“Just checking the place out. What did you say you heard last night?”
“Did I tell you about that?”
“Didn’t you tell me about that?”
“I don’t remember . . .”
His cell rang and he looked at it, but didn’t answer. “Look, I’ve got to get back to work. We’ll talk about . . . well . . . look . . . never mind. Just . . . be careful.” He slipped into his Camry, backed out fast and sped away, just in time for my friend Peggy to pull up in her blue Honda Odyssey. My house was beginning to feel like Grand Central Station
“Ciao, baby!” she hailed, stepping onto the drive. Peggy was a pasty-skinned, red-headed, stout lady of obvious Irish lineage who had converted to Judaism before she married and then to Italian-ism after she married. For their honeymoon, she and her husband, Simon, spent an entire month in Italy. Ever since, she has talked Italian, walked Italian, cooked Italian and often forgotten that her maiden name was O’Malley, not Minnelli.
“Hey, Peggy,” I said. I was glad to see Peggy—she had a way of making people happy.
She noticed I was watching House of Many Bones. “Whatcha lookin’ for-a Signora?” she asked. “More monkeys?”
Word had already spread.
“Talked to Roz, huh?” I asked. “You should have been here—it was wild. But no, I’m not looking for more monkeys. I’m trying to figure out why Howard was just . . .” I shook my head and looked back at House of Many Bones. “Something very strange is going on here I tell you.”
“I’m so sorry about Howard.” She touched my arm and gave me that yes-Roz-told-me face. There were many people in this world who I did not want to have knowledge of my current personal dilemma, but Peggy was not one of them. I was actually glad Roz had told her, so I wouldn’t be forced to recount the gory details yet again.
“Thanks,” I said. “He stopped by. But he left again.”
“So,” she picked her words carefully, leaning against her van, “was this mutual?”
“Nope. He just told me one night, and he moved out the next day. I don’t even know where he is. He won’t tell me.” I felt another cry coming on, but choked it back. Lieutenant Ripley would have been proud.
“Mama Mia. Did he say why?” she asked.
“Hmmm, what were his exact words . . . oh yes, they’re etched in my memory forever: ‘I need space.’”
“Oh, that one,” she nodded. “Joanna Spelling’s husband told her he needed space, too. Turned out the space he needed was a condo in Leesburg for boinking their nanny. In fact,” she said, pointing a knowing finger in my direction, “I hear babysitters are the leading cause of divorce next to the secretary. Any nannies in your past?”
“Not a one. And he doesn’t have a secretary.” I didn’t mention Marjorie Smith. Saying it out loud would be like admitting the possibility that Howard was with another woman.
“My cousin’s husband, Steve, left her—he needed ‘to find himself’—so she decided she would find out who he was finding himself with. She would follow him after he left work, stuff like that. Turns out Steve had a friend, all right—a BOY friend. That was a long time ago. Steve is Stephanie now. And he only has one arm. My cousin chopped off the other one.”
Peggy never ceased to amaze me. She knew everybody on the planet, and she always had a story. Truthfully, I really didn’t feel like talking about Howard anymore. My attention kept straying to House of Many Bones and what had happened the night before. I knew I hadn’t imagined it like Maxine said. Surely there was a screaming man and surely those monkeys were involved somehow. I took off across my yard.
“Where are you going?” Peggy sounded surprised.
Stopping, I turned to her. “She’s selling him a couch!” I yelled.
“What?”
“Never mind.” I marched away again. “I’m going to House of Many Bones. I think those monkeys are connected to what happened there last night.”
“What happened there last night?”
“Roz didn’t tell you?”
Peggy’s cell phone rang. “Look! Speak of the devil.” She answered. “We were just talking about you. I’m following Barb to her Boney House. She’s babbling about monkeys and something that happened last night?” After a second, she flipped her phone closed. “She’s coming over. She said I should watch you and make sure you don’t get into any trouble.”
House of Many Bones was two stories high with long, tall, slitty windows in the front, and small windows positioned way up high in the back. Several large evergreens and two overgrown rhododendron bushes generally obscured my view of the house, with the exception of a small opening between two of the bushes, which revealed a singular basement window. The infamous lighted window from the previous night.
