It felt like climbing Mount Everest getting in. But I made it and slammed the door shut. Locked it, too, before looking out the passenger-side window. The front door of the house was closed. The walkway empty.

  And I didn’t feel good at all.

  Certainly not good enough to drive myself home.

  What did that woman do to me?

  Good thing I had a plan in case of emergency.

  Chloe answered on the second ring, and I croaked, “I’ve been poisoned. Find my phone.”

  Why waste time trying to remember an address when she could just use an app? I slumped against the steering wheel, the phone slipping from my grip, her voice hollering my name.

  No matter what, Chloe would find me.

  Or, at the very least, call in the cavalry. I just wish I hadn’t barfed all over him when Dale opened the door to my truck.

  8

  I felt much better after spewing my guts.

  Dale? Not as impressed. Nothing says “nice to see you” like barfing all over a man.

  And it didn’t look or smell pretty. But good news, it didn’t have any blood or body parts in it. Bad news, his shirt soaked it up like a sponge.

  I grabbed a bottle of water that I kept in the console cup holder, took a swig to wash out my mouth, then handed it to him.

  As he poured it over his face to clear the spatter, I scrounged for some tissue.

  During this all, he didn’t say a word, and I was struck dumb when he stripped off his shirt and threw it onto the curb.

  “Litterbug,” I muttered.

  The look he gave me stalled anything else I might have said.

  “Move over,” he growled, hand on the rim of the driver side door. “I’m driving.”

  Still feeling queasy, I decided it best not to argue.

  Dale swung himself into the driver seat, wearing only jeans and his shoes. I rather liked the look, even if he also wore a scowl.

  “Are you cold? Would you like my cardigan?” I offered it and got an evil side-eye, not to be confused with an evil, possessed side-eye that involved a full head rotation.

  “Keep the sweater.” He started my truck, the big engine growling happily—the slut. Wouldn’t you know my truck, like its owner, enjoyed a man’s hands on her.

  “Who’s truck is this?” he asked, pulling away from the curb.

  “Mine.” Said with great pride.

  I got a grunt in reply. Probably one of jealousy because men coveted my vehicle. It brought out something primitive inside. And when the cops pulled me over for supposed road rage, I knew how to flash some cleavage and smile to get out of a ticket.

  Dale drove, not speaking to me, and it rubbed me raw.

  “Are you going to mope all day because I barfed on you?” I certainly wouldn’t have if the roles had been reversed. I’d have offered to hold his hair. What a jerk. He never once offered to hold mine.

  I glared at him.

  Despite the obvious heat of my stare, he didn’t look at me as his hands tightened on the wheel. “I am not moping.”

  “Then why do you look like your panties are in a twist?”

  “Who says I wear any?”

  The surprising reply brought a laugh to my lips. “I’ll be damned, Scooby, I didn’t take you for a man who goes commando. Have you ever had a zipper incident?”

  “A man only has one of those in his life before he learns to be careful.”

  I nodded. “During my natural phase”—where I grew out a bush to rival those of the seventies—“I learned real quick to wear underwear if I planned to throw on some jeans. Waxing is a lot less painful.”

  “Don’t you have any boundaries?” he asked.

  I didn’t even hesitate. “Nope. And to prove it, I am more than happy to tell you that I now get a Brazilian on a regular schedule.”

  “Nothing wrong with a bit of bush.”

  “Says the guy who turns hairy on the full moon.”

  “The moon doesn’t have to be full for us to do it. Those with control can change anytime.”

  “Do you ever change during sex?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there’re laws against bestiality.”

  “You’re still a man inside.”

  “The answer is still no.”

  “I think it’s cool you can become a wolfman anytime. Show me.” I eyed him with curiosity, the conversation distracting from my sore tummy.

  “Not now. I’m driving.”

  “Afraid you might get all slobbery excited over the traffic and chase cars. Gotcha,” I said, nodding my head then wishing I hadn’t.

  “I chase skirts, not cars.”

  He didn’t chase mine, though. Still, he’d come to my rescue. That had to count for something.

  “How come you were able to come to me so quick?” I asked. Because he’d literally arrived like two minutes after my phone call. Unless I’d blacked out for longer than I thought.

  “I happened to be in the area.”

