While She Slumbered: The Murder Blog Mysteries #5

by Pamela Frost Dennis

  “Getting some much-needed exercise.” I patted my sternum. “Woo! Am I out of shape or what?”

  He leaned against the stair rail like he had all the time in the world to listen to whatever fib I would spin. “You know it’s not safe to run in the dark all dressed in black.” Simon pushed away from the rail and crossed his arms. “I think we have a few things to talk about. Like who owns a donkey in the neighborhood.” He gave me a devilish grin. “Are you going to offer me a glass of wine, or—”

  “You’ll call the cops?”

  “I was going to say a cold beer would be good, too.”

  “Not a nice cup of tea?”

  “At this time of night? Should I get a bottle from my house?”

  “No. Obviously, you intend to grill me, so come on.” I opened the door to Daisy waiting on the other side. I didn’t bother to excuse the mess as he followed me past the kitchen sink full of dirty dishes. I removed a bottle from the wine rack on the counter and held it out for him to see the label. “Red okay?”

  He nodded. “Mud Lover Syrah. I’ve heard that’s good.”

  It had been a gift that I was saving for a special occasion, and this certainly was not that. Or maybe it was. I mean, what exactly defines a special occasion?

  I’ve done online research on this guy and learned some interesting facts. And no. Do not go there. Simon is not my type. Even if he were, I would never again cavort with a next-door neighbor.

  He made a bazillion selling his “Wandering Angels” business. However, he also comes from a famous “old money” family—the Prichards of Upstate New York. I’d never heard of them, but I travel in different circles. It turns out they’re right up there with the Astors, the Rockefellers, and the Vanderbilts. American royalty—la-di-da. That was a surprise, considering he’s living next door and planting tomatoes in his front yard. Although, why should I find this surprising? An English duke chauffeured my grandmother and her pals around in a Senior Dial-A-Ride van for several months.

  “It’s local, and I like blends.” I set the bottle on the counter, then rummaged in a drawer for a corkscrew. “Dammit. Where did I put that thing?”

  “You mean this thing?” Simon dangled the corkscrew. “It was on the counter beside the rack.” He opened the bottle. “Glasses?”

  I set two of my best on the counter, and he poured a few ounces in each, and then lifted his glass. “Cheers.” He swirled, sniffed, then sipped, looking thoughtful. “We probably should have let it breathe a bit, but this is decent.” He sipped again. “Earthy. Plums and a bit peppery. It’ll be interesting to see how the second glass tastes.”

  He thinks he’s getting a second glass of my decent, earthy wine?

  I led him to the living room and dropped in an easy chair, leaving the sofa for him. And Daisy.

  “She seems to like you,” I said. “Are you okay with her lying next to you?”

  “I grew up with dogs.” He scratched her neck, which made the wanton girl roll on her back for a tummy rub. “So, Katy. Why were you running through the neighborhood braying like a donkey? Curious minds want to know.”

  “That was my phone.”

  “Really? I could’ve sworn it was you. Next question. Why were you in the neighbor’s yard?”

  “How do you know I was?”

  “It was pretty obvious.”

  “If you must know, I was trying to find out what happened to Nina. That’s all.”

  “And did you?”

  “I learned a lot, but I don’t know where Nina is.” I sipped my wine, wondering if I should tell him what I’d done. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to repeat it?”

  “It depends. Did you murder someone?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Then I won’t tell.”

  “I was standing outside their living room window—”

  “Of course, you were.”

  I didn’t respond to his sarcasm. “I was video recording them talking. You know, hoping to learn something that would give me a clue.”

  “Them?”

  I nodded. “Them.” I told him about Michelle.

  He gave me an approving look. “You are one surprise after another. Maybe you should be a private investigator. So, what did you hear?”

  Phone in hand, I sat next to him. “Let’s see if I got a good video.”

  Michelle: “Sure wish you hadn’t pawned her wedding ring, sweetybabe. That would have been perfect for you. Or me.”

  “Turn up the volume, sweetybabe,” said Simon.