Roz was outside in a flash, joining me and a reluctant Peggy on the impromptu sleuthing adventure. Conveniently for us, people weren’t out and about, so no one saw us slipping through the trees and into the backyard.
“So, Barb,” Roz said, “I owe you an apology—you may not be crazy after all.”
“How’s that?”
“After I took the kids home, I found a message on my answering machine from Maria Nichols.”
“Who’s Maria Nichols?” asked Peggy.
“That’s her house back there.” Roz pointed to the back of a house some twenty yards or so from where we were standing. “She lives on Green Ash Lane—she can see this back yard from her kitchen window. You know her, right Barb?” I nodded. The Nichols’ were new to the neighborhood and their youngest girl played with Bethany.
“Well,” she continued, “she called me to see what all the commotion was over here with the police and Animal Control and this, that, and the other, and did I see the man sneaking around behind the empty house?”
“What?” My ears perked up.
“That’s what I said! So I called her back. She says she saw some guy dressed in black, walking around back here, being very sneaky and acting peculiarly suspicious.” She slapped her hand on her leg for emphasis. “Same time as monkey time!”
“Maybe she just saw one of the Animal Control people looking around for other monkeys or something,” Peggy said.
“I had the same thought, but Maria says this guy was wearing a long black wool coat—dressed a little too nicely for doing outdoor work. She says he parked his very sleek Town Car on her street, practically in front of her house, and went through the woods to get here.”
“So what are we looking for now?” asked Peggy.
“Anything we can find.”
We searched the ground for footprints or other signs of life. The area was so significantly shaded that grass couldn’t grow. It was basically a backyard of dirt and leaves. There was no patio to speak of—just a small cement slab at the door, wide enough for a doormat, if one were so inclined. My heart rate moved into the aerobic range. Peggy carefully scanned the area of ground nearest the concrete slab and door.
“I’m not seeing anything here,” she said.
Roz decided to look farther out into the yard where Maria Nichols had mentioned seeing a cloaked mystery man lurking about. I tried to look into the house through the glass panes of the door, fairly certain that I had heard the door open last night after the horrible man-beast howl. They were covered in dirt and grime, and since I hadn’t come equipped with my nosy neighbor cleaning kit, I used my sweatshirt sleeve. I wiped away just enough dirt to see that the panes had been covered up from the inside with cardboard.
“Roz, you finding anything over there?” I asked.
“Not a thing,” she answered. “Maria swore she saw someone walking around over here, but I don’t see one sign of it. You’d think we’d see something, but it’s just dirt over here.”
Peggy wandered around to the other side of the house. A moment later she came back with a prize.
“Look at this!” She held up a brand new broom. Brand new except it had obviously been used on the dirt, because the bristles were covered in it. I looked clos
er at the ground at my feet. Sure enough, it had been swept over—long bristle marks were etched in the dirt.
“Someone has been covering up their tracks!” I cried. The hair on my neck stood on end. We weren’t just barking up an empty tree—we were really onto something. Someone REALLY had been at this house and didn’t want people to know.
In our excitement, we all started poking around the house and looking into windows. I tried the doorknob, to no avail. Then I went around to the low basement window where I had seen the light, realizing that might be our best bet. Roz and Peggy followed. I got down on my knees for a better look. The mud-covered aluminum window appeared to be the type that slid back and forth to open and close. If there had been a screen, it was gone now. I pulled at the window with my hand, and much to my surprise, it opened like a breeze. I sat on my bottom, dumbfounded, and stared up at Roz and Peggy.
“What do I do now?” I asked.
“Geez, I don’t know,” said Peggy.
“If we go in, it would be breaking and entering, right?” asked Roz.
“Probably,” I said.
We were silent for a good minute. A strong, autumn breeze blew through and chilled us all a bit, although I’m not sure the chill was from the cool air as much as the moderate to major amount of fear racing through our veins. Poor Roz and Peggy had the same look on their faces as a squirrel I’d seen the day before, frozen in the road and staring into the headlights of an oncoming SUV.
