Euphoria Lane

by McCright, Tina Swayzee

  Meg hid the camera in her pocket and the two of them power-walked down the street, following the trail of water leading away from Helen’s driveway.

  “Once I e-mail these pictures to Luke, the entire board will know we are out to stop them.” Meg slowed her pace after they turned the corner. “I can’t wait to see the look on Harry’s face. He’s going to explode, and I’m going to catch it all on film.”

  Andi pictured Harry throwing a fit. “A temper tantrum would break the excessive noise rule.”

  “I have to admit, at first the idea of this whole war scared the nail color off my toes, but now it feels good to be doing something to fight back.” Meg grabbed Andi’s arm. “Stop.” She pointed to a squad car up ahead. “They have Bernice’s son.”

  Two officers were escorting a tall, lanky man to their police cruiser.

  Andi watched them fold his thin body into the backseat. Bernice’s son?

  “They’re arresting the reverend?”

  FIVE

  Andi adjusted her eyes to the dim lighting of the bar down the street from the diner where her sister worked undercover. They couldn’t talk at the diner and Jessie didn’t have time to go home, so they met at a bar owned by their uncle Max, the black sheep of the family. The heavy aroma of stale beer made Andi gag. Nearby a leather-clad biker with a scraggly beard leaned back to follow her movements.

  Max’s longtime girlfriend tended bar during the less-crowded hours of the day. Clad all in black and sporting more tattoos than most men, Agnes could put the fear of God into any man with just a look. She set her evil snake eyes on Scraggily Beard and he took his sights off Andi.

  “Your sister’s in the back, sweet thing,” Agnes said. She pointed the way with a whiskey bottle.

  “Thanks,” Andi mumbled with a half smile. Clutching her purse to her chest like a shield, Andi rushed past the empty bar stools in search of her sister. Not that anyone would mistake her for a single woman on the prowl for a one-night stand—after Jessie called and pleaded for her to come right away, Andi had pulled an oversize, gray sweatshirt on over her clothes.

  A man occupying the last stool leaned toward her, then passed out cold on the peanut-shell-littered floor. Andi gasped. A drunk stumbled over him on his way to the john. She spotted a bulky bouncer and pointed to the man on the floor. He nodded and sauntered over.

  “You came!” Jessie slid out of a dark booth. Her undercover outfit of the day, a tie-dye top, a peace-sign-print miniskirt, and white go-go boots caught the attention of every man in the bar.

  Andi shook her head with a smirk. “Nancy Sinatra called. She wants her boots back.”

  Jessie turned in a circle to model her ensemble. “You like? Sixties night. Of course, I hear if you remember the sixties, you didn’t experience the decade.”

  Impatient and wanting to escape, Andi changed the subject. “So what was so important it couldn’t wait until you got home?”

  Her sister’s expression turned serious. “Bathroom. We need to hurry. I have to be back at the diner in ten minutes.” She pulled Andi by the hand.

  “Here we go again.” Lately she’d been dragged from one bizarre situation to another. As far as restrooms go, this was one of the worst. It smelled like someone had dropped a case of cheap perfume on top of a mixture of hair products and citrus room freshener. Andi chose her steps carefully, doing her best to avoid the trail of toilet paper that had unrolled from the stall without a door. Her sister marched over the stained, scuffed, gray linoleum that bubbled beneath a scum-coated, leaking sink.

  Jessie checked to make sure they were alone before locking them inside the bathroom. “I have good news. Lenny lowered the price on his agency.”

  “That’s wonderful!”

  “We’re meeting tomorrow morning to sign papers.” Her smile finally reached her eyes. “I own a detective agency!”

  They screamed with joy while jumping up and down like teenagers.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “Occupied!” Jessie yelled.

  “Open up!” a woman’s shrill voice pierced the door. “Stop making out with your girlfriend and let me in. I have to go bad.”

  Jessie kicked the wall. “Stop whining! I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me over the phone?” Andi asked.

  “I’m in a bind.” She lowered her voice. “Lenny just took on a new client, and he’s already cashed the man’s check.”

