Advance Notice (A River Valley Mystery, book 2)

by Cynthia Hickey

  Who was I kidding? I wasn’t going to be able to let this go.

  Lindsey growled and flounced away. Well, gosh, I knew she didn’t like Bruce much, but I didn’t think she needed to be so dramatic… Oh. Bobby strolled by with his arm around Amber’s shoulders. He watched Lindsey storm past, then let his arm fall.

  I would guess things weren’t exactly the way Lindsey thought they were. Once we got home, I’d suggest her and Bobby have a serious conversation. Either they liked each other or they didn’t. If they thought things were complicated during high school, wait until they became adults.

  “Bruce, wait up.” I leaped off the step, grunted as my ankle turned, then limped/hopped my way to his side. Ow, that hurt. Bad. “I have some information for you.”

  “Can’t a man take a day off?”

  “When there’s a murder to be solved?” Seriously? In a small town like River Valley, the one remaining officer who hadn’t left for greener pastures needed to work twenty-four/seven. “Are they going to hire you some help?”

  “I got another officer showing up tomorrow.” He crossed his arms. “What do you want? I’m starving, and I want to grab a burger from Wanda’s before the crowd hits.”

  “I’ll join you.” I fished my phone out of my purse and texted Duane where I’d be. “You’re driving, right?”

  Bruce groaned and headed for a raised black SUV. Why did men of short statures drive such big vehicles?

  Grabbing a hold of the door frame, I hoisted my short self onto the passenger seat. My ankle would hate me when I jumped out of the monster truck. The ground looked a mile down.

  Bruce turned the key in the ignition. “I don’t know why we couldn’t just meet at the diner.”

  I pulled a hand full of papers and assorted food wrappers from under me and started a new pile on the floor behind us. “Why? You’re right here. Are you afraid I’m going to highjack your truck?”

  “I never know what you’re going to do. You should wear a warning sign around your neck.” He pulled onto the highway that ran through the middle of town.

  “You really should have tried your hand at standup comedy, because you are a riot.” I glared out the window. Here I was trying to help him and all he could do was insult me. “Police work is really a waste of your—” I caught a glimpse of Amber ducking behind a building. Seconds later, Darla followed her. “Pull over.”

  “Nope. Hungry, remember?”

  “But something seems fishy.” What if Darla intended to do Amber harm and we did nothing? “Seriously, Bruce, we need to stop.”

  “Give me one good reason.”

  “I’m going to throw up.”

  He swerved so fast, my seatbelt locked into place and cut into my neck. God, forgive me for the white lie. As soon as we stopped, I thrust open my door and slid out, letting my uninjured foot take the brunt of my weight. “Come on, Bruce.”

  “I thought you were sick.” He slammed his door.

  “No, I lied. Sorry. But, I think someone is in danger.”

  “Do I need my gun?” He stopped and half-turned back to the truck.

  “No time!” I grabbed his arm and dragged him along after me. I careened around the corner I’d seen Amber and Darla take and skidded to a halt.

  Bruce crashed into me. “What are we doing?”

  “I saw Darla following Amber in a suspicious manner.”

  Shaking his head, he sighed and turned away. “I’m going to eat.” He stormed back to his vehicle, me hobbling along after him.

  “You’ll understand more when I tell you what I know.”

  “Save it for lunch. I can’t listen to you on an empty stomach.”

  Sometimes he was so dense. If something happened to Amber, I’d never let him forget about putting his stomach first. Grumbling under my breath, I climbed back into the truck and kept my mouth shut until we got to Wanda’s.

  Bruce seemed happy with my silence as he climbed from behind the wheel and rushed into the diner without waiting for me. If his mother were still alive, I’d be talking to her about her son’s lack of gentlemanly manners.

  By this time, my ankle throbbed and was turning beautiful shades of blue and purple. Hunger gnawed at my belly. I gritted my teeth and limped after my reluctant lunch date.

  The din of Wanda’s on a Sunday afternoon rivaled a closely scored football game held inside a concrete building. Voices practically shouted in order to be heard across tables. Wanda squeezed between crowded tables.

