Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection

by Pamela Frost Dennis

  “In my defense I’ve had the flu, you know.” I coughed a few times to sell my excuse.

  “Oh, come on. This is more than just the flu, and you know it. If you don’t get your act together, I’m telling Mom and Pop.”

  “Give me a break. This is one of those bugs that really drags you down. I’m just glad you haven’t caught it. And it doesn’t help that Chad keeps texting and calling. That whole thing has really bummed me out.”

  She bought that since she’s seen how many times a day that lunatic texts and calls. He continues to forget we’re not married. I actually feel kind of rotten that I haven’t visited him in days. With his short-term memory issues, hopefully he doesn’t remember that.

  We ended my intervention with me promising to get my act together, and she’s not buying me any more wine. If I want it, I have to go to the store and get it myself. I really don’t want to shower, dress, and put makeup on.

  I guess that means that is exactly what I need to do. Get my act together.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  TUESDAY • SEPTEMBER 3

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Private

  I promised Emily I would pull myself together, so this morning I forced myself out of bed, showered, dressed, and put on a little makeup. I have to admit, it made me feel better. Or at least fresher. Then I prepared a Swiss cheese, spinach, and mushroom three-egg omelet, split it in half, and surprised my sister with breakfast in bed.

  I tapped on her door. “Who wants breakfast?”

  Her response was a groan followed by, “Go ’way.”

  “That’s not happening.” I opened the door and set the bamboo tray on the bureau, swishing a mug of steaming coffee near her nose. “Wake up, little sleepyhead.”

  The tantalizing aroma did the trick, and Emily sat up, reaching for the cup. After a few swallows, she said, “This is nice. Thank you.”

  I placed the breakfast feast on the bed and sat cross-legged facing her.

  “That looks delicious.” Emily tossed back her long black hair. “Why the special attention?”

  “Your little talk yesterday got to me.” Not really, but I can fake it until I feel it.

  Waving a forkful of omelet at me, she looked pretty pleased with herself. “You just got scared when I said I’d tell on you.”

  “Well, you got my attention. Sitting around moping isn’t solving anything.”

  “Yeah. Chad. What a mess. Hopefully, time will resolve that issue.”

  “Yeah. Hopefully.” Nothing can resolve what I’m moping about. “Anyway, I’m over the flu, and I’m getting out of the house today. Poor Daisy needs some attention, so we’re hitting the dog park, and then we’ll see what the rest of the day brings.” I washed down a nibble of blackberry-jammed rye toast with a swig of orange juice. “Maybe I’ll call Ruby and bug her about finding me a job.”

  “Did you ever get paid for the Clunker Carnival job? Last I heard, you hadn’t.”

  “Nope. And I need to come up with an idea to make them pay me. Especially after my run-in with the bookkeeper. She flat-out told me they weren’t paying me, and I told her that nobody pushes Katy McKenna around, and, yes, they were going to pay me.”

  “Whoa. You go, girl.”

  “Yeah, well that was weeks ago, before I got shot. She probably thinks I caved. I don’t know how I’m going to collect, but I’ll think of something.”

  Daisy was over the moon when she realized we were headed for Lago Park. By the time I had the car parked and the back door open, she was in full tilt doggy boogie while I battled to untether her from the backseat.

  “Daisy! Calm down so Mommy can untie you.”

  She looked at me like I was nuts and continued to bounce around, slapping me with her tail and smacking me with kisses.

  A crowd of doggie playmates barked encouragement to Daisy as she towed me to the park gate. Once I’d wrestled her through the motley crew and set her free, I collapsed on a bench to soak up some much-needed vitamin D.

  Watching my girl frolic with her pals put a smile on my face. Also much needed.

  On the way home, I stopped at a drugstore and bought melatonin. My perimenopausal insomniac mother says it helps her sleep. It’s worth a try. There’s a Starbucks next door, so I treated myself to a grande cappuccino. Yes, I am aware of the paradox.

  Back at home, I toted my coffee and laptop out to the patio to do some Central Valley recon. Daisy followed me out and flopped in a sunny spot in the grass to catch some Z’s. What bliss it must be to have a guilt-free mind.

  I typed in “Clover Topix” in the search bar. Topix is great for finding out what’s going on in just about any town. Obviously, what I was looking for wouldn’t be in USA Today. The top stories for Clover were:

  Dairy farmers struggle to survive prolonged historic drought.

  Clover man who killed boyfriend sentenced to fifteen years.

  Clover teenager suffers head injuries during a game of mailbox baseball.

  And down at the bottom of the front page: Convicted sex offender found dead in bed.

  I clicked the headline.

  A 72-year-old man was found dead in his home on Monday after he failed to report to his probation officer last week. Theodore Peckham, a convicted sex offender charged with child molestation, was under house arrest at the time of his death. He appears to have died in his sleep. The coroner’s office is listing it as a cardiac arrest.

  The story continued with his sex offender conviction, but I didn’t have the stomach for it. Instead, I sat there, absorbing the fact that it had gone down like I had hoped it would. His body wasn’t discovered until five days after his death, so no trace of the stuff that Debra had injected in him was left in his system.