  Understanding dawned on her. “You can’t work the case, can you?”

  Jessie shook her head. “It would jeopardize my undercover assignment at the diner.”

  “What do you need me to do? Play Charlie’s Angels for you?” She laughed, but her sister didn’t. “Jess, I’m joking. I can’t play detective. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

  “Relax. I just need you to ask a few questions for me. No big deal.” Jessie retrieved a piece of paper from her cleavage. “The client is Reverend Nichols. He lives in our complex.”

  “Bernice’s son?”

  Jessie nodded. “He was taken in and questioned. He wasn’t booked, but he’s afraid he’ll be pegged for the crime. He hired the agency, but Lenny is leaving for Hawaii tomorrow, and I can’t talk to the reverend without jeopardizing my undercover assignment.”

  “So, what do you want me to do?”

  Jessie took Andi’s discount-priced black purse, unzipped the opening, and placed the slip of paper inside. “This is Reverend Nichols’s number. Call him tonight and set up an interview for tomorrow.”

  “You want me to interview him?” Andi shook her head. “I’ll mess it up.”

  “No. You won’t.” Jessie dropped the purse back into Andi’s waiting hands. “Just tell him you’re Lenny’s assistant. Think of it as being my secretary. You can do that.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “It’s not as crazy as it sounds. You tape the conversation, and I’ll do the behind-the-scenes work on my time off.”

  “You mean during the three minutes a night you sleep?”

  Pounding at the door interrupted them again.

  “Use the little boys’ room!” Jessie yelled, then calmly placed both of her hands on Andi’s shoulders and pleaded with sad eyes. “Please. I need you.”

  She hated it when Jessie resorted to the puppy face. Andi could never resist, but she wondered if she should this time.

  Could I play PI and not make a fool of myself?

  Her sense of adventure knew this was an opportunity of a lifetime.

  The pounding at the door grew louder, more insistent. Jessie responded with a swift kick to the side of a stall.

  Their father’s voice sounded in Andi’s head, “You should let someone else do it. It’s too dangerous.” She balled her hands into fists. All her life she had been coddled, protected, and treated like an invalid. This was the first time her sister needed her and trusted her to help. She would prove she wasn’t the baby of the family any longer.

  “Okay, Jessie, I’ll do your interview.” Andi shoved the paper into the pocket of her jeans. “So, you’re going to prove the reverend is innocent?”

  “I’ll try. It’s not going to be easy. The circumstantial evidence is pointing to him.” The door and wall reverberated from what had to be a full body slam from the other side. “Okay! I’m coming!” Jessie patted Andi’s shoulder. “Just don’t do anything without my approval. And make sure you meet with this guy in a public place, like the food court in the mall. And ask Dad to sit at a nearby table, just in case. My gut says the reverend is harmless, but you never know.”

  * * *

  The next afternoon, Luke discovered that a mattress had been discarded next to the dumpster where Bernice’s body had been found. He jotted down a reminder in his electronic notepad to have it removed.

  He rounded the corner and spotted Andi standing next to her front door, clutching a manila envelope. She wore an attractive gray pencil skirt along with a long-sleeve black blouse, leather belt, and matching pu
mps. She looked more like a lawyer than a teacher. Knowing he was glutton for punishment, he walked toward her.

  She juggled a tape recorder and spiral notebook in her hands while she attempted to rip open the envelope and read the contents. “Harry! That horrible, despicable, low-life, bottom-feeding . . .”

  Even from four feet away, the large type that read VIOLATION couldn’t be missed. A lesser man would have hidden before she spotted him.

  Andi skimmed the condemning message. “I do not have oil on my driveway.” She glanced up and was taken aback by his presence. “I do not have oil on my driveway!” she repeated.

  Since Luke hadn’t written the violation letter, he didn’t know what to say. The wiser option was to silently follow her, he decided. She marched to her driveway and poked at the dime-size circle with her toe. The once-gooey substance was so old and dry it wouldn’t stick to her shoe.

