Prime Crime Holiday Bundle

by Cleo Coyle; Emily Brightwell; Kenneth Blanchard

And the real source of the stink: I had a backyard full of orange trees that attracted all kinds of rodents who had started making side trips into my attic. I’d had all the entrances sealed up and some traps had been left for any stragglers. There had been three. As soon as the pest control people came by and removed the bodies, the smell disappeared.

  I pulled off the last of the yellow tape that was still flapping on my front porch post as I finally dragged my suitcase inside. Barry was already on the phone calling the door contractor the cops used to repair mistakenly knocked down doors. In the meantime, he’d do a temporary fix. I had no doubt he’d be able to do it. Barry could fix anything, and besides, this wasn’t the first time my door had been knocked in by mistake.

  “You couldn’t have used your key?” I said, looking at the light coming in through the broken door panel.

  Barry made an uncomfortable face. “I guess I forgot about the key.” He sighed as he checked out the battered door. When he turned back toward me, his face was full of emotion and he took me in his arms. “I heard body at your house and I lost it.” He hugged me tighter. “I’m glad I was wrong.”

  “You and me both,” I said. I apologized for not leaving him a message. “It’s just that I’ve been so busy. The holidays are always busy at the bookstore. We stay open later and there are more customers. And now we’re adding the yarn department. And there’s the launch party to plan for. It’s the Super Bowl of book events. I mean, how lucky can Shedd and Royal get? The Blood and Yarn series is the hottest of the hot.” I caught a blank look on Barry’s face. “You don’t know about it, do you?” I barely waited for Barry to shake his head before continuing. “The books follow the life of a supersexy vampire who uses crochet to control his blood-lust issues. The latest, Caught Under the Mistletoe, comes out next week. The trucks are delivering the books at midnight to bookstores all over, but only Shedd and Royal will have the author, A. J. Kowalski. But here’s the really exciting part: A. J. Kowalski is just a pseudonym and nobody knows who the author really is. It turns out he or she lives in Tarzana and has decided to reveal their true identity and sign books at the launch party. Do you realize what that means?” Barry nodded.

  “I think it means you ought to take a breath or maybe two,” he said. “You’re starting to hyperventilate.” He glanced back toward the living room as though looking for something, then his eyes grew concerned. “Where are the dogs?”

  “And cats,” I said, correcting him, referring to the newest residents. I explained that since my younger son, Samuel, owner of the cats, was on the road playing backup and I’d been in a hurry, I’d just boarded all of them. I took a few more breaths to make sure my breathing was back to normal. “So, how long has Bradley Perkins been missing?” I asked and felt his body stiffen.

  “Look, babe, I know you like playing the amateur sleuth, but stay out of it.”

  “Play?” I said with a darkening expression. “I wouldn’t call it play; I’ve solved a few murders.”

  Barry stepped back, shaking his head. “Here we go again. Okay, babe, you’re not going to listen to me, but I’ll say it anyway. I’m sure the officers who took the report are dealing with whatever needs to be done. Besides, with all you have to do, why take on anything else? I’d like to have dibs on any spare moments.”

  I didn’t say anything in response. He knew what my silence meant. He sighed and said he had to get back to work. It isn’t that I really planned to get involved. I just didn’t want to say something I might end up not meaning. My phone was ringing as he went back to his Crown Victoria.

  “Mother,” my son Peter said. Only he could put so much disapproval in one word. My older son is a television agent, very ambitious and very concerned about his image. “What’s going on?” Before I could answer, Peter told me that something had shown up on YouTube that featured me and a lot of cops. Apparently he had some kind of alert set up that notified him if anything came up about any of his clients or me. I explained quickly, but when I got to the part about Bradley Perkins being missing, I heard Peter’s breathing change.

  “Mother, you’re not going to get involved, are you?” When he got dead air as an answer, he groaned. In the past, some of my sleuthing efforts had ended up on the news, causing him all sorts of embarrassment.

  “Barry said the same thing,” I said, finally. My son groaned again. Peter didn’t like Barry. At first I had thought it was just the idea of my dating he objected to, but when Peter kept trying to push me together with an attorney he’d been dealing with, I realized Barry in particular was the problem. I don’t know why I kept trying to smooth things over. It wasn’t like Barry was going to be Peter’s stepfather or anything.

