Heart Beat

by Lynne Waite Chapman

  “The trip sounds exciting, but I agree with you. I don’t think I’d want to be cut off from civilization like that. Has he been on one of these trips before?”

  “No. First time he’s traveled anywhere. I could never convince him to take trips. Funny thing is, now that he’s gone, I feel like I’m on vacation.”

  Murine inclined her head toward me, a sweet smile playing on her lips. “It’s so quiet and peaceful. I watch television when I want to. I only cook what I want and haven’t even had to clean since Clive left.”

  “So, this is the first time you’ve been on your own?”

  Murine turned and gazed at her house. “It’s the first time, ever. We got married right out of high school.”

  “Aren’t you nervous, being alone in the house?”

  She turned back toward me. “Oh no. That 12-guage shotgun of Clive’s is sitting right by the door.” She winked. “I’m pretty sure I could hit what I aimed at.”

  I studied the thin woman for a minute before I could decide what to say. “You can shoot a shotgun? They have a kick, don’t they? Doesn’t it throw you off balance?”

  Murine gestured with her hand—the one holding the knife. “Not too bad. You have to know how to handle the recoil. The trick is squaring your shoulders.” She adjusted her body to show me. “It’s what they call the aggressive fighting stance. And brace the gun against the pectoral muscle, not the shoulder.”

  I was speechless. I’d lived next to this woman for a year and had no idea who she was.

  I searched for conversation. “Um, where in Canada did you say Clive went?”

  She giggled. “Silly me. I don’t know the name of the place. Don’t think it even has an address.”

  “When will he be back?”

  “No telling. He said I’d see him when I see him. That’s just like Clive. Never tells me his schedule, but as long as he’s having a good time, I don’t mind.”

  Murine returned to the lilac bush and sliced off a few more stems with the knife.

  “Nice visiting with you, Murine.”

  She glanced at me, her answer a mere murmur, “Yes. You too.”

  I left my neighbor to her flowers, and climbed the steps of my porch. Always thought of her as a little different. This was just one more side of Murine. A side I would never have expected.

  Mason met me inside the door and stared up at me.

  “Shoot. I was on my way out, wasn’t I?”

  I did an about face, relocked the door, and resumed my trip to Ava’s.

  ~

  I closed my mouth, my eyes darting from Anita to Clair and back again. We were at our usual table at Ava’s Java, and I’d spilled the whole story of the chase through Beaver Creek. If I thought my friends would be lavish with their sympathy, I was mistaken.

  Anita stirred a packet of sugar into her cup. “Lauren, you must quit reading those true crime novels. Maybe a nice romance. At least before bedtime. I don’t know how you sleep at all.”

  I stared at her and shook my head. “I’m not making this up. I know there was someone in that hallway. I heard the footsteps. It scared me to death. Can’t even think about what would have happened if they’d caught up with me.”

  Clair pulled a nail file from her handbag and smoothed a fingernail. “Think about it, Lauren, maybe the building creaks. You know how older buildings have those strange sounds. From the wind or the air conditioner or something.”

  Concentrating on my breathing to stay calm. “It wasn’t the building. Besides, I was in the new construction, not the old. And there were footsteps.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair, thinking if Clair and Anita didn’t stop doubting me, I might pull out a handful. My hair, not theirs. “And why were the lights out? Just as I got close to a corridor, it would go dark. Helen says the halls are always lit. What happened?”

  Anita chirped. “I know. Someone spiked the punch.”

  I looked at her. “They did not. Besides, I didn’t have any punch.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Clair actually had a grin on her face. “I bet it was some aide or maintenance guy playing with you. Probably thought you were cute and got a kick out of scaring the pretty lady. Of course, he knew he’d be in trouble when Helen showed up so turned everything back on before she could catch him.”

  “It didn’t feel like a flirtation. And the door alarm? It was only on for a second and went off.”

  Anita peered at Clair. “Defective, don’t you think? Probably the lights, too.”