  “That is gum, not oil!” she barked at him.

  She had every right to be angry. Harry wasn’t backing down, despite the attempt made on his life.

  Luke studied the dirty spot on the driveway. Tire tread had turned the once-light-colored gum dark. “You’re right.” Harry wouldn’t win this battle. Luke’s gut instinct was to make all of her troubles fade away. Without thinking, he reached out to touch her arm. “I’ll destroy the violation when he sends me the copy.”

  She stepped away, her scowl letting him know what she thought of him. He dropped his hand, feeling like a fool. He had broken up with her because she emotionally kept him at arm’s length.

  Why risk opening myself up to heartbreak again?

  Andi ripped up the letter. He took the remains from her grasp. The last thing he wanted was for Harry to catch her littering.

  “Let me deal with this,” he offered.

  She tapped her toes. “I assume you sent a copy of Meg’s pictures to Harry. It’s no coincidence that Helen had an oil stain on her driveway and now he is accusing me of having an oil stain.”

  He nodded. “You’re probably right. I doubt he got close enough to your driveway to realize it was gum.”

  “Because then I would have received a ‘No Gum on the Driveway’ violation letter.”

  “Don’t say that too loud, or it will be on next year’s version of the rules.” He wished Andi and other like-minded neighbors would run for the board. It would make his life easier. Then he considered the ramifications of seeing her every week to review business matters. Spending time near her made him wish their relationship could have been different. He had dated several women over the years, but none of them captivated him the way Andi had.

  A rush of exasperated breath escaped her lungs. “If I argue against the oil spill violation at the next meeting, Harry will probably hold up the picture Meg took of Helen’s driveway and use it against me, claiming it is a picture of my driveway. Valerie will demand a lynching and Harry will conveniently pull a rope out of his briefcase.”

  He tried not to laugh, but a smirk made its way to his lips.

  She took in a deep breath. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I’m just making sure everything is in order.”

  “I don’t see why. Harry walks the property hourly and if there isn’t a problem, he makes one up.” She kicked at the gum.

  Chaos suddenly marched around the corner. Meg and Roxie, wearing bright-red T-shirts that read “Anti-Board,” held up their cameras and grinned.

  “Is he bothering you?” Roxie coughed on the smoke ring she’d blown a moment before. Luke could swear her neon-pink spandex pants were glowing. The long, flowing, gray wig was new. The crotchety woman could start her own clothing line: Freaka of Hollywood Blvd.: Sexy Apparel for Aging Hookers.

  Luke rubbed his jaw with his thumb. “Ms. Blackwell, those cigarettes are going to kill you one day.”

  She pointed the lit end at him. “Sonny, I’ve crammed two lifetimes into this one. I’m not planning to stick around for a third.”

  Beaming, Meg tossed a red shirt to Andi. “We’ve been waiting for you to get home from school.” The nurse bounced with excitement. “Word got out that we’re retaliating, and two more neighbors want to join our Anti-Board.”

  “We’ve started a petition to have Harry removed from the board.” Roxie waved the paper with a flourish. “They said they’d sign it.”

  “Now that there is an official fight against Harry, neighbors are willing to stand up and help. Well, at least two are.” Meg eyed Luke as if expecting a response. “They’re waiting for us at the pool.” She grabbed Andi’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  Andi resisted. “I’ll catch up with you later. I have an appointment.”

  “Ladies,” Luke began, aiming for his usual calm, professional tone, “we need to talk about this group of yours.”

  Roxie poked his chest with one of her brightly striped acrylic nails. “We are exercising our rights as Americans, Mr. Hot Stuff. We have the right to wear Anti-Board shirts, the right to start petitions, and the right to prove that board is full of hypocrites.”

  “True,” Luke said, stepping back, away from Roxie’s lethal nails. He hoped one day she would stop calling him “sonny” and “hot stuff.” “The petition sounds like a step in the right direction. I’m not so sure about the Anti-Board shirts.”

  Meg toyed with his tie. “Sorry you don’t approve, but we’re not about to stop now. We’re just getting started.”

