In the meantime, she started making the place a little more her own. She’d given notice the day before to her apartment manager that she’d be moving out at the end of the month. Having heard about her grandmother’s death, he agreed to return her security deposit even though she was breaking her lease. She’d been sleeping in her old bedroom, but the window had leaked, leaving behind a mildew odor. Tonight, she would sleep in her grandmother’s room.
She looked in the refrigerator hoping that new food would have magically appeared. Usually, she’d eat dinner at the bar. The staff would pool their money and someone would pick up fried chicken or barbeque sandwiches or pizza. What she wouldn’t give for a hot slice of pepperoni right now.
Instead, she pulled out a loaf of bread and made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from fixings she had brought over from her apartment. At least she had brewed a fresh pitcher of iced tea. She pulled it out of the refrigerator and opened the freezer for ice. A stack of foil wrapped packages covered in ice crystals toppled over as she pulled out the tray.
Trash pickup was tomorrow. If she threw these out today, they wouldn’t rot in the garbage can all week. She pulled up the kitchen can and started filling it with mystery food. The refrigerator was almost as bad. She checked the dates on the bottles of salad dressing and pickles. Some were more than a year old. She tossed them into the can. By the time she finished, the bag was so full she feared it would tear. She remembered seeing a box of leaf bags in the carport. She went out the back door.
The sun was setting and casting long shadows on the yard. The once vibrant lawn had mostly gone to seed. There were deep tracks in the mud where Travis had been parking his car behind the house. She looked around in the carport for the bags.
Rusty tools lay everywhere. If she were going to live there, she wanted to plant a vegetable garden. She scooted grimy boxes and tubs around on the shelves to get an idea of what tools were there. Something caught her eye. It was Gran’s old sunhat and garden gloves.
Tears streamed down her face as she remembered the days she spent working in the yard by her grandmother’s side. She had discovered later that her grandmother never cared much for gardening, but she had done it with Katy as a sort of distraction. Something to take her mind off the grief of losing her parents.
The memories flooded her thoughts as she opened the back screen door. She spotted the trashcan and remembered the leaf bags she had forgotten to retrieve. A rustling noise in the front room drew her attention. It sounded bigger than Mrs. Canfield’s cat sneaking in through the open window. “Hello? Is someone there?” Had someone been at her front door?
Her heart beat faster as she picked up the baseball bat from the corner of the kitchen. She inched toward the dining room. Suddenly, the sound was behind her at the back kitchen door. She swung around and raised the wooden bat above her head. Bringing it down with all her might, she hit nothing but air. Then she felt a booming pain on the back of her head. She dropped and landed face down on the ground.
She didn’t hear the crackling of glass. She didn’t see the shadowy figure. She didn’t know if she would live or die.
Chapter 20
Roscoe stared at Deena Sharpe’s business card. He wanted to call her, but maybe now wasn’t the right time. Business had been good ever since word got out that Tonya had used her gift to find that kid.
Gift. Her biggest gift was him. And if she didn’t quit nagging him about his late night errands, she’d be packing her bags and riding a Greyhound straight back to Vegas.
Along with the money he had hidden from her, they had made plenty to pay for their fake IDs and travel to Mexico. It was just hard to walk away from this honey hole. Especially now that he was earning his secret stash. One month. By that time, they’d have enough cash to get there and live high on the hog for at least a year.
He looked at Tonya lying in the bed. Her breathing had steadied. She was asleep. Now he just needed to get out of the house without waking her up. He left the television volume on low. It would drown out some of the noise he might make opening and closing their creaky front door.
He tip-toed down the front porch and walked around to the back of the house, looking through the window to see if she had woken up and turned on a light. Nothing. He headed for his car.
He drove a few blocks to the drop-off point behind the pawn shop and checked his cell phone for the time. He was early. A few beers from the convenience store would make the time pass quicker.
The rain had stopped and a bright moon lit up the wet roads. He worried it might be harder to keep from being seen with all the light. He pulled up to the store and waited for another car to drive off. Inside, he pulled two bottles out of the cooler. As he set them on the counter, he noticed a rack of t-shirts. He chose a black one with a Texas flag on the front. The dark shirt would work better than the pale blue one he was wearing.
He drove to the back of the pawn shop and waited. He flipped through the radio stations but could only find country music. The CDs in the glove compartment were already in the car when they bought it somewhere in Nevada. He put one in the player and turned up the volume. As soon as it began playing, he fumbled to find the eject button. Holding the disc by the window, he read the label by the light of the moon. Christmas Classics? He hurled it out of the car like a Frisbee.
The other CD wasn’t much better, but it beat listening to country music on the radio. For the next half hour, he lay back in the seat with his eyes closed listening to the sweet sounds of Sinatra.
When the CD began to skip, he opened his eyes. He checked the time again. Why wasn’t he here yet? He waited another twenty minutes, jumping at every howl of the wind, crackle of a tree branch, and crunch of tires as cars drove past.
Finally, he decided he’d waited long enough. He found the number in his phone and called it. After four rings, it went to voicemail. He didn’t want to leave a message, so he looked around the parking lot wondering what to do. If he did nothing, he wouldn’t get paid. Maybe he should improvise.