  Clair shrugged and tucked the nail file back into her handbag.

  Anita returned her gaze to me. “They’ll have to get that fixed.”

  I wanted to lay my head down on the table and scream into the placemat, but took a deep breath and told myself to be mature.

  Anita patted my shoulder. “Really, I can’t imagine who would do that to you. I bet it was all a mistake.”

  I eyed Clair. “Do you really think it was a joke?”

  “I’m pretty sure it was someone’s idea of humor. I bet they got a good laugh out of hearing you try to explain it to Helen. I agree it wasn’t very nice, but it was just a joke. Don’t worry about it.”

  Shifting my eyes to Anita. “And what’s your final answer?”

  Anita smirked. “Like I said, too many crime novels.”

  “Humph.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and stared out the window for few minutes. “Okay, let’s forget about that. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. But the thefts at The Rare Curl weren’t imaginary. I sure wish we knew who did that.”

  Clair and Anita swiveled their heads toward me and stared as if I’d lost my mind.

  Clair put up both hands. “Lauren, that’s over. It was petty theft and probably will never be solved. The police aren’t worried about it. Rarity has moved on, you should too.”

  “Well, somebody should be worrying about it. And another thing, my neighbor…”

  Clair’s attention had drifted. Her eyes were focused toward the top of my head.

  She pointed a well-manicured finger at me. “Have you ever worn short hair? I bet it would be really cute.”

  I grabbed my ponytail. “Short? No. I like it long so I can pull it back.”

  Clair directed my attention to the counter where Ava spoke to a customer. “Have you noticed Ava’s new style? Makes her look younger, don’t you think?”

  Anita nodded. “It takes years off her face.”

  At times my friends could be extremely annoying. I decided to throw out a little test. Did they pay attention to anything I had to say? “Not that I’d blame Murine for shooting her husband with his own shotgun.”

  I waited, looked from one to the other. No reaction.

  Anita shifted her attention to me.

  She heard me. Wait, no she didn’t.

  Anita’s head tipped to the side. “I can’t see it short, but Lauren would look cute in any hairstyle.”

  Clair bobbed her head. “You’re right. I’d love to see it about this length.” She slid her fingers under her chin.

  Still inspecting my current hairstyle, Anita narrowed her eyes. “Maybe.”

  My two friends continued the discussion of my appearance while I looked on.

  I took two deep cleansing breaths, exhaling lowly. Then I raised my voice and spoke cheerfully. “Oh, look at the time. Must get home and work on an article due this week. Have to get groceries, too. Lots to do today.”

  My chair tipped as I slid it out. I caught it with one hand while I swung my handbag across my shoulder with the other. “See you later, girls.”

  They both seemed a little surprised to see me on my feet, but waved as I left.

  ~

  Leaving my friends to their hairstyle discussion, I had other questions whirling through my brain on the drive home. Was it a combination of malfunctions that caused the incident at Beaver Creek? Did my imagination cause it to seem worse than it was? Should I stop reading crime books? I don’t like romance novels.
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  While stopped at a traffic light, I wondered about the thefts at The Rare Curl. Had Rarity moved past it? But she’d said she depended on me to solve the mystery.

  I pulled into my driveway wondering how I got there. That was fast. I needed to keep my mind on reality. If they found me dead someday, it probably wouldn’t be an Evelynton murder. It would be my silly curiosity and over active imagination.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I climbed the concrete steps of the hundred-and-fifty-year-old stone building that housed The Evelynton Times newspaper office. The post office had been there when I graduated from high school. Sometime in the years since, the postal service upgraded to a modern structure. I guess the newspaper didn’t mind creaking floors or leaky windows.

  Couldn’t help but be proud of myself for finishing an article that might make a difference to the elderly residents of the nursing home. I would have been prouder to be able to hand the editor a printed copy, but Donald Daily’s desk was covered with stacks of paper. My work might be lost for weeks.