  Luke turned to Andi, imploring with his eyes to help. Roxie would take this anti-board to uncontrollable levels. “Please talk some sense into your friends before someone gets hurt.”

  “Too late,” Andi answered. “What do you think Harry’s been doing? Making friends? He’s been hurting this community for a long time.”

  Meg planted her hands on her hips. “Prove Harry’s finished, and then we’ll stop.”

  “That’s right!” Roxie said, cheering them on. She turned on her high-heeled sandals, revealing the back of the Anti-Board T-shirt. In big block letters were the words, “BEWARE OF HOAs.”

  Luke sighed. Harry will stop at nothing to destroy them.

  * * *

  The reverend opened the door. “Yes?”

  The sight of jeans and a blue polo shirt knocked Andi off guard. She didn’t know why, she hadn’t expected him to wear a clerical collar around his own home.

  She straightened her posture. “I’m Andi Stevenson with Lenny’s Detective Agency.”

  “I was expecting Lenny.” His brow furrowed with confusion.

  “About that . . .” She glanced back over her shoulder at two elderly women huddled over a clump of bushes. “Can we talk inside? The neighbors are watching, and I know you want to keep this discreet.”

  “Of course.”

  She slipped into the living room and wondered if she was supposed to genuflect when she spotted the four-foot-tall wooden cross. Paintings of the Last Supper and martyred saints decorated the remaining walls. Scanning the rest of the living room, she noticed religious candles and statues perched on every flat surface. She felt the need to confess her sins—and she wasn’t even very religious.

  “Who’s your decorator?” Andi mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  Sarcastic personalities should come with an “Off” switch.

  “Can we sit?”

  He pointed to a brown leather couch.

  “I’m going to ask you a list of questions and tape your responses.” She eased onto the leather. It didn’t seem right to record an interview with a former reverend with so many religious symbols staring at them, somehow.

  “Where’s Lenny?” he asked.

  “My employer prefers to send me first.” She caught a glimmer of disbelief in his eyes. “In this case, the owner feels it gives us an advantage. Keeping the agency’s involvement a secret will allow our detectives to work incognito. People are more likely to open up if they think they are speaking to me, just another neighbor,” the well-rehearsed speech, provided by her sist
er, flowed from her lips without a single pause for breath. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the total truth either. Silently, she asked for forgiveness, promising she would go to church again soon.

  “That makes sense.”

  She inhaled, rather than breathing a sigh of relief, then turned toward the cross with a silent nod of thanks. This really is for everyone’s good, she rationalized.

  He sat on the wing-back chair facing her. “What did you want to ask me, Miss Stevenson?”

  She pushed the “Record” button. “Why were you taken to the police station?”

  It didn’t make sense to take a man of the cloth to the station if you weren’t planning to arrest him. “Were you uncooperative?”

  “Not at all. One of the officers said he was uncomfortable questioning me here and asked if I wouldn’t mind joining them at the station.”

  She looked about the room again. “I can see how they might have been . . . distracted.” She redirected her attention to the questions written in her notebook. “What exactly do you want Lenny’s Detective Agency to do for you?”

  He picked up a Bible-study guide from an end table and placed it in his lap. Absently, he played with the silver cross hanging from a burgundy silk bookmark. “Find my mother’s killer. I’m offering a ten-thousand-dollar reward for information that leads to the arrest of her murderer. You could earn that reward, Miss Stevenson. I heard you’re a teacher. Teachers can always use more money. Isn’t that why you’re working for Lenny in your spare time? To earn extra money?”

  Andi nodded. She could do a lot with ten grand—perhaps even invest in her sister’s agency. As the business grew, so would her share of the profits.

  “I hear the police think you killed your mother,” she said flatly.

  “Harry told them I should be their number-one suspect. He’s telling anyone who will listen.”

  Is the board president guilty and trying to divert the attention of the police?

  “Harry’s also claiming I cut his brake line. He gave the police a photograph of me looking beneath his car.”