  When I got off the phone, I gave myself a few minutes to recover and then went back outside. The street was quiet and there was no hint of all the action that had been going on a short time earlier. The video camera kid was leaning against the wrought iron mailbox across the street. He looked up when I came out. He was at the end of his teens, and someday all his parts would probably fit together, but for now his features were too big for his face and his body was long and gangly. His black hair was tousled and deliberately cut to be uneven. When he saw me look toward the Perkins’ house, he shook his head.

  “Not home,” he called. “She left right after the cops.” I walked across the street to where he was standing. Though his family had lived down the block for years, I really didn’t know them. I introduced myself and he stuck out his hand. “Ryder Lowenstein.” I asked if he’d posted something on YouTube and he seemed pleased at the question. “Pretty cool, huh? I sent it to the channel three news, too, though since there wasn’t a real body, I don’t think they’re going to use it.”

  “So what do you know about Bradley Perkins’ disappearance?” I asked, glancing toward the neighboring yard. In the daylight the Santa’s sleigh and reindeer was almost invisible. The lawn decoration was really just an outline with colored lights. Icicle lights ran across the front of the roof and then hung down to the ground next to several boxes with more lights. Someone had obviously been in the midst of putting them up. Some pots of crimson poinsettias were on the front porch. The holiday decorations seemed at odds with the thick green lawn and palm tree in the front yard. But this was the San Fernando Valley and winter was when everything was the most green and lush.

  At one time the houses along the two-block stretch had all been similar, kind of like brothers and sisters. They were ranch-style with mullioned windows and pastel wood siding, but over time, between remodeling and additions, the houses were now barely even cousins. The Perkins’ house had been given what I called a Mediterranean makeover. It had the trademark terra-cotta tile roof, flesh-colored stucco and an entrance porch that was too tall and too grand to be proportionate to the rest of the single-story house. The rectangular-divided pane windows had been replaced with tall arched ones.

  “Not much. I tried interviewing the cops, but they blew me off. Something about not having press credentials.” Ryder shrugged. “But right after Mrs. Perkins left, a black sedan pulled up,” Ryder said. “A man and woman both dressed in suits went to the door. I don’t think they were cops, but they looked official. They hung around for a few minutes, looking in the windows and stuff, but finally left.” He looked up and down the street as if checking for any action and then turned back to me.

  “Who was the cop in the suit?” Ryder asked. When I didn’t respond right away, he pushed the question. “He hung around too long for it to be official.”

  Yikes, now I had a neighborhood busybody kid to answer to. I just used the boyfriend word, though for a moment I considered trying relationship partner.

  “Boyfriend?” Ryder snickered.

  “I couldn’t agree more that it’s a silly title, but what else can I call him?” Ryder nodded with understanding.

  “It must be tough when you’re old and dating. I suppose you’re hoping he’ll want to upgrade you to fiancée.”

  “Thanks for maki
ng me feel like I’m a hundred,” I said with a tiny groan. “And no, I’m not looking for an upgrade in title.” I made a move to go, but Ryder kept up with the questions. No doubt he was practicing his interviewing skills. The next thing I knew I was telling him how I’d been married to Charlie for twenty-five years when he died. And now I was enjoying being free. “Or as free as you can be with two sons, one living with you and the other constantly questioning every decision you make. And a mother who’s a backup singer—scratch that, was a backup singer, and now is back with her singing group, The She La Las, and enjoying a second chance at a career. A mother who also might show up at any time. And that’s not counting the two dogs and the two cats. It doesn’t matter that one of the dogs officially belongs to the cop in the suit and just resides at my house or that the two cats really belong to my son.” I looked Ryder in the eye. “And you know who really takes care of all of them.”