  At the bottom of the story, there were hater comments posted already. The one comment that stood out was:

  The only good pedophile is a dead pedophile.

  “Could not agree with you more, buddy,” I muttered, tempted to click the thumbs-up button but instead clicked out.

  I leaned back in my chair. Is this really the end of it? No, but it is the end of the worst of it. Now I have to learn to live with what I did. And I can do that.

  I joined Daisy in the grass, nuzzling my head on her warm, plush tummy. Gazing at the clouds scuttling high in the infinite deep blue, I gave thanks to anyone out there listening.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  WEDNESDAY • SEPTEMBER 4

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Private

  Last night I climbed into bed early thinking I’d read for a while, then pop a melatonin and go night-night. Next thing I know, sunlight is glaring in my eyes through a gap in the drapes.

  I started the coffee, put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, and wiped down the counters—reveling in my freedom to do everyday mundane chores.

  My paper girl scratched at the front door, ready to do her job. From the porch, I watched Daisy pounce on the paper at the end of the walk. Paper in mouth, she proudly pranced it up the stairs and dropped it at my feet.

  Across the street, my beefy neighbor was climbing into his yellow muscle car. I waved as he rumbled away, thinking, Howdy, neighbor. Great day, huh? Guess what? I’m not going to prison!

  After Daisy and Tabitha had finished their morning repast, they joined me in our chair by the living room french doors to catch up on current events:

  Federal agents raid gun shop, find weapons. Second arrest for gun shop owner.

  “Hello. It’s a gun shop.”

  County to spend $425,000 to advertise lack of funds in the hopes that voters in November will approve higher taxes for public-safety services.

  “Key word—lack of funds. Gee, I wonder why?”

  A Highway Patrol officer arrested a deputy U.S. marshal for stealing 37 pounds of marijuana from drug traffickers with the intent to sell the pot. Drug traffickers file a civil suit.

  “How about they tak
e the money from the pot sale and use it to pay for the county’s advertising campaign? Oh, here’s something that may interest you, Daisy. The humane society is having a fashion show fundraiser.”

  My pound puppy set her paw on my thigh and gave me one of her deep, soulful sighs and then my phone rang.

  “Hey, Ruby. What’s up?” I hoped no more of her friends had kicked the bucket at Shady Acres.

  “You certainly sound chipper,” she said. “You finally getting over the damned flu?”

  “I am, thank you.”

  “Well…” Long sigh. “I have some news you need to hear.”

  I sighed back. “Good or bad?”

  “I know it’s bad, but frankly I am at a loss for how I feel. My brother died.”

  I considered what tone my response should take.

  “Katy? You there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Just thinking. How?” I was thankful we were doing this over the phone, so I didn’t have to control my facial expressions. Texting would have been better, though.

  “Heart attack according to the coroner’s office. I was notified early yesterday morning, but wasn’t feeling ready to share.” She snorted a laugh. “They offered their sympathies.” Another snort followed with a labored groan. “Here’s the kicker. They want to know if I’m going to claim his body.”

  “What’d you say?”

  “I didn’t say anything. I was stunned by the news of his death, to say the least. I sure wasn’t ready to make any snap decisions.”

  “Please don’t tell me we’re going to have a funeral for that man.”

  “Not unless we can build a funeral pyre, toss a match, and do a happy dance.”

  At least she hasn’t lost her sense of humor. Still, this was her brother, so it has to feel weird.

  “Anyhoo,” she sighed. “I’ll tell Marybeth today. And then I need to call my sister. That’s going to be a very difficult phone call. I haven’t told her about any of this yet.”

  “You know, you don’t have to call her today. Another day or two isn’t going to change a thing. In fact, wait until the weekend.”

  “Good idea. Your mother will be enough. And I guess I’ll need an answer for the coroner’s office.”

  “And your answer will be?”

  “Bury him in a pauper’s grave for all I care.”

  I knew she cared. “How do you really feel?”

  “I keep thinking of that cute little scamp who was my baby brother. That’s what I’m going to hang on to because the person he grew into was someone I didn’t like, even before learning about all this.” She paused. “He hurt my baby. I hope he rots in Hell.”

  Late this afternoon, I called Samantha. “Hey. It’s me.”

  “Well, it’s about time you called. What is going on, Katy? We haven’t talked in days and you don’t return my calls. I know you’ve had the flu, but did I do something to upset you?”

  “You didn’t do anything. I’ve just been really dragging. The flu, Chad, worrying about my mother’s uncle coming here. But I’m feeling better now. And I have some news.” I told her about my uncle’s death.

  “Heart attack? Well, amen and pass the biscuits, as my grandmother always says. Sometimes there is divine intervention, huh?”

  “Sometimes.” And sometimes it gets a little earthly nudge.

  “Please tell me you don’t feel bad about this.” She waited for a response, then said, “You don’t, do you?”

  “No. It’s just the whole thing. I’ve been so worried about Mom and Ruby and …” I stopped before I said too much.