“Well,” proposed Peggy, “maybe it’s only breaking and entering if we get caught.”
“Oh, right. And what if we do get caught, Peggy?” sniped Roz. “Let’s face it, this is fun and all, but going in—that’s another thing altogether.”
“Okay,” I said, “Roz is basically right. On the other hand, while we’re here, and while the window is open, why don’t I just stick my head in—just my head? I’ll do it fast—no one will know. Then bing-bang-boom, we're out of here.” I was feeling very gutsy and very sleuthy.
“Admit it, Roz,” teased Peggy, “you’re as curious as we are.”
“Fine, fine, fine,” she snapped. “I’m curious. I’m very curious. I’m seriously curious. Just stick your head in a little.” She motioned toward the window. “But make it quick. Our luck is going to run out soon and someone is going to see us.”
I got back on my knees and asked them to hold my legs, just in case. I didn’t want to fall in—then I’d have problems. Probably couldn’t skirt the whole breaking and entering issue on a technicality if that happened. I put my hands on the ground and moved my head in through the narrow opening. It was still dark and my eyes took a moment to adjust.
“Do you see anything?” asked Peggy.
“Not yet.”
I blinked a couple of times. It was horribly musty and dust swam right up my nose. I brought my hand in to rub my nose in an attempt to stifle a sneeze. Then I noticed a smell far worse than musty. It was strong and had a sweet sort of aroma, but not a good sweet. The scent was familiar, but I couldn’t place it immediately. My eyes were just beginning to adjust to the dark when it hit me—the smell. It was just like the time I’d found the dead chipmunk in my pantry. . . I started feeling not so good about the whole enterprise when I caught sight of something on the floor. I blinked once more to focus clearly. Suddenly, the situation went from “Hmm-this-is-interesting” to “Holy-Mother-of-God-what-do-I-do-now?” Because, as it turned out, I was looking straight down into the rotting eye sockets of a very dead face. Problem was, there was no body. Just a head. The head was dead.
Then everything went black.
Chapter Five
MY EYES OPENED AND I found that my head was in Peggy’s lap. I couldn’t remember why I was on the ground. I remembered it was my birthday and thought this was a strange way to celebrate . . . then it all came back. The dark room, the smell, the head. I struggled to sit up.
“What happened? Where’s Roz?” I asked, my mouth barely able to form the words.
“You fainted. Well, you screamed first. Then you fainted. My cell phone died so Roz went to call 911. I was so scared! We could barely hold you—you went limp. Limp as a rag doll. A heavy rag doll. It was awful! Awful!” Peggy’s arms were flying in all directions as she rambled on about the events after my blackout. She was bouncing around so violently, my head nearly flew out of her lap. “I was sure we were going to drop you,” she continued. “You were so heavy. Dead weight. It was awful. Man, how much do you weigh?”
“I got it—I need to lose a few pounds. Geez.” I rubbed my head. “Did you see it?”
“It? Oh, God. There’s an IT? We were afraid to look. I’m a wuss. The smell says enough. Please tell me it’s a dead animal.”
Roz was running toward us, carrying a bottle of water and something else I couldn’t make out. Just as she reached us, I heard sirens in the distance, the sound growing louder.
“Are you okay? Is she okay?” She was looking back and forth between us.
“I’m fine,” I answered. “My head is starting to pound, though.”
“Oh, here,” she said handing over the items she had brought. “A bottle of water and Tylenol. Please tell me it’s a dead animal.”
“It’s not a dead animal,” I said.
“Is it dead?” asked Peggy.
“Oh, it’s dead. What’s left of it.”
Peggy and Roz clamped their hands over their mouths at the same time. Just about then, two uniformed bodies rounded the corner. I had finally managed to pull myself up to a sitting position—when I looked up, I saw that one of the two people was my Brad Pitt-handsome policeman friend. I tried to remember his real name from the card he had given me. No such luck. He’d just have to be Officer Brad. He probably wished he’d clocked out after his first call to our neighborhood. This time around, Officer Brad was accompanied by a squat female officer who appeared stiff and über-serious. Neither of them said a word as they stared down at us, so I felt compelled to start the conversation.
