Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection

by Pamela Frost Dennis

  “He’s gaining weight fast,” said Nora.

  “We don’t want to tire you out,” Debra said to Heather, “so I’m going to take Katy down to the nursery and show off your little guy, okay?”

  “I wish I could go too,” said Heather.

  “You can go after your neurologist looks in on you.” Debra adjusted the window blinds to cut the glare in Heather’s face.

  Nora sat in a chair by the bed. “I’ll stay and keep you company.”

  Debra walked me down the hall. “We’re not really going to the nursery. It’s neonatal intensive care, and I can’t take you in there. I brought you out of the room, because I figured you might have some questions you weren’t comfortable asking in front of Heather.”

  I nodded, appreciating her sensitivity. “So how is she really?”

  “She’s doing well, considering. The first few days were critical as far as another stroke occurring, but she’s over that hurdle now. It’s a good thing she was in the hospital when this happened. Those first few hours are critical.”

  “How has she taken the loss of the babies?”

  “As you would expect. But I have to say, Heather is an amazing young woman. Ditzy but resilient. An optimist if ever there was one.”

  “And the surviving child is really doing well? Or was that for Heather’s benefit?”

  “He really is doing well.” Debra smiled and then coughed several times, her hand pressed into her chest. Her smile became a pained grimace.

  “Are you all right? That cough sounds bad. Like bronchitis. Should I get you some water?”

  She waved my concern away and continued to sputter while she talked about Heather’s newborn. “He’s got a lot of growing to do, but there’s no reason to expect any severe complications. This little one’s meant to be here.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  MONDAY • AUGUST 5

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  It’s been two weeks since I delivered the Clunker Carnival job and still no check. When I called last week, they said it was in the mail. My house is two miles from the car lot, so I should have received it days ago—even if they sent it pony express. So I called again today.

  Ring, ring. “Clunker Carnival. Para continuar en español, pulse uno. If you know the extension of your party, please dial it now. Otherwise, please listen to the following menu.”

  I listened, then pressed six for accounting. “We are experiencing an unusually high volume of calls right now. Your call will be answered in approximately twenty-two minutes. Thank you for your patience.”

  I had no patience, so I hung up, grabbed my purse, and stomped out the door.

  Before stepping out of my car at the Clunker lot, I scanned the area for my teen date. Really didn’t want to deal with that twerp again. The coast was clear, so I dashed to the office.

  A chilly coastal fog was shrouding the car contest still in progress. The disheveled crew of survivors were hanging onto the yellow Hummer for dear life while a frizzy-haired radio deejay was doing his best impression of “excited to be here.” A ragtag group of kids with drippy ice cream cones sat bundled in blankets on folding lawn chairs, fussing about going home.

  “We’ll go home when Mommy wins this damned car and not a minute sooner, so pipe down,” shouted a skinny, bedraggled woman in desperate need of a shampoo.

  Inside the building, I tapped on the accounting office window. A lone woman inside appeared fixated on her computer monitor and didn’t look up. I tapped again, this time with my car key. Still no response.

  I glanced around at the other folks waiting in the lounge area. All eyes were on me. Fresh entertainment.

  “Give it up, girl,” said a grungy, young redhead. “She is not gonna talk to you.”

  “Oh, she’s gonna talk to me, all right.” Remembering that I’m bold and brassy, I wedged my fingers between the sliding glass panels, inching one aside. “Excuse me, ma’am.”

  Still nothing. How rude.

  “Hey! I know you can hear me. I’m here to collect the money you owe me.”

  Not even an eyebrow twitch. How could she not hear me? Unless she was deaf. Oh my God. She was deaf and I was being incredibly disrespectful. I stuck my arm through the window, waving to get her attention.

  “Okay, lady,” a baritone said in my ear. “Step away from the window.”

  “What?” I pulled my arm back and turned to face a short, portly security guard whose shirt buttons were straining to escape.

  “Ma’am. We don’t want any trouble here.”

  “Me neither.” I looked back at Office Lady, now watching me, and hollered, “I just want my damned money!”

  The guard kept his voice quiet and nonthreatening. “Please step away from the window.”

  I stepped away, and Office Lady poked her pinched, sour face through the window. “I think she has a gun and was going to rob me.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I don’t have a gun.”

  “Well, you were waving something at me.”

  “My hand.” I waved my hand again. “I knew you saw me.”

  She ignored me. “You better check her, Malcolm, because it sure looked like a gun to me.”

  “Hold your arms away from your sides, please,” sighed Malcolm, unclipping a black wand from his belt.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Unh-unh. No way are you touching me.”

  “I’m not going to touch you. This is a metal detector. Just going to wave it around you.” He leaned in and whispered, “Let’s just make Nina happy, please?”

  “Oh, by all means, Malcolm. Wouldn’t want Nina to be unhappy. And don’t worry about my total humiliation here.”

  “Thank you, and I sincerely mean that.” He whooshed the detector through the air around me and declared me gun-free. “Are we good now, Nina?”

  “Well, with those big beefy man-hands of hers, you can see why I thought she might have a gun.” She shut the window and returned to her computer.

