Cozy Suburbs Mystery Box Set

by Lisa B. Thomas

  “What’s wrong with the toilet? It won’t flush.” Gary stood in the bathroom looking particularly helpless.

  Deena pinched her nose closed with her fingers. “Good grief, Gary. What did you have for lunch?”

  “Scott and I tried that new Mongolian restaurant. I had—”

  “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” Her eyes watered as she backed into the bedroom. Still holding her nose, she added, “Russell turned off the water to fix the disposer.”

  Gary followed her out. “Oh, good then. I’ll just turn it back on.”

  “You can’t,” she said with a nasally twang. “Something under the faucet in the kitchen is broken. He won’t be able to fix it.”

  Gary fanned his face. “Got it. I know what to do.” He headed to the other side of the house.

  Trying to hold her breath wouldn’t work, so Deena began breathing out of her mouth. She grabbed a bath towel and sat on the floor, pushing the edge of it under her closet door.

  Gary came in carrying the orange plastic bucket from the garage that he used to wash his car. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m protecting my clothes from that stench. If it leaks into my closet, I’m going to have to buy a whole new wardrobe.”

  “C’mon. It’s not that bad.”

  Deena shot him a look that made it obvious she didn’t agree. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to get water from the backyard and pour it into the tank so it will flush.”

  “From where in the backyard?”

  “The water hose.”

  “It’s a good thing you’re pretty,” Deena chuckled. “The water is turned off there, too, remember?”

  Gary threw back his head. “I guess I could go over to Edwin Cooper’s house and ask to borrow a bucket of water.”

  “Or you could get it out of the cement pond in the backyard.”

  “The swimming pool? Right.”

  Gary went to the backyard with Hurley right behind.

  It was pretty bad when a dog had to escape an odor. Deena shoved the last bit of towel under the closet door and hurried out of the bedroom, shutting the door securely behind her. Once back in her office, she closed the French doors and took a deep breath.

  She had lost her appetite for supper. Her computer was in sleep mode, and she went back to her quest. What did this Houston murder have to do with Alexis Dekker, and who was this new possible suspect? More importantly, would it be enough to get Detective Guttman off Cliff’s back?

  She read through the article again, this time more slowly. The quote from the victim’s husband was just the clue she was looking for.

  Now that she had a lead, she needed to look for follow-up stories. She would call Ian in the morning to ask if she was on the right track. For now, she wanted to share the news with Russell. She reached for her phone and fired off a text message.

  Maybe he would be as hopeful as she was.

  Chapter 9

  Russell Sinclair sat outside on the front steps as he waited for Cliff to pick him up from Estelle’s house. Even though they had been married for months, he still considered the large Victorian house on the outskirts of Maycroft as his wife’s. After all, people in town still referred to it as Fitzhugh Manor and probably always would.

  Cliff had volunteered to meet Russell and bring him the replacement garbage disposal for Deena since he needed to do some shopping anyway.

  Unlike Russell, Cliff was usually on time. Today, though, he was running late. Russell checked his cell phone in case he had missed a message. There was one from Deena. He pulled his readers out of his shirt pocket and read it through several times. “Found a new insect. Cliff could be infected.”

  What the heck? He dialed Deena’s cell number, remembering how she crabbed on him about calling her home phone.

  When she answered, he asked about the cryptic message.

  “What? That’s not what I wrote,” she said. “I wrote, ‘Found a new suspect. Cliff might be acquitted.’”

  Russell laughed. “I’ve been telling you it’s time for new reading glasses. Between auto-correct and your poor eyesight, you should be careful about what you type. You almost started an epidemic.”

  The annoyance in Deena’s voice came through the cyber wire. “I don’t need glasses. I can see perfectly well. It’s just this phone. The letters are too—”

  “Hey. Cliff’s here. I’ll call you later.” He hung up as Cliff’s truck came bumping down the long drive that led to the front of the house. Russell had decided that today there would be no talk of Alexis Dekker or murder or lawyers, unless Cliff brought it up.