“So, you again,” I said, being a little too flip for the occasion. Not necessarily being accustomed to finding dead heads in neighborhood basements, I wasn’t exactly sure how this was going to go down. Would I be wearing gray by the end of the day, curled up on a cot, singing the jailhouse blues?
“I was just about to say the same thing,” he replied, definitely not smiling. He wasn’t happy. I figured that he was about to get a lot less happy, too.
“I’m afraid there’s a dead head in this basement here. I found it by accident.”
Officer Brad didn’t blink a blink. There were several seconds of uncomfortable silence. Even the lady cop was starting to sweat. Eventually, I detected a twitch on his lip that I couldn’t quite read. Hard to tell if it was an angry twitch or a sympathetic twitch. I was praying for sympathetic.
“By a ‘dead head,’ ma’am,” he finally said, “do you mean a person, such as a rock band groupie?”
“No, I mean a head. The head of a dead human. The rest of him isn’t there. Well, at least not on the floor.” Unfortunately I pictured the decaying head again while talking and started to feel nauseous. “Excuse me, I think I’m going to throw up.” And then I did. I sprayed chunks all over Officer Brad’s shiny black shoes.
As more cars arrived and Officer Brad cleaned off his shoes, the burly lady cop quickly took over, moving the three of us away from the house to the street out front. White Willow Circle was starting to glow with the throbbing of red flashing lights. The shrill of sirens filled the air.
A paramedic named Chaz arrived and seemed disappointed that I didn’t have a telephone pole through my guts like a grisly scene in an episode of ER. I figured it was his first day. He did give me a warm blanket and oxygen, though, since I was shivering in massive spasms. While he took my blood pressure, Roz told me that Peter had scooped up my girls and taken them to their house. He would watch them until things settled down. Thank God for Peter.
I found myself wishing Howard were there holding me, keeping me w
arm. And then, just as if he had read my mind, I saw his car turn onto White Willow. He couldn’t get past the police cars so he parked at the corner and ran up the street. His dark eyes were darker than usual, contrasting his ashen white face. He looked terrible and that made me happy. He was worried. Now if he’d just remember it was my birthday, then he’d be perfect. When he finally reached me, he took me in for a long, strong hug. He smelled so good. I didn’t want to let go. Suddenly, with him holding me like that, comforting me, the reality of my discovery became overwhelming and I started shivering uncontrollably again.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I nodded, fighting back the urge to cry. It stuck like a lump in my throat and prevented me from speaking, but I was sticking to my oath—I wasn’t going to be a wimpy woman. Sigourney’s Lieutenant Ripley didn’t cry when she’d found that dead guy in the space ship. Neither would I. Tears fought to find open air, but I shut down those ducts tight.
“Where are the girls?” he asked me.
Peggy chimed in, realizing, I think, that I might be having trouble talking. “They’re at Roz and Peter’s,” she answered. It occurred to me as we stood there that his arrival didn’t appear to be casual in nature. He’d driven up fast, like he’d known ahead of time that there was a problem.
“Did Roz call you?” I was finally able to ask. He shook his head “no,” while observing the growing activity at House of Many Bones. It was hard to tell, but it seemed that he was avoiding the question.
“Who? Peter?” I queried further.
“So, are you ready to tell me what happened here?” he asked, changing the subject. His avoidance of the question wasn’t lost on me, but I was too freaked to force the issue. I gave him the whole story—the truck, the screaming man, the call from Maria Nichols, and our idea to conduct our own investigation of sorts, figuring there was really no harm, and maybe we’d be helping out if we discovered some intruder, yada, yada, yada. I thought I was stretching it a bit, saying we were trying to “help,” but I guess, all things told, we probably had helped. I mean, we’d found a dead body. Or, rather, we’d found part of a dead body.
1 Take the Monkeys and Run Page 4