  “Yeah, it’s got to feel strange. One minute you’re fretting about him showing up on your doorstep and the next thing you know—he drops dead. When I think about it, there have been a few perfectly timed deaths lately. And all well deserved. Hold on. Casey’s calling me.” She held the phone away and hollered, “Yes, baby. We’re going in a few minutes.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Soccer practice. Hey, did you hear Chad was transferred to a memory-loss care facility? Now he’s living with a bunch of elderly Alzheimer patients.”

  “Are you kidding? When?”

  “Day before yesterday.”

  “Does this mean he’s not going to recover?”

  “Hard to say at this point. He was well enough to leave the hospital, but he can’t function on his own at this point, so I guess that was the best option for now. I hear he’s very popular with the old ladies. It also means he won’t be harassing you anymore because they took his phone away.”

  “Wow. I’m completely gobsmacked. I wonder what Heather will do.”

  “Who knows? My heart certainly goes out to her, but my advice to you is stay out of it. You already have enough on your plate.”

  She was right about that. But what will Heather do about the store? Her marriage? Will she have to pay for the memory care facility? And Chad’s the father of her baby. Talk about having a lot on your plate.

  “You still there?” asked Sam. “You’re awfully quiet. You okay?”

  “Yeah, just thinking.”

  “I’m so glad you called. I feel much better after hearing your voice. Just don’t do that to me again. You know you can talk to me about anything. An-y-thing. Whatever is bugging you. Big and small. Day or night. Doesn’t matter. That’s what best friends are for. We don’t judge.” She snickered. “Well, we try not to judge. But no matter what, we listen. That’s our job.”

  There are some things even best friends can’t share.

  “Gotta get going now,” she said. “Oh, by the way. Did you get the group message that Saturday’s book club meeting has been canceled?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Debra’s too sick, Nora can’t come, and of course Heather can’t.”

  My book club days are over.

  “Anyway, we couldn’t have gone either because Casey has a soccer game Saturday and he said he wants his Aunt Katy there. One o’clock.”

  “I’ll bring the Ding Dongs.”

  “Make it orange slices. The Ding-Dong days are over.”

  “I meant for you and me.”

  All evening I’ve been thinking about Chad. Call me crazy, but I feel bad for him. He can’t contact me (yay!) and he’s not going to understand why I don’t visit him. That’s really sad.

  And something’s been niggling at me too. Like something I’m supposed to do or remember. I don’t know what it is, and it’s driving me bonkers.

  Ruby always says if you can’t remember something, take ten slow deep breaths. Get that oxygen flowing in your brain, and usually it will come to you. That may work for when you walk into a room and have no idea why you did, but I’ve been deep breathing to the point of hyperventilating and it’s not working.

  Who have I talked to today?

  Mom. She sounds more like her old self. Sometimes one person’s death is another person’s rebirth.

  Ruby and Samantha.

  And then I remembered. Sam had said, “When I think about it, there have been a few perfectly timed deaths lately. And all well deserved.”

  What are the odds of every rotten person I’ve recently encountered, been told about, or been related to turning up dead? Or nearly in Chad’s case.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  THURSDAY • SEPTEMBER 5

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Private

  I called Debra this morning and finagled an invite via a series of thinly veiled hints. Although I’m sure she would’ve rather ignored them, she asked me to come over at three thirty.

  Arriving on the dot, bearing lattes and cheese danishes, a note on the front door told me to come around to the backyard. I found her on a chaise lounge, wrapped in a wooly blue blanket in spite of the warm summery day.

  “Hey, Debra.” She looked wretched, so I didn’t follow up with how’re you doing? I sat beside her on a matching rattan chair, setting my offerings on a glass-topped table next to a tissue box and a water bo
ttle. A portable electric oxygen concentrator sat on the concrete beside her, softly ticking with every breath she inhaled through a nasal cannula.

  “Hi, Katy.”

  “You cut off all your beautiful curls.”

  “Too much trouble.” Debra ran a hand through her cropped, gray hair. “Seems I cut off all the color too. Oh well.” She inhaled and the machine ticked its response. “I was surprised you called. I figured you’d keep your distance. You doing okay?” She erupted into a string of deep, phlegmy coughs that made my chest hurt.

  “I’m okay. Pretty much. You know he was found?”

  “Yes. Nora told me. What a relief it is to know everything went as planned. How’s your mother doing?”

  “Good. Really good, in fact. Thanks to you and Nora. I wish I could tell her what you did for her.”

  “No!” A fragile hand snaked out from under the blanket, seeking mine. “You can never tell her.”

  I held her hand, surprised her grip was so strong. “I won’t. I just wish I could. But I need to ask you something.”

  “About that day?”

  “No.” I paused, trying to find the least offensive way to ask my question. If I was wrong, what would she think of me?

  “Please, Katy. Just ask.”

  I gazed at our hands, clasped together in her lap. “Have there been others?” I peeked up to catch her reaction.

  She bowed her head and I took that for a “yes.”

  “How many?” I expected the answer to be four, including Chad-the-Undead.