He was just about to pull out of the parking lot when the phone rang. He told the caller, “I’m here. Where are you?”
The voice on the other end was gravelly and angry. Roscoe clenched his jaw as Marty Fisk gave him a good chewing out.
“But—” Roscoe tried to defend himself, but the caller wouldn’t listen.
“Yes, sir,” he said at last and ended the call. He threw down his phone on the seat and got out of the car. He couldn’t believe Marty Fisk had just called him an idiot. The man had never said the box would be in the dumpster.
Roscoe stared at the filthy metal container and then went back to the car to get his gloves and blue shirt. No way was he touching that disgusting mess with his bare hands. He pushed open the lid and heard the scuttling sound of mice or rats or worse. He pulled up on the leg of his jeans so he could get his foot high enough to step on the crossbar. He hoisted himself up and was assaulted by an ungodly stench.
He spotted the shoebox right where it was supposed to be. He threw his blue shirt over the top of it and lifted it out slowly, hoping that the rubber bands keeping it shut wouldn’t break. As he jumped down to the ground, he heard chirping and fluttering. How many of those things did he put in here?
Roscoe couldn’t get the cardboard box in the trunk fast enough for his liking. He closed the trunk lid and shuddered. As he jumped back in the car and drove to the Wildes’ house, he thought about poor Katy. Besides being a knock-out, she seemed like a sweet kid. He hated to do this to her, but money was money. The nightly haunts were supposed to make her want to sell the house. Fisk had tried the same thing with the grandmother, but it didn’t work.
He parked in the same spot as he had the night before, on the block behind hers and down in front of a vacant lot. He cut through the brush and came up to the rear of the house carrying the box still wrapped in his shirt. The lights were off, but her car was there. She must be asleep. He jiggled the kitchen window and the lock fell loose. Slow
ly, he slid open the window and waited. No noise. No lights.
He would have to reach up high above his head to open the box and release its contents inside the house. Then he would shut the window as quick as he could to keep the nasty varmints from flying out.
He took a deep breath. The box vibrated in his hands as he pulled off the rubber band. He held the lid on tight as he felt the contents pushing against it, trying to escape.
The chirping grew louder. He reached as high as he could and leaned in so that the box was through the window. One. Two. Three! He pulled back the lid and a swarm of brown bats flew out the window and blanketed his face. Gritting his teeth to keep from yelling, he swatted them off as he dove for the ground. He lay in a fetal position for a full minute before he had the guts to open his eyes.
And just like that, they were gone.
Instead of staying in the house to scare Katy, they had flown toward a streetlight and disappeared. He stood up, brushing mud and leaves from his pants. Now what? Fisk probably wouldn’t even pay him for this one.
Then it occurred to him. How would Fisk know the bats never made it inside? He’d show him the empty box and tell him it all went as planned. Cha-ching!
He looked around on the ground. There was the lid, but where was the box? He must have dropped it inside. He heard a car coming and plastered himself against the back of the house. A nearby dog barked, but soon settled down.
He would need to go back in through the window and retrieve the box. That was all there was to it. Maybe the window was over the kitchen sink, and he could just reach in and pick it up.
The window was too high for him to pull himself up. He looked around for something to stand on, spotting a stack of cement blocks next to the carport. He carried back two of the blocks and stacked one on the other. He stepped up on top to test their sturdiness, rocking sideways. This would have to do.
The window had slipped down a bit so he raised it as high as it would go. He heaved himself up with his arms and lunged his body forward, teeter-tottering on the window ledge. It was dark inside except for moonlight from the windows. He looked down, hoping to see the box.
He was right. The kitchen sink was below him, but the box wasn’t there. It had fallen on the floor and had slid under a small table. He leaned in further and blinked his eyes. Off to his left he saw something sparkling like a swarm of fireflies. Half inside, half out, he held onto the faucet to steady himself. When he looked again, he realized what it was. Katy’s body, covered with broken glass, was lying lifeless on the floor.
The shock caused him to pitch backward and crack his head against the window sill. Shattered glass fell all over him. One large piece sliced his arm, and he cried out in pain. The cement block under his feet fell off to the side.
For a moment, he thought he was stuck, his legs flailing. When he pushed himself up with his hands, bits of glass pierced his skin. He ducked his head as he fell back to the ground. His ears rang and a barking sound grew louder until it thundered just above him.
“Help! Help! Call 9-1-1!” A woman with a flashlight pulled on the dog’s leash, trying to back away.
He got up and ran back through the brush and to his car. He jammed a bloody hand into his pocket to pull out his keys. His hands shook as he tried to open the lock. When he jumped inside and turned on the car, he left the headlights off. As he pulled away, he hit a metal trash can sitting by the curb, sending it flying. The sirens grew louder as he sped to the end of the street. There was only one way out of the neighborhood, and lights were flashing in that direction.
It was now or never. He floored it toward a vacant lot. The old sedan hit the tall curb, throwing Roscoe into the steering wheel. Another jolt rocked him backward as the car smashed to the ground. The engine sputtered and died.
