I had a sinking feeling about that.
“What? Who? You have a terrible expression on your face.”
I did? “I’m worried it’s Joan Mardike.”
“Who?”
“The store owner who worked with Phyllis.”
Aunt Sis pressed her free hand against her lips. “Oh, no. I hope you’re wrong.”
I crossed two fingers and held them in the air where Aunt Sis could see them. Even if the body wasn’t Joan’s, someone had died tonight. “It’s horrible no matter who it is.”
“You’re right. Of course, you’re right. But it seems worse that I just met her.”
My fingers rose to my throat and the bruises that darkened my skin.
“Anarchy has to catch this monster before he hurts anyone else.”
She’d get no argument from me. And, on the plus side, the monster couldn’t be Gordon. The Plaza parking garages were too busy for a body to lie undiscovered for long. Whoever died did so while Gordon sat in my living room.
“Mom?” Grace’s voice carried from the kitchen.
“We’re in the family room,” I called.
She floated in on a cloud of happiness. “I thought you’d be in bed by now.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
She took a long, speculative look at the bags beneath my eyes.
“There was another murder.”
“Oh my gosh. Who?”
“We don’t know,” said Aunt Sis.
“Where’s Anarchy?” Grace asked.
“The crime scene.”
“Isn’t he supposed to protect you?”
“This house is a three-ring circus. As long as I stay inside, I’m fine.”
Max sighed.
“It’s nearly midnight,” said Grace. “You should go to bed.”
I manufactured a smile. “You stole my line.”
Aunt Sis yawned. “How was your date?”
Moonlight and romance and joy sparkled in Grace’s eyes. “Fine.”
“Only fine?” Aunt Sis teased.
“Better than fine.” Unlike Max, Grace’s sigh was filled with youthful optimism.
Aunt Sis and I exchanged a glance. At least one woman in my house wasn’t afraid of commitment.
“We should all go to bed.” Sis hauled herself out of the comforts of a squashy armchair.
“Go up without me.”
Aunt Sis donned one of Mother’s most critical expressions. “You should get some sleep.”
“I’ll come up soon. I promise.”
“Are you waiting on Anarchy or Pansy?”
Max’s ears perked.
“Neither.” Both.
“Hmph.” Aunt Sis lumbered toward the kitchen.
Grace lingered in the doorway. “Are you okay, Mom?”
“Fine.”
“You seem sad lately.”
“I do?”
“Are you and Anarchy having problems?”
“No, sweetie.”
“It’s all the bodies, isn’t it?”
“They don’t help.” I’d lost count of how many bodies I’d found. “It bothers me that so many people will commit murder.”
“So long as no one murders you.”
“I’m hard to kill.”
“Yeah, right. Don’t test that.”
“I’ll stay safe. Promise.”
“I’m going up.” Come-with-me hung in the air.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
She studied me, and a small furrow appeared between her brows. “You deserve to be happy, Mom.”
“We all deserve that, Grace.”
She left me with Max who sighed. Repeatedly.
I watched The Tonight Show’s last few minutes, rose, and turned off the set.
Max got off the couch in stages. His front legs first. He walked forward till his back legs stretched long. Then he yawned. Only then did he lower his hind paws to the carpet.
“Do you need to go out?”
He regarded me with poor-poor-pitiful-me eyes.
“Is that a yes?”
His ears drooped.
“I’m sorry, Max. I really am.” Sorry he was sad. I had mixed feelings about Pansy’s departure.
Woof! He trotted into the kitchen.
With a sinking sensation in my stomach, I followed him.
From the kitchen, he trotted into the front hall and planted himself in front of the front door.
Oh dear.
I unlocked and opened the door, and Max raced into the night.
With my I’ll-stay-safe promise fresh in my mind, I hesitated. “Max?”
No surprise, he didn’t answer.
I stepped onto the stoop and peered toward the end of the drive. “Max?”
No dog dug my annuals. And Max was gone.
Oh, dear Lord.
Closing and locking the door behind me, I dashed up the stairs into my bedroom and yanked open my nightstand drawer. I grabbed the pearl-handled .22 I kept there and hurried down the back stairs, grabbed Max’s leash, and slipped into the night.
“Max?” I circled toward the front of the house.
No Max.
That dog. I ground my teeth and trudged toward Muriel Jarret’s house. The night was mild, the breeze was light, and walking was no hardship.
“Max?” I called.
Nothing.
I crafted no-biscuits-for-a-week punishments as I walked and prayed no one spotted me. How to explain stalking through the neighborhood clutching a leash and a gun? “Max?”
He was blocks ahead of me, assuming he’d gone to Muriel’s. The breeze ruffled my hair, and I tightened my hold on the leash.
I crafted no-biscuits-for-a-month-punishments.
Headlights brightened the street’s end, and I stepped into the shadows. Being invisible was easier than explaining the gun.
The car passed, and I continued on. “Max?” Softly. Furiously.
No response.
I crafted no-biscuits-ever-again punishments.
Now the lights came from behind me.