  Man-hands? I glanced at my hands. They looked normal to me. Size seven ring finger, medium-size gloves. Josh once said my wrists are dainty.

  “I’m warning you now, Malcolm. This could get ugly.” I stepped back to the window, wedged it open again and announced in a super-friendly tone to mask the bloodlust boiling inside me, “Hi.” I waved my big beefy hand at Nina. “It’s me again. Katy McKenna. I’m here to pick up the check you said you mailed.”

  “What check?” she asked without looking up from her monitor.

  I pointed out the lobby window. “I’m the one who made the posters for your contest out there.”

  The lobby audience turned to look out the window at the contestants freezing in the summer fog.

  “But I haven’t been paid yet. Just cut me my check, and I’ll be on my way, and you can get on with whatever you’re doing.” Probably watching cat videos.

  Nina stared at the monitor and tapped her mouse. “You’re not going to be paid.”

  “What do you mean, I’m not getting paid?”

  She pushed her chair back and came to the window looking exasperated. “Listen,” she whispered, disappointing the lobby listeners and gagging me with her rancid tobacco breath. “We can’t pay you. Clunker Carnival is filing Chapter 11 any day now, so technically we don’t have to pay you.”

  “Yes, you do,” I whined, pounding the little shelf under the window. “That’s not fair. I did my work in good faith.”

  “Who said life is fair?”

  I leaned into her, boldly announcing for all to hear. “Nobody pushes Katy McKenna around and gets away with it. You got that?”

  Nina’s eyes narrowed. “Bring it on, sister.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  WEDNESDAY • AUGUST 7

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Private

  I was trying to determine what was a weed and what was a flower in my wildflower garden when Mom called with an update on her u
ncle. “Get this. He could have got life in prison, but due to his age and the fact he’s never had any criminal charges in the past. Was a respected community member and a successful businessman until he retired, blah, blah, blah.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “He got three months house arrest and three years’ probation.”

  “Are you kidding me? That’s it?”

  “That’s it. Oh, he’ll have to do an education program for sex offenders and some community service, but yeah, that’s it.”

  Done with weeding, I sat in the grass against a gnarly old pepper tree. “You and I both know that you and his granddaughter weren’t his only victims.”

  “I know. When you have a sickness like this, you don’t wait nearly fifty years to do it again.”

  “What about his daughter? He must have molested her.”

  “We’ll never know. Don’t want to know.”

  “How did you find out about his sentence?”

  “I’ve been checking the Fresno County Superior Court Facebook page. They post case information on it.”

  Daisy flopped next to me, resting her head on my lap. “Are you ready to tell Ruby?”

  “I’ll never be ready to tell her.”

  “I told you I’m supposed to be searching for him on the Internet. I can’t keep putting her off, Mom. You have to tell her.”

  “I know. What really kills me is he’s going to be loose out there. Free to continue preying on innocent children. Sex offender education is such a joke. He is a smart, educated man, and he knew exactly what he was doing, but I think this is like being a drug addict. He knows it’s bad, but that’s not going to stop him from doing it again. He needs to be in prison and… castrated! That’s the only thing that’s going to stop him.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  THURSDAY • AUGUST 8

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Around two thirty, I went to the hospital to visit Heather. I was about to enter her room when I heard Chad’s voice and hung back to eavesdrop.

  “So, babe, you sure you don’t mind? I wouldn’t have even considered it if it weren’t about business.”

  “No. You should go.”

  Where the hell is he going? Another golf tournament? I pictured her giving him a valiant smile.

  “It’s just for a few days, but I have to leave now, or I’ll miss my flight. Enjoy that People magazine I brought you. There’s a good story in there about Miley Cyrus performing at the White House.”

  “Thank you. Love you, Chaddie.”

  Heather probably expected a similar endearment in response. What she got was, “Yeah. Me too. See ya.”

  “Chaddie, wait. Have you visited Noah today?”

  “I was just heading to the nursery to do that, but I have to hurry.”

  I scurried to the next room’s doorway and waited for the scumbag to pass. He was moving fast toward the elevator, but I managed to slip in just as the doors closed.

  “Hey, Chaddie. Whatcha doing?” I glanced at the other elevator passenger; a nurse in red polka-dot scrubs, clutching a clipboard to her chest. “I’m his parole officer. He’s actually on house arrest. Indecent exposure. But since his wife’s in the hospital, he’s allowed to visit. Show her your ankle bracelet, Chad.”

  The door opened and Chad power walked toward the lobby entrance. I dashed ahead, blocking him. “Where’re you going on your so-called business trip?”

  He stopped, hands on hips. “It’s none of your business, but I’m going to the Book Expo in New York.”

  “You own a used bookstore. Keyword—used. Why would you go to the Book Expo?”

  “I want to expand the business. You know, go big.”

  “More like go broke. Barnes & Noble is two blocks from your store. Let them be big. You can’t compete with that and you know it. What’s really going on?”

  He kept peering over my shoulder toward the glass entrance door. “I have to get going.” He shouldered past me and out the door, hurrying to a shiny red Mustang. And guess who was sitting behind the steering wheel? The costar of my epic porn video.