  Bruce whirled with a frown on his face. “Look how crowded they are. It’ll take an hour to get a table.”

  “There’re two stools at the lunch counter.” I gave him a shove. “Go! And don’t forget to save me a seat. I still need to talk to you.”

  Bruce sprinted for the stools, almost running over Wanda. She shrieked and whirled. He ducked one way, then dodged another. She spun in a circle. The platter holding glasses of tea and soda flew into the air and shattered to the floor. “Bruce Barnett!” Wanda picked up the platter and whacked him on the head.

  “That’s assaulting a police officer!” Bruce rubbed the top of his head.

  “You’re not in uniform.” She looked as if she’d hit him again, but instead, stomped back to the kitchen. Seconds later, Bobby came out with a broom and dustpan.

  When had Wanda hired him? I skirted around the mess of drinks and glass and perched on the stool beside Bruce. “You really must be starving.”

  “I ought to arrest her.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You shouldn’t have raced across the diner like a little kid.” Grabbing my menu, I hid behind it and grinned, wishing I would’ve had time to grab my phone and record the crazy dance between Bruce and Wanda. “Are you ready to listen to me, now?”

  “Yes.” He told the girl behind the counter he wanted a cheeseburger with everything, fries, and a coke.

  I ordered a BLT and filled Bruce in on what Mom had told me the night before. He sat quietly while I talked, rubbing his finger across his little Hitler moustache. The gesture freaked me out. What was he trying to prove? Bruce couldn’t look tough if the world would end unless he did. By the time I’d finished telling him everything I could think of, our food had arrived and Bruce dug into his without speaking.

  “Well?” I cut my sandwich in half. “Don’t you think all three of them have a motive?”

  “To kill each other, maybe.” He dumped an obscene amount of ketchup on his plate. “But how does this info pertain to our deceased old ladies?”

  Hmmm. It didn’t, when he put it that way. But I knew it all tied together somehow. It had to. Darn Barney, uh, Bruce, for bursting my bubble. Now, I was back to square one. At least in the aspect of Bruce not listening to my concerns and taking me seriously.

  “Do you have any other suspects?” I asked.

  “No, and no one else has died.” He bit into his hamburger, ketchup squeezing out between the patties and landing on his plate with a plop.

  “Dottie has a week, Bruce. One week for us to find her killer.” I tossed my sandwich on my plate, appetite gone. The woman was cantankerous, man-hungry, opinionated, and her cologne shriveled every living plant she passed, but the world wouldn’t be the same without her.

  Forcing myself back to eating, I cut a sideways glance at Bruce. “What are you thinking about? You look like you’re in another world.”

  “Just piecing together what you’ve told me. Maybe I’ll have the new guy run background checks on everyone when he arrives tomorrow.”

  “So, you do believe me?”

  “I didn’t say that. Just that I’ll have him check into things.” He tossed his napkin on his empty plate. “Can you find your way home, or do I have to give you a ride?”

  Spotting Duane through the plate glass window, I shook my head. “I’ve got a ride, thanks.” I grinned and waved my sweetie over as he entered the diner and Bruce left.

  “My dining companion just improved a hundred times over.” I raised my face for a kiss.

  Duane
chuckled. “I have to admit, your text surprised me. You and Bruce tend to rub each other the wrong way. How’d he take to your information?”

  “Not good at first, but then he agreed to look into it.” I glanced at the clock hanging on the opposite wall. One o’clock. Mom and Leroy must’ve decided not to do their usual Sunday lunch.

  The bell over the door jingled, and Darla and her boyfriend waltzed in and over to an empty booth not far from us, without waiting for the hostess to seat them. Some people thought they owned the world.

  “I am not in the mood.” Wanda grabbed a couple of menus and marched over to the newcomers.

  I met Duane’s amused gaze and shrugged. Today had definitely been entertaining. “I took your advice, prayed about today’s sermon, and decided to let Bruce handle everything.” I hoped he’d handle it before Dottie met her maker.

  “I’m proud of you.” Duane caressed my cheek, then tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Anything else you’ve been praying—”

  “We’re out of pie, Darla. We run out very quickly after church.” High spots of color appeared on Wanda’s cheeks.

