“You did a pretty good job of that last night,” he replied, his expression unfathomable. “You should get that forehead checked out. Might have a concussion.”
Rossalyn blinked for a moment, her hand going to the butterfly bandages under her hair, wondering what he could possibly be talking about, then reality came slamming in as glimpses of memory returned. In a drunken stupor, she’d harangued her neighbor in his back yard. She must have passed out and hit her head. Mystery solved. Tom Hundman, a man who clearly had elected to despise her for life, had helped her in her embarrassingly inebriated condition.
“Oh gosh,” she mumbled, her hands going to her flaming cheeks.
Before she could open her mouth to apologize yet again, Tom was out the door without so much as a backward glance.
“Well, that went well,” she grumbled to herself, trying to get her heart rate to return to normal, and wondering how she’d ever be able to face the biker again.
They were neighbors, but that didn’t mean that they had to interact. If Tom Hundman never wanted to speak to her again, that was just fine. At least that’s what she tried to tell herself, ignoring the oddly bereft feeling in the pit of her stomach. She wouldn’t even think about how low the coldness in his eyes had made her feel. They were strangers in the same neighborhood, nothing more. No big deal…
**
Ruth Venkman came in by herself for dinner, looking shaken, and asked if Rossalyn could keep her company. After making certain that Jose and Garrett could manage for a bit without her, Rossie gladly obliged, her heart going out to the young woman. Ruth had the special, a Hammy Whammy sandwich, which was basically a giant grilled cheese with cheddar and jack, topped with thin sliced honey ham and served with pepper jelly for dipping. She tore little bits of it off and occasionally popped one in her mouth, chewing as though she didn’t want to swallow. Rossalyn hadn’t had an appetite all day, but made herself a cup of lemon tea that she sipped at while she and Ruth talked.
“How are you holding up?” she asked, concerned.
Ruth gave a pitiful shrug and shook her head. “I can’t stop picturing it. Deedee was just lying there on the floor, so grey-looking…” she trailed off, unable to continue.
“Were the two of you close?”
“I mean…we weren’t best friends or anything, but it was a small office and we all got along and helped each other out, you know? Deedee was older than me, but she always brought cookies or brownies or little cakes that she baked in for all of us, and the thought that someone poisoned her just makes me sick,” Ruth confessed, putting her sandwich back down on her plate and poking at the pepper jelly with her fork.
“Wait, she was poisoned?” Rossalyn’s eyebrows shot up her forehead.
Ruth nodded. “That’s what the police think. My cousin works as a clerk at the police station and heard a couple of them talking about it. They had all kinds of special techs dressed in these weird suits checking out the whole office. They aren’t going to let us back in there for a while. Some cops brought our purses and stuff out to us after they checked through them. They took our statements and told everybody to go home.”
“Wow, that’s awful. How many people work in your office?”
“There are four of us. Delbert Compton owns the place, and Shirley, Deedee and I did the accounting, other than the really big accounts that belonged to Delbert. I just can’t believe that she’s gone.”
“Why would someone want to poison an accountant?” Rossie mused.
“That’s what we’ve all been trying to figure out. I wonder though, if it was an accident,” Ruth shifted in her chair and lowered her voice.
“An accident? You mean like food poisoning or something?” Rossie was confused.
“No, I mean, like…what if she was poisoned, but the poison was actually meant for someone else?”
“Like who?” Rossalyn was mystified.
“Like me,” Ruth confessed, sending Rossie’s eyebrows skyward again.
“Why would someone want to poison you?”
“I don’t know, but a couple of weird things happened lately that make me wonder…”
Rossalyn was intrigued and leaned closer, wrapping her hands around her mug of tea.
“What kinds of things, Ruth?”
Ruth glanced around them, making certain that there were no customers close enough to overhear what she was about to say, then she leaned in too, abandoning all pretense of eating.