  Russell stood and stretched his legs. He picked up his toolbox and got in the front seat. He leaned over the seat to set the tools in the backseat. There on the floorboard, the tips of yellow roses peeked out from under an old, greasy towel. The box with the disposer was next to it. Cliff’s being late made sense now. He must have stopped off to get flowers to put on his wife’s grave.

  “You’re late,” Russell said.

  “It’s a long way out here to Beverly Hills, ya know.” Cliff adjusted his ball cap. It was his going-to-town, fancy John Deere trucker hat.

  “Thanks for coming all the way out here. I owe you one.”

  Cliff glanced at Russell and snickered.

  They talked baseball all the way to Deena’s house. The Texas Rangers had a chance to clinch the playoffs if they could get past the Mariners. The big series was starting today with an afternoon game.

  Cliff pulled up in front of the house. “I’ll pick you up in about an hour. Should I get stuff to make sandwiches or will one of your fancy servants be making lunch?”

  Russell blushed. He was still adjusting to being a working-class guy living a millionaire’s life. “The housekeeper will take care of it.” He reached in the backseat.

  “I’ll get it,” Cliff said and quickly jumped out of the truck to open the back door. He pulled out the toolbox and disposer and walked around to hand them to Russell. “Don’t forget to turn that ring counterclockwise to make sure it seats correctly.”

  “Sure thing, boss.” Russell headed toward the front door and rang the bell. As Cliff drove away, he wondered why his friend would keep the flowers and cemetery visit a secret. They usually told each other everything. Then, a few weeks back, Russell had mentioned the idea of setting Cliff up on a double date with a woman in Estelle’s Bluebonnet Club, and Cliff had gone ballistic.

  Russell had never seen him so mad. He dropped the subject immediately. It had been three years since cancer took Gail, and Cliff still couldn’t seem to stomach the thought of being with another woman.

  Russell shook his head. That’s a far cry from Max Dekker. From what Deena said, he was moving on to another woman in less than three days.

  Deena opened the door. A look of relief covered her face.

  “I’M SO GLAD YOU’RE here,” Deena said. “I’m not meant for pioneer life. And Gary...he wouldn’t survive a week in the little house on the prairie.”

  Russell headed straight to the kitchen. “Sorry to hear that. What are you going to do when some cyber-attack knocks out the power grid and the entire country is in a state of emergency? You really should be prepared with at least the basics.”

  “We’ll come hide in the bunker with you and Cliff, I suppose. And by ‘we’ I mean Hurley and I. Gary will be too freaked out to live with. I’ll bring the caviar and champagne.”

  Russell knew she was making fun of him, but he took preparedness seriously. He had survived sixty-something years already and wasn’t about to let the zombie apocalypse get the better of him. He headed straight to the kitchen to get to work.

  Deena sat at the kitchen counter. “So do you want to hear about the new suspect?

  Russell tried to hide his annoyance from her previous remarks. “Sure.”

  “Well, about five years ago, a street gang in Houston set up an initiation for new members. They had to kill a person by...by...well—I’m not goi
ng to say. It’s too gruesome. But apparently, the circumstances were very similar to the plot in one of Max Dekker’s novels, Bounty Beyond the Border. Have you read it?”

  Russell reached for his pliers and bumped his head on the edge of the cabinet. “Geez.” He rubbed the spot. “You know I don’t read fiction.”

  Without even looking, he knew Deena was rolling her eyes.

  “If you call conspiracy theories ‘non-fiction.’”

  He let the comment pass this time.

  “Anyway, the husband of the woman who was killed blamed Max and filed a lawsuit. It was settled immediately, but the man said he still vowed revenge.”

  Russell sat up on the kitchen floor. “One problem, Sherlock. If he wanted revenge, why didn’t he go after Max instead of Alexis?”

  “Because, Watson, he wanted Max to suffer the loss of his wife just like he had. Only it looks like the plan failed since Max Dekker already has another love interest.”

  “Hmm. Interesting theory. Did you tell Ian?”