  A young reporter sat at wooden desk near the door, engrossed in her work. I marched to the editor’s office and tapped on the door.

  “Who is it now?” I’d become accustomed to Daily’s gruff manor. Always sounded as if he was about to bite. I pushed the door open a crack and peeked in. He was just visible between the stacks of newspapers and books piled on his desk. A layer of dust coated the books, the visible edges of the desk, and his computer monitor.

  “Come in, Lauren. How have you been? Catch any more criminals lately? Hey, I heard you were on the scene and found the unidentified body. Why didn’t you give me a call?”

  “I didn’t find it.”

  Donald wasn’t listening. “We can still use it. Talk to Tracy on the way out.”

  “Clair Lane actually did the discovering. You should have Tracy talk to her. I’m here to tell you about the Beaver Creek Rehab Center article.”

  “Why do you waste your time with those fluff stories? I’d jump on an up-close-and-personal testimony of finding the body in the gully.”

  He flashed a grin. “Maybe call it ‘Death in the Ravine.’”

  “Thanks, Donald. But I didn’t see it up close. Made an effort not to see it all. And I really don’t have the desire to write that kind of news. Thought I did once, when I didn’t realize what it entailed. With that murder last year and a few other incidents, I’ve lost my desire to write about crime. I may even quit reading about it.”

  “I don’t believe that for a second. It’s in your blood. You’re a local hero. You cracked that other case wide open.”

  How many times had I gone through that with Donald Daily? “I’m not a hero. All I did was interrupt a thief in my house. Didn’t tackle her. Didn’t even suspect Patsy Clooney of the thefts, let alone the murder. In fact, I’d pegged someone else entirely.”

  “Ha, ha. Okay. Humility is a good thing. You prefer to keep a low profile, but we know better.” He winked at me and shuffled some papers on his desk.

  “Anyway, Donald, I finished the article on the residents of Beaver Creek. It should be in your inbox.” I felt I needed to remind Donald to check his email. Afraid his account was as stacked as his desk.

  The editor focused his attention on the computer and tapped the keyboard. The monitor sprang to life.

  Gratified the machine was turned on, I continued. “I titled it ‘Halls of Wisdom,’ but I’m open if you come up with something better.”

  “The lonely old people article, right?”

  “Yes. But we won’t call it that, will we?”

  Donald shrugged.

  “This article will be good for the nursing home and for the town. The Beaver Creek residents are great people, and if given a chance, they’ll capture hearts. We have good citizens in this town who are unaware of the need. I know there will be more visitors after this is published.”

  “You think so? You have more faith in people than I have.” Donald grabbed a stack of papers and blew at the cloud of dust it released.

  “Helen, the activities director, and I put together a program called Extended Family. I outlined it in the article. People call in, and Helen gives them the name and birthday of a resident with no close family of their own. The citizens commit to two days a month, one day every other week, to visit their resident. They’ll stay at least half an hour. It can be as easy as sitting with their resident during game time or when outside entertainment comes in. They also commit to sending birthday cards, Christmas cards, etc. That’s the starter program. After that, they can go as far as planning birthday parties and buying small gifts.”

  It seemed to me the editor’s eyes were glazing over. “You aren’t listening, are you? Do you want to wait and read the article?”

  He gave his head a quick shake, possibly to wake himself up. “No, no. I’m listening, Go ahead.”

  “Okay. This will be great for the town. We’re expecting enough of a response that each resident will have more than one Extended Family member. Several can even work together if they want. They can plan visits on different days so the resident is occupied more often. They can work together in planning a birthday party. The nursing home has Santa visit during the Christmas season, so the citizens can have their picture taken with Santa and their adopted resident.”

  “Ha. How do you know the people will keep up their side of the bargain?”

  “Most of them will. I’m sure there will be times when people are too busy and may miss a day. And some who decide it’s more work than they expected and will quit. Helen will keep the records. They sign in at each visit. That way Helen will know if a resident is left without an Extended Family. Some will love it and maybe have two or even three residents to visit. If needed, they could plan little parties with several residents together.”