  Ryder was beginning to get the too-much-information look on his face, but I kept going. I got his attention back when I mentioned being part of the Tarzana Hookers. Once he heard that hookers referred to crochet, his eyes began to glaze over again. But when I mentioned my job at the bookstore, he nodded. “That’s why you look familiar. I knew I recognized you from somewhere. You’re the one who puts on the author events. I came to the one for that book Keeping Your Balls in the Air.” I smiled, uncomfortably remembering that evening. The book was about teaching yourself to juggle and the author had given a lesson. Let’s just say it didn’t go well. Imagine a bunch of people stumbling into each other while throwing balls around. “I have a tape of it, if you’d like to see,” Ryder said. I declined. Going through my disasters once was enough.

  “I’m coming to the vampire book launch party.” He held up his tiny camera. “I bet my video will get a zillion hits. If only I could get on the YouTube top ten.” He gazed skyward with a dreamy look.

  Then Ryder offered to show me his video portfolio, but I told him maybe later. Time was ticking away and I had to pick up the animals.

  DRIVING ONTO THE CAMPUS OF WALTER BEASLEY Community College was like driving into the country. Calling it by its full name was really old school. These days everybody called it WBCC (pronounced Wibk). Did it really take so much longer to actually say the letters? I thought all this shortening things was due to texting, which I didn’t get, either. Instead of all that typing, why not just call? It was easier, faster and less prone to misunderstanding. I guess that made me a dinosaur, though these days it was probably shortened to dsaur. The campus of WBCC was set on four hundred acres, most of which was set aside as an agricultural school. So there were fields of crops, livestock, barns and a farm store. I pulled into the parking lot close to the traditional classroom buildings, walked through a forest of tall pines trees to the bungalows and checked my watch. I’d timed it just right. As I stopped at the end bungalow, the door flew open and students flooded out. Dinah Lyons came out last, talking to a girl dressed in what was probably the current fashion, though to me it looked strictly bag lady. Dinah finished with the girl and rushed over to me. As always there was an aura of energy about her.

  “Just a little longer, then I give them their finals and send them on their way and we all get to enjoy the holidays,” she said with a happy smile. Dinah taught freshman English to what could best be called reluctant students. WBCC accepted everyone and Dinah got them raw from high school. She had a reputation for turning newbies into real college students—if they survived the semester. She was also my best friend. “I’ve got news,” Dinah said.

  “Me, too,” I said. There was a ministandoff as we each urged the other to go first. Dinah won and I told her about my homecoming.

  “Geez, not again with your front door.” Then she laughed and touched my arm. “It’s lucky you have a sense of humor. Which I’m sure was sorely tested during your trip with Adele.”

  “That’s the truth,” I said with a laugh. Dinah knew all about the difficulties I had with her. Although Adele had been at the bookstore longer than me, and had coveted the job of event coordinator, Mrs. Shedd had hired me instead. Adele had tried to upend me many times. Just when it seemed Adele had finally accepted that I was the event coordinator, Mrs. Shedd decided to add the yarn department and asked me to oversee that as well. I’d be the first to say that Adele was much more qualified to run it than me. She had years more experience crocheting and knew much more than I did about yarn. There was just one stumbling block. Maybe calling it a stumbling mountain was more accurate.

  Adele had a problem with knitters. It didn’t matter that I now understood there was a real basis for it from her past. If Adele ran the department, there would be no needles, no knitting accessories or pattern books. No mention of the word knit. All swatches hanging on the yarn bins would be crocheted. Mrs. Shedd was a business woman and didn’t want to leave out customers. So she put me in charge, with Adele as my assistant. “It’s like when I’d first started working at the bookstore all over again,” I said.

  “I don’t suppose Adele acknowledges there’s a real reason Mrs. Shedd put you in charge of the new department,” Dinah said.

  I choked on a laugh. “Are you kidding? You know Adele; she just thinks she’s gotten the shaft, again.” We’d gotten to my car. Dinah was riding shotgun while I went to pick up the animals. Thanks to spending time with my pets, Dinah was finally becoming an animal person. Before, her idea of a pet had been maybe a goldfish.

  “Do I know the neighbor who disappeared?” Dinah said as she pulled on her seat belt and I started the motor of the greenmobile. I called my Mercedes 190E that because of its rare blue-green color.