Again, I stepped into a neighbor’s yard. This time I hovered in the shadow of a pine tree. Its balsam scent seemed out of place in springtime.
The car cruised past me, and I returned to the sidewalk.
Should I give up? Go home? Max would return. Eventually. But Lord only knew what havoc he’d wreak before he did. The neighbors already believed I affected their property values—what would they say if my dog joined Pansy in her late-night digs?
“Max?”
Nothing.
The lights were back.
And no convenient trees of hedges offered cover. I planted the gun against my leg and kept walking.
The car stopped.
Uh-oh. My heart beat double-time, and I searched for the nearest house.
“Ellison!”
I turned.
“What the hell are you doing?” Anarchy vibrated with anger.
“Looking for Max.”
“By yourself? Someone tried to kill you.”
“Who would I bring? Grace? I’d never put her at risk. Besides, I brought protection.” I peeled my hand away from my leg.
Anarchy stared at the gun. “You could have waited for me.”
“I didn’t know when you were coming home.”
I waited for the scolding I knew was bubbling inside him. I’d been reckless. I’d been irresponsible. I needed my head examined.
Anarchy said none of those things. He closed his eyes for the longest ten seconds of my life and sighed. “Let’s find your dog.”
Chapter Sixteen
Menace didn’t dare hide in the shadows—not when Anarchy walked beside me.
“Max!” I called.
Nothing.
We’d circled Muriel Jarrett’s block, and with Anarchy’s lips thinned to a cut-your-finger-on-the-sharp-edge line over my trespassing, I’d snuck into Muriel’s backyard and searched for my dog.
“Maybe we should call it a night. Start fresh in the
morning.”
“I suppose.” Reluctance turned my words into a sigh.
“You’re exhausted—” Anarchy held up a hand “—don’t deny it. Putting one foot in front of the other is all you can do. Besides, we have a better chance of spotting him with daylight.”
“You’re right, but—”
“But you worry,” he finished.
“I can’t help it. Max isn’t just a dog. He’s family.”
“We’ll find him, Ellison.” Anarchy led me back to his car and rested against the door before pulling the handle. “In the morning, he’ll be easy to find.”
Anarchy didn’t know Max.
An argument formed on my lips, but I wasn’t the only exhausted searcher. Anarchy carried the weight of three unsolved murders on his broad shoulders. “What happened at the Plaza?”
He shook his head. Why ruin our time together with talk of murder?
I swallowed. “Was it Joan?”
“Joan?”
“Joan Mardike.”
“No.”
I slid into the car and pretended sitting wasn’t the best thing ever. “Then who?”
He settled behind the wheel and slid the key into the ignition. “A woman named Carol Schneider.”
“Never heard of her.”
“She worked at Halls.”
“Which department?”
“Fine china.”
I rested my head against the seatback. “That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“I know every saleswoman at Halls. But I don’t know her. I don’t shop fine china. When I need a wedding gift, I call, tell them how much, and they send the bride a gift from her registry.” I peered out the window. “Where did you find her body?”
“The employee lot.”
“Halls has an employee lot?”
“The Plaza has an employee lot. From what I learned tonight, Plaza security tickets employees who don’t park there.”
“I’ve never thought about where employees park.”
“The Plaza’s owners want the good parking spaces available for shoppers.”
“Makes sense. Does Joan park in the employee lot?”
“It wasn’t Joan.”
“Carol Schneider. What did she look like?”
“Medium height. Medium build. Dark hair.”
“Similar to Joan.”
“Their body types and coloring,” he ceded. “Similar faces, I suppose. But Carol was much younger.”
I winced on Joan’s behalf.
Anarchy inched through the streets, and we both gazed at the passing yards. Where was Max?
“You think Joan was the target?” he asked.
“It makes sense. There are links between Phyllis and Bobbi and Joan.” I made a mental note to call Jinx and ask her about Stan and Joan first thing in the morning.
“What about you?”
My fingers found the bruises on my throat. “Me? I’m the outlier.”
“Carol Schneider is the outlier.” Anarchy made an excellent point.
“What do you know about her?”
“Divorced. Well-liked. She was from Peculiar, Missouri.” He glanced at me. “Who names a town Peculiar?”
Who named their son Anarchy?
Peculiar was a small town south of Kansas City. “The story goes the town’s first postmaster submitted several potential names, but the Postmaster General rejected each one. Frustrated, the local postmaster wrote saying he didn’t care what the name was as long as it was peculiar.”
His mouth twitched. “Seriously?”
“You doubt me?”
“The story assumes someone in government had a sense of humor.”
Anarchy pulled into my driveway and I gasped.
“What?” His foot hit the brake and I surged forward.
“Look!” I pointed.
The star-crossed lovers sat on the front stoop. Waiting.
Anarchy chose glass half-full. “Max is safe.”
“Till I kill him.”
“Can you kill him tomorrow? I’m bushed.”
I grinned at the man who’d spent the past hour peeking into backyards with me. “For you, I’ll delay gratification.”
Max watched carefully as we climbed out of Anarchy’s car.
“I’ll deal with you tomorrow, Romeo.”