Like the swarm of bats that had attacked him just minutes early, within seconds he was surrounded again. This time it was by the police.
Chapter 21
Barking dogs again. Deena still hadn’t remembered to change her ringtone for callers who weren’t family. She grabbed the cell phone from her nightstand and glanced at the time. It was almost two in the morning. Dan? Why would he be calling her at this hour?
“Sorry to bother you, but I thought you’d want to know. Your girl Katy is in the hospital. They caught the guy who did it.”
Deena felt her stomach dive into her intestines. “What happened? Who did it?”
“They haven’t released his name yet. Looks like he hit her over the head with a glass pitcher. She’s alive but unconscious.”
Deena felt like screaming. She wanted to throw something. How could this have happened? She wanted to blame Dan but knew he was just the messenger. She wiped tears from her cheek. “Can I see her?”
“Not yet. Maybe tomorrow. I’m sorry, hon, maybe I should have waited to call in the morning.”
“No. I’m glad you did.”
“We should have more details in the morning. Call me later when you’re up.”
She sat back and leaned against the headboard. It felt like a weird nightmare. The kind where you try to run away, but your feet just won’t move.
She sunk back down under the covers and closed her eyes. There were so many questions she hadn’t thought to ask Dan. Like, where was Katy when the attack happened? At home or at work? How did they catch the guy? Was the attack related to Mrs. Wilde’s death? She knew the morning would bring more answers. All she wanted to do now was sleep, but there was little chance of that happening.
THE SOUND OF GARY TURNING on the shower startled Deena awake. She must have finally drifted off to sleep. Stumbling out of bed, she walked to the mirror in the small dressing area of the bedroom. She looked as bad as she felt. Her head boomed from a lack of sleep, and dark circles engulfed her eyes. Coffee was the only possible cure for what was going on in her fuzzy brain.
Just as she reached the kitchen, her cell phone rang in the bedroom. She debated just letting it go to voicemail, but then thought that it might be Dan. She ran back and dove across the bed to reach it before the last bark. “Ian? What’s up? Is it Sandra?”
“No. She’s good. It’s you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just got assigned a new case from the county. My client has allegedly attacked someone. What I want to know is why your business card was in his pocket?”
Chapter 22
Not knowing what to expect, Deena entered the Perry County Jail on Tuesday morning with cautious anticipation. It felt a lot like going to the dentist. She knew she needed to be there but would have preferred being anywhere else on earth.
She called Ian from the lobby to let him know she had arrived. A buzzer sounded and the door opened. A man she recognized from church led her back to the visitation area.
It looked a lot like the DMV. Several rows of chairs were lined up in the middle of the room. The front wall had four glassed-in cubbies with telephones. A thirty-something guy wearing an orange jumpsuit leaned on his elbow. He was talking to a woman with graying hair.
Ian sat at a small table in the corner, scribbling notes. A tiny tape recorder lay on the edge of the table.
He glanced up. “Good, you’re here. Have a seat.”
The blank walls, mounted security camera, and tape recorder felt intimidating. Although the room was cool, her palms began to sweat.
“Am I being questioned on the record? I mean, officially?”
Ian pushed back his shaggy dark bangs. “Well, yes.”
“Should I call my lawyer?”
Ian laughed.
She didn’t mean it to be funny. She had to testify back in December in her legal case, and she was having flashbacks. Of course, that time, Ian was on her side.
“I see you’re nervous. I’m just going to ask you a couple of simple questions on the record. That’s all. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
This was her best friend’s husband. She knew she could trust him. After a quick cleansing breath,
she said, “Proceed, counselor.”
“Mrs. Sharpe, have you ever met Roscoe Trainor?”
“Roscoe? Is that the guy dressed like a butler at Sister Natasha’s house?”
Ian nodded.
“Yes. Yesterday.”
He held up his hand for her to wait for the next question. “How did he get your business card?”
She had learned from her previous deposition that less was more. She chose her words carefully. “I went to the house to have Sister Natasha give me a reading and to see if I could interview her for a story for the newspaper. She asked me—ordered me, to leave. Mr. Trainor asked me to leave my card in the box on the front porch and said that he would call me. So I did.” She was satisfied with her answer.
Ian took notes as she spoke. “And did you write the story?”
“No,” she said abruptly.
“Will you be writing the story in the future?”
“No.”
He looked up from his notes. “Why not?”
“I got fired yesterday.”
He reached over and shut off the tape recorder. “What on earth happened?”
She braced herself for another tongue-lashing. “Lloyd Pryor changed my assignment. He told me to stay away from the murder investigation and the story about Councilman Fisk. I told you about that, remember?”
“Yes. And...?”
“I didn’t stay away. I’ve been helping Dan Carson interview some leads. Pryor found out and...eek.” She drug her thumb across the front of her throat. “I got the axe.”
“Deena. I told you—”
“I know. I’ve heard it all.”
Ian closed his notepad. “So, what have you found out?”
Cozy Suburbs Mystery Box Set Page 44