  “You’ve met Emily Perkins. I brought her to a few Hookers’ meetings when they first moved in. Then she realized she wasn’t into handicrafts. Remember that green afghan I brought into the group last week? It belongs to her. She couldn’t even tell if it was knitted or crocheted. Bradley Perkins is the original nice guy. The kind of guy who sees you pulling your garbage cans to the street on trash night and not only comes over to help, but insists on doing it for you. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would disappear.”

  “You’re going to find out what happened, aren’t you?” Dinah said as we headed toward the vet’s.

  “Barry told me to stay out of it,” I said and Dinah laughed.

  “Like that’s stopped you before.”

  “I tried going over, but Emily wasn’t there. I’ll try again when I go home,” I said. We pulled into the vet’s parking lot and got out to retrieve the foursome. “Emily is probably a wreck.”

  Two dogs were a handful. Two dogs and two cats wasn’t a job for one person. Dinah helped get the cat cases situated on the floor in the back. The small black mutt and the medium-size strawberry blond terrier mix got the backseat and Dinah’s job was to make sure they didn’t drift into the front and jump in my lap while I was driving.

  Ryder was sitting on the curb when I pulled into my driveway. He got up and followed my car, pulling out his camera as we unloaded.

  “Wow, dogs and cats,” he said, stopping his filming long enough to ruffle Cosmo’s black fur. “My brother’s allergic so we could never have any pets.” Ryder looked at Dinah and his eyes kind of bugged out.

  “You,” he said, pointing. “You’re that teacher at Beasley. The one they call the ...” He stopped himself and Dinah chuckled.

  “I know they call me the terror.” She gave Ryder the once-over. “Do you go to Beasley?”

  Ryder held up his hand. “I’ve already taken English 101, with Mr. Fenster.” He started telling Dinah about his YouTube uploads and his plans for being a video journalist/ documentary filmmaker. I watched with interest. Dinah might be known as the terror when dealing with students who slept in class or didn’t do their assignments, but she had a way with kids. She listened to him and his plans and nodded at the end. “Too bad you’ve already taken English 101; I would have liked having you in my class.”

  “Really? Wow,” Ryder said,
standing a little taller. Then he turned toward me and gestured toward the house next door. “She came home. I tried to ask her some questions, but she blew me off like the cops. Told me not to be a pest. But you have to be a pest if you’re going to get the story. Only thing I found out is she still hasn’t heard from her husband.”

  Ryder gave us a good-bye nod, and the gangly figure sauntered back down the driveway.

  “Nice kid,” Dinah said. We got the dogs in the yard and took the cat carriers inside and opened them up. The cats popped out and promptly went to check out their food bowl.

  When I went to call the dogs in, I kept glancing in the direction of the Perkins’ house. The wall of greenery blocked the view. “You want to go over there, don’t you?” Dinah said. When I nodded, she grabbed my arm. “I’ll come with.”

  The Christmas decorations were still as they’d been in the morning. I nodded my head toward the box of icicle lights and Dinah replied, “Looks like somebody didn’t get a chance to finish.”

  Emily Perkins opened the door and had a hopeful expression on her face until she saw it was us, and her face fell. Then she caught herself. “I didn’t mean to make it look like I wasn’t glad to see you.” She had the potential to be very pretty, with her wavy dark hair, symmetrical features and angular face. All it would take was a little eyebrow shaping, maybe a stylish haircut and a little makeup and something more flattering than loose-fitting jeans and a sweatshirt.

  “I wanted to make sure you were all right.” I vaguely waved toward the street to imply all the activity of the morning. “What happened?” I said, touching her arm in a supportive gesture. I felt funny about coming out and asking her directly about Bradley’s disappearance. Her brown eyes filled with water and she quickly blinked back her tears and glanced inside.

  “Where are my manners? Come in,” she said, stepping away to clear the entrance for us. We followed her into the living room and I expected her to start talking about Bradley, but instead she told us to sit and offered us tea. Nothing in the room gave a hint that anything was wrong. There was a serene quality to the sofa and chairs covered in fabric the color of unbleached muslin. I liked the paver tile floor with the Indian throw rugs. A large window looked out on the nicely landscaped backyard.