  “Why?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Booty call. Probably with a married lady since you won’t tell me.” Shame. Despite my tryst with Mike, I still had a thing for Dale.

  “No, I was not seeing anyone, married or not. Let’s leave it at I was looking into something. A better question is, what were you doing there?”

  “In case you’re wondering, it wasn’t a booty call either. I was working on a case, and apparently, the person I was talking to didn’t like my questions. I’m pretty sure she poisoned me.” My stomach still roiled.

  “Poison?” That earned me a skeptical gaze. “That would be pretty brazen considering you were parked out front.”

  “Then maybe the milk she gave me for my coffee went bad. Something I ate didn’t agree with me.” My hand rested over my rumbly tummy. “I don’t usually puke unless I’ve had too many hot dogs and go on a whirly ride or try to do a reverse Jersey Turnpike after a few too many drinks.”

  “I feel so lucky then.”

  The sarcasm was strong with him. It was strong in me, too. “You’re welcome.”

  He almost smiled. I saw it.

  “What were you discussing with Mrs. Peabody?” he asked.

  I tossed Dale a suspicious look through one squinted eye. “How do you know her name?” Because I’d certainly not mentioned it. Clarity hit a moment later, and I groaned. “Let me guess. Mike told you.”

  “Wrong. Your friend Chloe told Pete about Mr. Peabody—”

  “And Pete set his most trusted wolves on the case.” I jabbed a finger in his direction, two fingers for the two versions of him driving. “But you can stop right now. I am going to solve this mystery.”

  “No, you’re not. Because, as of now, you’re off the case.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me.”

  “You’re not the boss of me.” Childish taunts were still the best, especially when your guts were roiling. If he kept trying to piss me off, he might just get soaked again.

  “In this, I am your boss, and I say you’re done. You’re out of your element, kitten. We are dealing with dangerous things here.”

  “So what? I’m not afraid.” Much. One thing was for sure, I definitely didn’t suffer from boredom anymore.

  “Don’t be stupid. I heard about what happened at the asylum.”

  What a surprise, Mike had tattled. About which part, though? Then again, what were the chances Grumpy admitted he got to second base with me? Or was it third? I was never good at figuring out sports.

  “What did you hear?” I asked, hedging my bets.

  “That you almost go
t killed.”

  “We don’t know for sure that Peabody would have hurt me.” Although that seemed rather likely had I continued to wear my clothes. An outfit now ruined beyond all repair. Would I have been destroyed, too, if I’d refused to take it off?

  “You went to the asylum and deliberately antagonized him.”

  “I went there to do my job. Not my fault Peabody went all crazy. I was just trying to get at the truth.”

  “And in doing so, put yourself in danger. Just like you put yourself at risk going to his house.” For some reason, he sounded angry. But why? Why did he care what happened to me? “What were you thinking?” He shouted the words as he pulled up in front of my place. Low-rent, co-op apartment in the so-so part of town.

  “I was thinking that I wanted to do something with my life, but as usual, I screwed up.” Best-laid plans once again fucked up by a girl who rushed in.

  “You’re damned right you screwed up.”

  For some reason, his words set me off. “Fuck off. I don’t care who the hell you think you are. I don’t need you pointing out my mistakes. You’re not my boss or my boyfriend. As a matter of fact, you’re nobody, which means I don’t have to listen to you at all.”

  Clutching my purse in one hand, because it held a second set of keys, I poured myself out of the front seat. I hit the pavement hard and had to hold on to the door to keep myself upright. Before I could take a step, Dale was there, an arm around my waist supporting me.

  I shoved at him, weakly, as if I’d just gone ten rounds with the flu and lost. “Go away. Leave me alone.”

  “Why are you so damned stubborn?” he muttered.

  “Meemaw says I’m assertive.” My lips turned down. “It’s why people don’t like me.” The depressing words didn’t sit well, and neither did the pity I was sure he had in his gaze.

  Once again, I pushed away from him and made it one step, one wavering move where the building doubled, and I wondered how I’d make it all the way to my place.

  I’d make it with sheer determination. I dragged another foot forward. The world worked against me and took that moment to tilt.

  Before I could kiss the pavement, Dale swept me into his arms.

  “Put me down.” Protested the girl who was quite content being held.