  “Then you should plan for such a shortage.” Darla tossed her menu on the table. “I guess I’ll have the rhubarb.”

  “We’re out. All we have is a few slices of lemon meringue or pecan.”

  I glanced around the diner, noticing for the first time how low on help she was that day. Where was everyone? I hadn’t waited tables since high school, but unless we wanted to witness Wanda losing her temper, I thought I’d better volunteer. “I’m going to go help. Love you.” I planted a peck on Duane’s cheek and grabbed a handful of menus before rushing to greet a family of five coming in the front door.

  My greeting lacked grace, considering my ankle still throbbed and was growing more painful. Since I had yet to see how swollen it was, I had no idea whether a visit to Urgent Care was in the future. “Welcome to Wanda’s. Follow me, please.”

  “Why are you limping?” Duane asked as I moved past him for glasses of water.

  “I fell off the church steps and twisted my ankle.”

  He shook his head and stood. After guiding me back to my stool, he grabbed a tray with five glasses and a pitcher of ice water. “Sit. I’ll do this. Watch and see what a man can do.” He winked and strolled away, leaving my heart doing somersaults.

  Wanda got teary eyed when she spotted her new handsome waiter and patted his cheek. “God bless you, Duane Steele. Everyone’s out with the flu today, and I’m about to have a heart attack.”

  “We don’t want our prettiest business owner keeling over on us, now do we?” He flashed her a dimpled grin, gave another wink at me, and went to soothe Darla’s ruffled feathers.

  I could sit and watch him move all day. Except for the fact my ankle was killing me. Once Duane finished, we’d definitely be heading to the emergency room.

  Two hours later, I played a game on my cell phone and waited for Duane to help Wanda with the last of the afternoon rush. I’d already taken my daily allotment of ibuprofen and my stomach hurt. Not to mention the fact I needed to use the restroom after three large iced teas.

  Just when I’d decided to brave the pain and make my way to the restroom, Bruce’s SUV sped by, siren wailing, with a magnetic flashing light sitting on top.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  With one glance at Duane, who obviously could read my mind by now because he handed the menus to Wanda, I hobbled for the door. “Marsha. Marsha!” I ignored his calls and banged the door open. Yep, Bruce’s car headed in the direction I’d seen Amber disappear hours ago.

  “Come on.” Biting back the pain in my ankle, I hurried to Duane’s truck.

  Duane caught up with me, tossed me in his truck, then dashed to the driver’s side. “Do we know where we’re going?”

  “I’m pretty sure. Drive toward the hardware store.” Of course, I could be wrong. Bruce could simply be on his way to a car accident, but instinct told me otherwise. “We have company.” I pointed behind us to where other diner customers, Darla and her friend included, jumped into vehicles.

  “That’s small town life for you.” Duane thrust the truck into drive and sped off. “Not enough excitement, so folks chase cops.”

  I giggled. My life had plenty of excitement, especially since the sleep walking debacle last year.

  “We’ll go see what’s going on, but then I’m taking you to have a doctor look at your ankle.” Duane glanced at my leg. “It’s a lovely shade of eggplant.”

  That wasn’t a good thing to hear. I loved that particular color, but not on any of my body parts. “Agreed.”

  Less than five minutes later, we pulled across the street from an ambulance. Two EMTs wheeled a gurney, burdened by a body bag, from around the corner. Bruce trotted beside them, scribbling on his ever present pad of paper. “Can you go see who’s on the gurney, please?” My gut told me the answer, but I prayed I was wrong.

  Duane sighed and opened his door. “I guess Bruce will yell less if it’s me.”

  Very true. Duane still had a ways to go before Bruce lost his patience with him. Plus, Duane towered over the officer by a head, and his muscles alone were as big as Bruce’s legs. Maybe intimidation played a factor in how he related to my fiancé.

  I rolled down my window in case a few words drifted my way and leaned out as far as I deemed safe. The doorframe dug into my stomach, but I still couldn’t hear a thing. The pain from my foot was starting to make me nauseous, so going for information myself was out of the question.