“I poured myself a glass of scotch the other night, you know because my husband and I were just relaxing, watching a TV show, and when I took a sip, it tasted awful. I spit it back into the glass and told Russell that it was bad. He sniffed it, but didn’t smell anything weird, so he told me to pour it out. I didn’t think too much of it, but a few minutes later I started feeling awful. My head ached and I was sick to my stomach. I spent the rest of the night in the bathroom, but I felt better in the morning, so I didn’t think too much about it, until I went to make my tea the next morning.”
She looked at Rossie’s cup, remembering.
“What happened?”
“I ran some water in my kettle, and put it on the stove. I took it off when it started steaming, and the smell of that steam was just nasty,” she shuddered.
“What did it smell like?”
“I don’t know, it was sweet, but bitter, kind of like those nasty cookies that are covered with powdered sugar and look like they’re going to be nice and soft, but they’re really hard. Or like my daddy’s empty amaretto bottle,” Ruth shuddered.
“So you think that someone might have tried to poison your scotch and your teakettle? Why? Who would want to do that to you?” Rossalyn wondered.
“I don’t really know,” the young woman bit her lip, clearly hiding something.
“Ruth, it’s not your husband, is it?” she asked softly.
Ruth shook her head with convincing vehemence. “Oh no, definitely not. Russell and I have our ups and downs, but he’d never hurt a fly.”
“Well that’s good. Does he have any enemies who would want to hurt him?”
“That’s the only thing I can think of. Nobody I know is mad at me,” Ruth shrugged.
“Did you tell the police about this? It may be important.”
“No, I didn’t want them to think that I was paranoid or anything,” she looked embarrassed. “I mean, it sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”
“The whole thing sounds crazy,” Rossie commented. “I’m so sorry that you’re having to go through this. Do you think you’re safe?”
“Who knows?” Ruth shook her head. “I’m sure that this morning Deedee thought she was safe. She even brought in toffee brownies for us this morning. Nobody had any yet, and the police took them away for testing,” she recounted sadly.
“Poor gal. Her family must be devastated.”
“Maybe, although her husband Ronnie is a piece of work. Shirley, the other accountant and I always wondered if he was abusive. Deedee never said much, but the little glimpses that she gave of their home life didn’t exactly paint a rosy picture.”
“Hmm…well, that’s probably what the police are checking out first then. Usually, murderers are someone who is close to the victim. At least that’s what they say on all of the police shows,” Rossie smiled faintly, trying to break through the gravity of the moment for a bit of relief.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Well, if Ronnie did do it, I hope he gets what he deserves,” Ruth pursed her lips. “Hey, I hate to be rude, but I just can’t eat right now. Do you think that I can take this home with me?” she gestured to her nearly full plate.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Rossie stood up. “I’ll box this up, and have Jose pack up a couple of meals for you and your husband. I’m sure you won’t feel like cooking for a while.”
“Thank you Rossalyn, but you don’t have to do that,” Ruth protested.
“I know, but I want to, so you just sit tight and I’ll be right back,” she promised.
Rossie
came back with a massive bag of food and sent her accountant on her way, watching her go, troubled.
CHAPTER FOUR
*
Ryan Channing sat cross-legged on the front porch, the head of a skinny hound resting in his lap. The dog had followed him home from school, and for once, the bullies who harassed him on a daily basis had left him alone. The sun was out and only the slightest April breeze riffled through the newly sprouted leaves on the trees, it was a beautiful day for man and beast.
“Got a dog?” Tom Hundman asked, stepping down off of his motorcycle after pulling up in front of the house.
“Not exactly,” Ryan gazed up at the biker, flipping one of the hound’s velvety ears back and forth between his fingers.
“What’s that mean?” Tom crouched in front of the hound, looking him over and reaching down to scratch between his ears. The hound’s tail thumped a tattoo of appreciation onto the floorboards of the porch.
“He followed me home from school.”
“And your mom has no idea.”
“Right.”
Tom felt for the dog’s collar and didn’t find one beneath the slack rolls of skin around his neck. “No tags.”
“Yeah, I think he must be a stray. He’s pretty skinny.”