Pansy’s tail thumped the bricks.
“I guess that makes you a Montague,” Anarchy observed.
“And Pansy is a Capulet?” I smiled. “Maybe. Prudence hates me with a fiery passion I reserve for grapes in chicken salad.”
“You reserve passion for grapes in chicken salad?”
Heat rose to my cheeks, and I quickly opened the front door.
Romeo and Juliet trotted to the kitchen. I hoped their story had a happier ending than Shakespeare’s play.
Behind me, Anarchy locked the door.
When the bolt caught, I sighed. It felt right having him here.
“We’ll catch this guy,” he said.
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
He gathered me into his arms, and I rested my forehead against his chest.
“When I got home, you weren’t here. I worried.”
I looked up at him.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
“It’s nice having someone care.”
A wry smile touched his lips. “Believe me, I care.”
I believed him. And I cared too. I lifted onto my tiptoes and kissed him.
Time stopped. Nothing mattered but Anarchy Jones. His hand’s pressure against my back. His stubble’s tickle against my cheek. His lips on mine.
“Ellison.” His voice turned my name into a spell.
“Mmmm?”
“We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“There are things you should know.”
“What?” I murmured. “Divorce? Secret babies? A batty aunt? A body in the closet? Been there. Done that.” In that moment, nothing he might say could scare me.
“I’m not who you think I am.”
Okay. I’d been wrong. That was scary. “Who are you?”
He brushed a strand of hair away from my face. “That’s a full night’s rest and full pot of coffee conversation.”
“That bad?”
“It’s not bad.” He frowned, shifted an arm, and reached for his pager.
I refrained from ripping the device from his hand and grinding it to dust and tangled wires beneath my heel.
“May I use your phone?”
“Study.”
The arm that still held me dropped, and he strode toward Henry’s study, the secret’s revelation pushed aside for a murder investigation.
I heard him dial, heard him say, “Jones,” and reality hit me like a wave of frigid water.
I shivered.
Anarchy had a secret. Worse than divorce. Worse than a secret baby. Worse than a body in the closet. I had a secret too—I was terrified he’d shatter my heart and I might never recover. I hurried upstairs, locked myself in my bedroom, and, when a soft knock at my door came fifteen minutes later, I pretended I didn’t hear it.
I descended the stairs in a foul mood for a Saturday morning.
Seeing Max and Pansy curled together on Max’s bed didn’t improve my mood a jot. “We—” I scowled at Max “—have an issue.”
He yawned.
I turned to Mr. Coffee, who would never run off in the middle of the night.
Are you okay? he whispered.
I poured coffee and took a sip. “Better now.”
You should go upstairs and paint. Mr. Coffee knew how to improve my bleakest moods.
“Good idea.”
“What’s a good idea?” Grace stood in the kitchen doorway dressed in tennis whites.
“You’re up early,” I replied. No way was I admitting to chatting with Mr. Coffee—our relationship was special, and private.
“Hodge is pickin
g me up.”
“Where are you playing?”
“The club.”
Grace’s outfit was too much like Bobbi’s last ensemble. White skirt, white polo. They wore the same sneakers. Alike from head to toe except for their socks. Grace’s pompoms were a sunny yellow. “Be careful.”
She frowned.
“Don’t go anywhere by yourself.”
“Oh. Right. Mrs. Ivens. Deal.”
“Does Hodge know how good a player you are?” Grace was far and away the best tennis player in our extended family.
“No.”
“Men—boys—don’t like losing.”
“Do you remember the first time I beat Dad?”
I smiled at the memory. Henry had seesawed between pride in his daughter’s skills and chagrin. Pride had won. “I do.”
“I miss him.”
I opened my arms. “Of course you do. He was an amazing father.”
Grace stepped into my hug. “But not a good husband.”
“No one can be good at everything.”
“You come pretty close.”
“Me?” I was terrible at relationships.
She pulled back and looked me in the eye. “You.”
Woof!
Grace shifted her gaze to Max and his lady-friend. “Pansy’s back! How did that happen?
“Max recited poetry beneath yonder window and convinced her to run away with him.”
“What did Ms. Davies say?”
“Nothing. Yet.” One more reason to scowl at Saturday.
Ding dong.
“That’s probably Hodge.” Grace slipped away from me and raced down the front hall.
I felt her absence.
“I need to paint,” I told Max, Pansy, Mr. Coffee, and anyone else who cared to listen.
Grace and Hodge burst into the kitchen before I could refill my mug and climb the stairs to my studio.
“Good morning, Mrs. Russell.”
“Good morning, Hodge.” I glanced out the window. “It looks as if you two have a nice morning for tennis.”
He grinned. “I’ve heard Grace is a good player.”
“She’s okay.” He could discover Grace’s serve and backhand on his own.
I reached for a bagel. Aggie had left a bakery box in the middle of the island, far from the ever-optimistic reach of dogs’ paws. “You two have fun.” I paused. “Hodge, please keep an eye on Grace at the club.”
“Absolutely, Mrs. Russell.”
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