  “Actually, Ian already knew about it. I talked to him this morning. He said that the police are checking on the guy’s alibi for the night of the murder. In the meantime, they’ve taken their focus off Cliff.”

  “That’s great news.” He stood and wiped his hands on a rag he pulled from his toolbox. “And so is this.” He flipped the switch and the disposer purred like a kitten.

  “Hooray! You’re a genius.”

  “Let me just change out this valve handle, and I can get your water turned back on.”

  Deena’s cell phone rang and she walked away from the kitchen to answer it.

  Russell wasn’t worried about Cliff being charged with murder, even if there was an over-zealous detective on the case. Ian was a smart lawyer, and there was no physical evidence to tie him to the crime. Then he pictured the pocketknife on the top of the refrigerator. Coincidence. He dismissed the thought from his mind.

  He was, however, worried about his friend’s mental state. Maybe he needed to see someone. Counseling had been a lifesaver for Russell with his PTSD. Maybe he should suggest it to Cliff.

  He tightened the handle under the sink and slid out from underneath the cabinet. When he stood, he looked over to see Deena. The look on her face reminded him of the time they saw Jaws together at the theater.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “That was Ian,” she said slowly. “The man from Houston has disappeared. They think he may be in Maycroft.”

  RUSSELL SET HIS TOOLBOX and the used disposer in the bed of Cliff’s pick-up. They could use the old one for parts. He climbed into the passenger seat and greeted a smiling Cliff.

  Deena’s neighbor, Christy Ann something-or-other, waved at them from her driveway. Cliff tipped his cap as they drove by.

  “You seem like you’re in a good mood,” Russell said as he turned down the radio.

  “I guess I am.” Cliff adjusted his cap.

  “So you’re not worrying about...”

  “That police mess? Nah. I have a good lawyer and a clear conscience. That should be enough in the good ol’ U.S. of A.”

  Russell sat up straight so he could glance into the back seat. Sure enough, the flowers were gone. Then he noticed something else. “Hey, where are your groceries? Did you walk out and leave them at the store?”

  “Umm...I couldn’t find anything I wanted. That’s all.” His tone had turned sour on a dime.

  “Not even beer? I thought you said you were out.”

  Cliff shifted in his seat. “It was too dang expensive, okay. I’ll pick some up at the corner store on my way home.” He set his jaw. “And quit needling me. You’re worse than a nagging wife.”

  Wife. That must be the problem. He just couldn’t let go of Gail.

  They drove for a few minutes in silence. Russell finally got up the nerve to broach the subject. “Look, Cliff. I know it’s hard losing Gail.”

  “Gail? What does she have to do with anything?”

  “I know you went to the cemetery. I saw the flowers.”

  If steam could actually pour out of a person’s ears, Cliff would have been lit up like a locomotive. His face turned a purplish shade of red and his eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “Look, man, what I do is my business. Not yours. You just need to leave me alone. And besides, what would you know about how I feel? You just found the love of your life.”

  Russell knew by the way he gritted his teeth that Cliff was holding back more. “Sorry. I’m just trying to help.”

  Cliff turned down the driveway and slammed on the brakes in front of Estelle’s house.

  Russell got out. When he saw Cliff sitting rigid, he knew he’d over-stepped his boundaries again. “Aren’t you coming in to watch the game?”

  “Not today. Ain’t in the mood.”

  There was no use pleading with him at this point. Cliff needed time to cool off. He closed the truck door as his friend peeled out toward the main road.

  Estelle opened the front door decked out in her best Texas Rangers fan apparel. A gift from Russell. Her eyes followed Cliff’s truck as he sped off. “I thought we were all going to watch the game together.”

  “We had a fight.” Russell stepped past Estelle and went into the house. As he settled down into the man cave—formerly the parlor—he couldn’t get the look of Cliff’s face out of his mind. He had seen Cliff upset, mad, annoyed, hot under the collar—plenty of times. But this was the first time he had seen him enraged.