The biker ran his hands over the dog’s easily visible ribs. “Yeah, looks like he could use a meal or two,” he agreed.
“What do you feed a dog anyhow? Besides dog food I mean. We don’t have any of that.”
“Kid, you feed a skinny dog like this and he’s yours for life, he’ll be at your door begging all the time,” Tom stood, his knees crunching.
“I’d be okay with that,” Ryan grinned.
“Yeah, but that’s something you’ll need to clear with your mom first,” Tom warned.
“I’ve never had a dog before,” the teenager’s expression was forlorn. “Dad was supposed to help me find one when he got back from Afghanistan.”
“Life happens, kid. Bring him over to my house in a few minutes and I’ll give him some liver that I cooked up last night.”
“Eww…you eat liver?” Ryan made a face.
“Yeah, it’s what makes me a genius,” a corner of the biker’s mouth lifted.
“Will Barney like it though?”
“Dogs love the stinky stuff, and it’s good for ‘em. Wait, you named that hound already? You’re setting yourself up for tough times, kid.”
“Nah, I think Mom will let me keep him.”
“Why Barney?”
“I dunno…he just looks like one, don’t you think?”
Tom looked at the dog, considering. “Nope, I’d have gone with Steve.”
Ryan cracked up. “Good thing I’m naming him, not you,” he called out as Tom straddled his bike.
The biker raised a hand in farewell, and Ryan gently lifted Barney’s head out of his lap, stood and stretched. “Let’s go get you some food, buddy.”
The dog padded after him, the Spring sun glimmering on his copper coat.
**
“Oh, Rye, no,” Rossie folded her arms and shook her head. “We both have too much going on. I’ve got a restaurant to run, and you’re busy with school…”
“I’m not busy with school, Mom, come on,” Ryan pleaded. “This school is so much easier than my school in North Carolina. I always get my homework done in class, and it’s not like I have any friends to hang out with,” he said, his expression turning sour.
“Still having trouble with the kids at school?” Rossie asked, her demeanor softening. Her sensitive and intelligent son had been bullied and mocked since he’d arrived in Chatsworth.
“Yeah, and yesterday, when I was walking home and Barney was following me, the kids who usually make fun of me left me alone. I had a friend. He just happened to have fur and be nicer than my classmates,” the teenager sounded hurt, and his mother’s heart broke for him.
“He probably belongs to someone, honey,” Rossie was wavering, but was determined to stay strong.
“If he does then they weren’t taking very good care of him. He doesn’t have a collar, and he’s really skinny. If he had owners they didn’t even feed him right. You should have seen the way that he gobbled up the icky liver over at Mr. Hundman’s house.”
At Ryan’s tone, Barney raised his head, groaned, licked the teenager’s arm and nestled back into his lap.
“See, he’s agreeing with me,” Ryan pointed out, stroking the dog’s head. Barney’s eyes closed as he relaxed into sleep.
“Well, we still need to be responsible…” Rossie stopped, realizing what her son had just said. “Wait, you fed him? Over at Tom’s house?” her eyes narrowed.
“Well, he said I shouldn’t feed him here or he’d never go away, so we fed him over there. He’s starving, Mom. Look at him.”
“Mmhmm…” she crossed her arms again. “And why didn’t Mr. Hundman take him?”
“I asked him about that, because I thought you might say no, and at least if he lived over there, I’d get to go visit him, but Mr. Hundman said he travels too much to have a dog, even a good hound like this one.”
Ryan stared down at the dog, tracing his fingers down the sides of the hound’s face as he spoke, making Barney’s whiskers twitch in his sleep.
Rossalyn hated the fact that she had to be the heartless witch who turned away a needy dog that had befriended her sensitive teen, and she was hopping mad that Tom had encouraged him.
Though it was hard to say no, she was not prepared to take on the responsibility of having a dog. “Sorry Rye, we need to take him to the shelter tomorrow, so they can find his rightful owner,” she stood firm, despite feeling like an ogre.