  I raced to the convertible and leaned my hands on the driver’s door. “I just don’t get you, Lisa. He’s not even that good in the sack.” I glanced up at Chad standing on the other side of the car looking like he’d love to throttle me. “Of course, it’s not like he has that much to work with. You know what I’m saying? Big feet can be so deceiving.”

  She crossed her arms like a petulant child. “You never understood him, and neither does his current wife.”

  The harsh sunlight illuminating her forty-something face was unforgiving. Clearly she’d spent a lot of time in the sun.

  You’d think if he were going to cheat on Heather he would at least be doing it with a young, gorgeous babe. Maybe he actually cares for Lisa.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  FRIDAY • AUGUST 9

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  “This is delicious,” said Emily, talking with a full mouth. “What do you call it?”

  “Pasta Mama. I saw it on the food channel on Best Thing I Ever Ate. The celebrity chef swooned over it and it sounded easy, so I thought I’d give it a try.”

  “It’s a keeper.” Ruby refreshed her wineglass, then tossed back a tumbler of water. “The one problem with the drink a glass of water for every glass of wine idea is I need to tinkle all the time. Be right back.”

  The three of us were enjoying an early dinner on my patio. A warm breeze tousled the wind chimes hung in the pepper tree, adding to the relaxed ambience.

  I salted and peppered a puddle of olive oil on my bread plate and dunked a chunk of warm baguette. “So how’s the writing going, Emily? Got anything on paper yet?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. Though not on paper. What century are you living in?”

  “It’s a figure of speech, dork.” I munched my bread, and olive oil drizzled down my chin. “So tell me about it.”

  Her face lit with enthusiasm. “It’s about these two evil fairies that…” She tilted her head, brows furrowed. “Did you hear that?”

  Feminine laughter floated over the six-foot cedar fence from Josh’s backyard.

  Ruby blew through the french doors bellowing, “Did I miss anything?”

  I held up a hand to shush her, just as the woman on the other side said, “Oh, Joshie-baby. You are so cute.”

  Ruby’s eyes bugged out. “Uh-oh. Sounds like you’ve got some competition.”

  I couldn’t make out his reply, so I got up and stood with my ear to the fence. Ruby and Emily joined me.

  “Oh, honey,” said the woman. “Sometimes I forget what a funny boy you are!”

  I tried to get a peek at her through the crack between the boards, but all I could see were the water meter, a hose bib, and some bushes.

  “Baby, remember that time you…” The lady dropped her voice. “And then you…” Her sultry voice dropped again.

  Josh laughed. “And you were completely soaked to the skin.”

  What? Soaked to the skin? As in wet T-shirt soaked to the skin? I needed to see her, so I started to drag a bench over to the fence. “Emily,” I whispered. “Help me with this.”

  “Please tell me you don’t plan to spy on your neighbor?” said my sister. “He might see you.”

  “I’ll be very careful. I just need to see what she’s got that I haven’t.”

  “I knew it. You do have a thing for him.” Emily lifted one end of the bench.

  “I thought you were looking for a more feminine type,” said Ruby. “Which Josh is so not.”

  “I am. It’s just that—”

  “You want Josh. Who wouldn’t?”

  “Me, for one,” said Emily.

  We set the bench down against the fence, making sure it wasn’t wobbly.

  “Let me look. That way you won’t embarrass yourself.” Emily set a foot on the bench. “If he sees me, he knows I’m gay, so he won’t get any
wrong ideas.”

  “Hold on,” Ruby said. “Move the bench down to where the morning glories are growing and act like you’re pruning them.” She grabbed the clippers I’d left out during my weeding on Wednesday.

  We relocated the bench and Emily climbed up. She snipped a long runner and dropped it on the ground, then rooted around for another.

  “Okay, I can see her sitting on the deck. Josh must be in the kitchen,” she whispered, glancing down at us. “The woman’s back is to me, but she looks good. Blond. Wearing a black print dress. Nice legs. Elegant. I bet she’s hot.”

  “I need to see. Move over.” I stepped up beside her. “She doesn’t look that great. Her hair is definitely a dye job.”

  “Oh for God’s sake, let me see,” said Ruby. We scooted over and she climbed up, teetering in her four-inch heels. “If I fall, you two are nursing me, because I will not set foot in the hospital, you got that?”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said. “It’s a deathtrap.”

  “Well, it is, so don’t get sarcastic with me. Everyone I know is dying there.” She peered over the thick vine straddling the fence top. “Yup. Definitely a dye job. No woman her age would naturally have hair like that. I should know.”

  “How do you know her age?” asked Emily.

  “Elbows. A dead giveaway every time. You can lift your face, Botox it, fill it, and peel it, but nothing gives your age away like bony, wrinkly, old elbows. Like rings on a tree. And the upper arms, too. That’s why I never go sleeveless.”

  “How old do you think she is?” I asked.

  She bobbed her head back and forth, mentally calculating the unsuspecting woman’s age. “It would help if I could see her face, obviously. But those elbows are telling me late fifties to midsixties. But well maintained, I’ll give her that.”