  Settling back on my seat, I texted Duane. “Well?” Then watched him through the window.

  He frowned and shook his head. Maybe I’d jumped the gun, but my nerves were strung tighter than a guitar string, and I really thought I might lose my lunch from pain.

  My cell phone sang out a jaunty tune about a text message arriving. It was Duane. “The body is Amber’s.”

  My heart sank. I hung my head out of the window and threw up. Poor Amber. And her with a baby on the way. Once I had control of myself again, I texted Duane to send Bruce over.

  “He said he’s busy.”

  “He needs to listen to me,” I replied.

  “He said he’ll get your statement later. Maybe at the hospital. I’m coming now.”

  Ugh. Waiting was the hardest thing ever. I watched plenty of crime shows on television. I knew the first forty-eight hours were the most important, and the killer was walking past Duane’s truck at the moment. I would bet my favorite pair of overalls that Darla Quincy killed Amber so her son’s name wouldn’t be sullied.

  “Ready?” Duane slid back behind the wheel. “You okay?”

  “I got sick.”

  “I saw that.” He brushed back my hair. “Pain pretty bad?”

  “Horrible,” I whispered, using the back of my hand to wipe perspiration from my upper lip.

  He frowned and sped toward the hospital twelve miles away. Every bump in the road sent waves of pain up my leg. What a dunce. Instead of interrogating Bruce at the diner, I should’ve had him take me to the ER. But, the pain had increased over time. At first, it’d been hardly noticeable, but hobbling around hadn’t helped.

  Being a natural klutz, spraining an ankle or getting bruises and not remembering how I got them was a regular occurrence. Surely, nothing was broken.

  ###

  The doctor clipped the x-ray to his lighted board on the wall. “Looks like you have a fracture. A small one, but it’s there. Want a cast, or can I trust you with a sturdy boot?”

  Duane snorted. “Better do the immoveable cast. She isn’t known for taking things easy.”

  Tears stung my eyes. My first broken bone. I laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “I want fluorescent pink.” I might as well look good while I clumped around.

  “I can put a rubber heel on so you don’t have to use crutches,” the doctor offered. “The break isn’t a bad one, but it definitely didn’t help with you walking on it all day.”

&n
bsp; “That would be great, thanks.” Keeping Dottie safe, finding out whether Darla killed Amber, and helping Mom in the store seemed like an insurmountable task now.

  Duane left to get something to drink, and I closed my eyes, letting the pain pill make me fuzzy.

  “You got something to tell me?” Bruce entered the room as the doctor started wrapping the cast.

  “In private, please, Doc?” Once the doctor left, I rolled onto an elbow, the pain meds I’d been given dulling the pain in my ankle. “When we were headed to Wanda’s for lunch, I saw Darla and Amber duck around the corner of the Hardware store. It appeared as if Darla were following Amber. Now, Amber is dead. I tried to talk to you about it then, but all you could think about was putting food in your stomach.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Are you saying Darla killed Amber?”

  “I’m saying you should consider the possibility.”

  “Darla was at the diner with us.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What time was Amber killed?”

  “Sometime between ten and one o’clock.”

  “So, Darla could easily have killed her then headed to the diner.” Did the man not think for himself? I knew he was busy, but everyone was.

  “Well,” Bruce shrugged. “We aren’t even sure it was murder. There are no defensive wounds on the victim, and no other signs of violence.”

  “Then, how did she die?”

  “It looks like she fell and hit her head, but the ME will know more when he’s examined her. Is that all?”

  I nodded, wondering how I could get off the bed and down to the basement where the morgue was. If the poor girl hit her head, she had help. She wasn’t far enough along in her pregnancy to show, much less be unwieldy. No, the circumstances were too suspicious for me to brush off as easily as Bruce seemed to be able to do.

  “I’ve already told you more than I should have.” He snapped his notebook closed, not having jotted down a single note, and laughed. “But at least with your foot in a cast, I won’t have to worry about you sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  I failed to mention to him that I would receive a walking cast. Once I wasn’t loopy from meds, I’d be as good as new.