  “People are too busy.” Donald restacked a pile of papers on his desk. I took it as a signal he was finished with the conversation.

  “I guess we’ll see, Donald. Remember to look for the attachment in your inbox.”

  He’d probably be more interested in a story of my terrifying chase through the dark halls of the nursing home, but I no longer wanted to talk about that.

  Chapter Sixteen

  D espite the discouraging newspaper man, I climbed into my car with a smile on my face. I’d finished the newspaper article. A project that had been different from anything I’d accomplished before. It sounded like a day to celebrate by watching an old movie, or maybe with a nap.

  A starving writer’s wishful thinking. The bills wouldn’t pay themselves unless I wrote more articles.

  I pulled into traffic. At least I’d enjoy the scenery on the drive home.

  People were out strolling and enjoying the sunshine. Patricia Martin was running a sale on sundresses.

  There was a surprise. Murine Baron stood in front of the dress shop, gazing at the new display. Never thought of her as a window shopper. I wondered if she would go in and come out with a new dress. I bet it wouldn’t be gray.

  My guess was Clive hadn’t returned from his fishing trip.

  Enjoy your freedom, Murine.

  At home, I dreaded jumping into another writing project. A little more time was needed. I picked up Mason and cuddled the purring cat while I wandered to the back porch.

  “Talk to me, Mason. Is the town getting stranger? Is my imagination getting out of control?” Murine had definitely changed. “What do you think has happened to our neighbor, furry friend?”

  I opened the screen door and carried the cat down the steps to the yard. After I’d put him on the ground, I walked to the side of my property. If my life was a romance novel, I’d say the birds and flowers drew me there. In truth, I wanted to check out the Barons’ backyard while no one was at home.

  The property was empty. A plain yard. Nothing to attract my attention. What was I expecting? Evidence of the digging of a fresh grave? Maybe traces of the alien spaceship that had abducted Murine and replaced her with a strong happy
, woman?

  Mason’s whiskers tickled my ankles and I glanced down at him. “Do you suppose aliens abducted Clive?”

  All the windows of the house were open, curtains fluttering in the breeze. I could almost imagine it breathing. Looked like the place was taking deep gulps of fresh air. Just like Murine. She seemed to have come alive and was breathing for the first time.

  Still, why would Clive, who never went anywhere except work, take a vacation without her?

  My eyes focused on the Barons’ back door. Was it locked? She’d left the windows open, maybe the door was unlatched.

  I pushed branches away from my face as I stepped through the bushes, into my neighbor’s yard.

  The solid door stood open, only the screen door was closed. Was I brave enough to test it?

  Anita was right. I’d been reading far too many true crime novels. Still, I couldn’t help myself. I crept closer.

  A man’s voice sounded as if it was right behind me. “Lauren.”

  I jumped and tripped over Mason as I spun around. Peering through the shrubs, I saw Wallace, not behind me, but standing at my back door. His attention was focused on my porch. He hadn’t discovered me trespassing on the Barons’ property.

  Casually, and as quietly as possible, I pushed through the hedge and stepped into my own yard. “Hi, Wallace. I’m over here.”

  Wallace whirled around. “I didn’t even see you there. Must be getting’ old and losing my touch.”

  “Just checking out my shrubs. Um, wondering if I need to trim them.” What kind of story was that? I’d never trimmed a bush in my life. One look at my yard made it painfully obvious that I knew nothing about lawn care. “It’s good to see you. How’ve you been?”

  Wallace jumped down from the steps and strode toward me. “What’s going on around here? Just talked to Rarity. I was out of town for a few weeks and found out somebody stole from her beauty shop. Then you unearthed a corpse. That was quite a discovery.”

  “The body was not my discovery. I never even saw it clearly. It was Clair. Unfortunately, she got the close-up view.”