“Fine,” his chin jutted forward as he bit back what he really wanted to say. “Can he at least sleep in my room tonight? The shelter is already closed, I checked.”
Rossie eyed the mellow guy doubtfully.
“I suppose so, but make sure that you take him out right away if he starts moving around. We don’t even know if he’s house trained.”
“Oh, he is. He asked to go out while Mr. Hundman was warming up his liver.”
“Of course he did,” Rossie muttered. “You go ahead and go inside, I’m going to go talk to Mr. Hundman.”
“Don’t be mad at him, Mom. He was just trying to help. He cares about Barney,” Ryan’s stare was accusing.
“I’m sure he does.”
**
Rossie marched up to Tom’s front door and rapped on it briskly. She may have been embarrassed about her behavior the night before, but he’d crossed the line by encouraging Ryan to take in a stray dog. Her bravery wavered when she heard the clump of heavy motorcycle boots coming toward the door, but she held her ground, determined to have her say.
“What?” the biker sighed when he saw her.
“How dare you encourage my son to take in a stray?” she demanded, cringing inwardly at how shrewish she sounded, but forging on anyway.
“I know he didn’t tell you that, because it didn’t go down like that,” Tom replied, his gaze locked on hers.
“We don’t need this. I don’t need this, and it was irresponsible of you to support the idea of Ryan having a dog.”
“You don’t need it,” the biker smirked and nodded slightly. “Ever think that the kid might need it?”
“That’s none of your business, and you had no right to…” Rossalyn began to sputter, but Tom interrupted her.
“Think what you want. You seem to be pretty good at that,” he shook his head and moved to shut the door.
“Don’t you judge me, Tom Hundman, don’t you dare,” she called out and he turned slowly to stare at her.
“Well, if that ain’t the definition of irony,” he scoffed.
Before she could reply, he stepped into his house and slammed the door, leaving her fuming on his front step.
When Rossalyn came home, she stopped, stock-still in front of the glass-paned back door. Ryan was working on a school project at the kitchen counter, and Barney
was curled up beneath his feet. Her heart swelled and she took a moment to compose herself before going in.
CHAPTER FIVE
*
Ronnie Delario crushed another empty beer can in his fist and threw it on the floor. Sitting in front of the TV in a dirty undershirt and grimy jeans, surrounded by empty pizza boxes, chip bags and at least a twenty-four pack of empties, Deedee Delario’s widower handled his grief in the same manner that he handled most everything that came his way, by getting drunk. When an insistent knock shattered his solitude, he turned the volume down on the MMA match that he was watching and heaved himself up out of his tattered recliner.
“What?” he growled, flinging open the door and finding Officer Morgan Tyler on his doorstep.
“Good evening Mr. Delario. I need to talk with you for a moment, may I come in?”
“How many times are you people gonna bug me?” Ronnie groused, swinging the door open and leaving the officer to close it behind him.
“We appreciate that you’re grieving, but we want to make sure that we’re doing everything we can in order to get to the bottom of your wife’s death.”
“She was hefty. Her heart probably gave out,” Ronnie sank back into his recliner and belched, while Officer Tyler took in his surroundings.
Morgan didn’t acknowledge the crude comment, but made a mental note about the strange reaction of the supposedly grieving husband.
“Mr. Delario, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a man of leisure, can’t you tell?” Ronnie rolled his eyes and gestured to the messy, shabby room around him. “I got laid off months ago. Don’t you people know that?”
“I’m aware,” Tyler said shortly, keeping a tight rein on his distaste for the disheveled man in front of him. “What I meant was, what’s your profession when you are working?”
“My profession. Listen to this guy,” he scoffed. “My profession was working at the miserable stinkin’ chemical plant at the county line. I was a real important guy, loading all those boxes into trucks every day,” he groused.
“What kinds of products were made out there at the plant?” Morgan asked casually.
Hawgs, Dogs, and Murder (Hawg Heaven Cozy Culinary Mysteries Book 4) Page 2