  Was it possible that Cliff was suffering from depression? He hadn’t been himself lately. Russell closed his eyes and rubbed them with his hands.

  That day at the salon, maybe something in Cliff snapped. Maybe he did get mad and cut that woman’s brake line. One thing was for sure, when he drove off just now, he had a look on his face of a man capable of anything.

  Chapter 10

  Deena could still remember the first time she showed up unexpectedly at Gary’s office. She had just come from the doctor, thinking that she had the flu. They had only been married three months.

  He had been surprised to see her and even a little nervous he might get in hot water with the boss. That was when he was the newest employee in a small CPA firm in North Dallas.

  Deena shook her head as though shooing away a wasp and looked at the clock on her dashboard. It was almost four o’clock on Friday afternoon. His clients would all be gone, and he and his co-workers would have already loosened their ties or kicked up their heels. Their computers would be shut down and the main topic of conversation would likely be sports or shopping or plans to go to the lake or barbecuing in the backyard.

  It was the perfect time to ask Gary to do something he would dread.

  Deena had wrapped an ice-cold bottle of one of those Texas craft beers he was crazy about in aluminum foil and had stuck it in her purse.

  Sheila, the chatty receptionist, was away from her desk. Deena could see Gary’s door open, so she went back and stuck her head inside.

  “Knock, knock.” Gary was talking to his friend Scott, who had his feet stretched out and hands locked behind his head.

  “Hey, Deena,” Scott said, quickly sitting up.

  “Don’t get up,” she said, meeting Gary’s smiling eyes. “I just stopped by to see the two most handsome financial geniuses in all of Perry County.”

  “Oh,” Gary said. “In that case, I’ll go get Richie.”

  “Ha!” She walked over to him, planting a kiss on his cheek.

  Scott folded up his long legs and stood. “Well, I guess I’ll let you two love-birds have your privacy. Call me about Sunday.”

  Gary gave him a “bro nod” with his chin. After Scott left, Gary smiled at Deena. “So what brings you all the way downtown from suburbia?”

  “This.” She pulled out the bottle and unwrapped the foil.

  Gary practically squealed with delight as he unscrewed the lid and took a long chug. He let out a satisfying “Ahh” sound. “I am either the luckiest man in the world, or you have
a favor to ask.”

  Deena scrunched up her nose. Was she that obvious? “Why can’t it be both?”

  “It can be. Besides, I have a favor to ask, too.”

  “Sunday. Golfing with Scott?” she asked.

  “Yep. If it’s okay with you.”

  “Sure. Anything for my super sweet, hunky husband.”

  “Uh-oh. I have a feeling this is going to cost me. What?”

  “My favor will only take about an hour of your time.”

  Gary winked and shook his head. “You got it, babe.”

  “Not that!” she said, pretending to be shocked. She paused. “Tomorrow is the memorial for Alexis Dekker. I want to go.”

  “What?” Gary nearly tipped out of his chair. Beer spilled onto his shirt. “Why on earth would you want to go? Have you forgotten that you are under suspicion for murder or accessory to murder or something?” He used his handkerchief to wipe his shirt and tie.

  “First of all, I’m sure everything got cleared up when Detective Guttman talked to Betty. Second of all, that’s exactly why I need to be there. I need to show everyone I’m not guilty. If I stay away, it might look like I have something to hide.”

  “That sounds like ‘Mystery of the Week’ hogwash. This is real life, Deena Jo. You never go back to the scene of the crime.”

  “And what show did you get that from?” She could see his point, of course. But what she didn’t say was that she wanted to get a better feel for Max Dekker’s guilt or innocence. Maybe she would see the mysterious mistress. Maybe the copycat victim’s widower would show up. Instead, she said with a softer tone, “You trust me, don’t you?”

  Gary threw his wet handkerchief in his top drawer. He rested both elbows on the desk and leaned his chin on his folded hands. “In this case, no, I don’t. You aren’t thinking straight, and I think I know why.”

  Here he goes. Gary was trying to play shrink with her again. She crossed her arms and waited.