  We watched all the way to “Hee-Haw.” I clicked it off before it got to the part where I shoved my phone down my pants.

  “Michelle is really something, isn’t she?” he said.

  “I know.” I told him about visiting Nina’s Facebook friends earlier.

  Simon pointed at my glass. “Looks like you’re running low.” He went to the kitchen and returned with the wine.

  I moved back to the easy chair. He filled my glass, then set the bottle on the coffee table.

  “I saw you walking over there earlier,” he said. “My desk faces the window.”

  I know.

  “I see a lot from up there.”

  “Don’t suppose you saw Nina walking by the other night when she vanished, did you?”

  “No. I checked all my surveillance footage, too. Nothing.”

  “Surveillance footage?”

  “Security cameras,” he said.

  “Oh, okay. I have a doorbell camera.” I tasted my wine. It was a little less peppery now. “I’m dying to know what you’re doing here. In this neighborhood. I mean, you’re Simon—”

  “Prichard?” He continued in a snooty tone. “Of the illustrious Prichards?”

  “Well, yeah. I admit I looked you up.”

  He cocked his head with a sardonic smile. “Maybe I should change my name. Can’t keep any secrets these days. I’m conducting an experiment; and an old college friend of mine who lives in the area suggested I might like it here. I want to prove that a person can live off the grid in suburbia. I plan to write a book about the experience and start a company for serious suburban off-gridders.”

  “Suburban off-gridders? Is that a thing?” I said.

  “It will be.”

  Today

  “I’m dying to see that video!” said Sam when we met at Starbucks this morning. “That is too funny about the braying donkey. Have you changed your ring tone?”

  “Yes, I did. Now it’s a nice twittering bird.”

  I handed my phone to her, and while she watched the video, I retrieved our coffees and warm goodies at the counter. Sam’s coffee looked like 5,000 calories of scrumptiousness, and mine was a plain old dark roast. I set hers on the table, then added calories and cream to my cup. The video ended as I was sitting down.

  “That video is really something,” said Sam. “The good news is, it doesn’t sound like Donna did anything to Nina, other than keep her doped up on cold medicine. This Michelle person is sure a piece of work, though.”

  “I don’t think Nina is going to have a happy ending, and it makes me sick thinking about her. If she’s dead or suffering somewhere out there.” I sipped my coffee. “I’ve done all I can. It’s time to leave it to the police and move on with my life, before I wind up in jail.”

  Sam lifted her brows with a mischievous grin. “Move on to Simon, perhaps?”

  “Good grief, no. You know what I mean. Get a job. Start a hobby. Maybe I’ll take up stamp collecting.”

  She laughed. “At least that would be a safe hobby. A lot safer than your current one.”

  “My current one? I don’t have any hobbies.”

  “Yes, you do. Saving the world.”

  I took a big bite of my pastry and rolled my eyes.

  “You and your cheese danishes,” she said.

  “Hey, Grandma. Enjoy your bran muffin. Looks super yummy.”

  Sam said in a crackly old lady voice, “At least I’m getting my fiber so my bowels wil
l be regular.” That got her dirty looks from the old ladies at a nearby table.

  “Ooo. So not P.C.,” I whispered.

  “Hey! There was an event in my Facebook feed that might be fun for us to do.”

  “What?”

  “A local stable that works with special needs children is doing a fundraiser trail ride and cookout. It’s in a few weeks and includes a two-hour ride out at the lake, followed by a barbecue at the ranger station. Could be some cute rangers there.”

  I laughed at her. “Yes, to the event, and no to the cute rangers. Plus, you’re assuming the rangers will all be men. They could just as easily be cute women, you know.”

  I made the mistake of watching the local evening news. They did a follow up story on Nina. The news anchor, standing in front of Nina’s house, ended somberly with, “So far the police have no leads in this case.”

  That made me realize, once again, that I can’t give up on Nina. Plus, Simon Prichard said I should be a private investigator. A detective wouldn’t give up, and neither will I.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Wednesday • July 15

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Like a dog with a bone:

  Not willing to stop until you have finished dealing with something, especially a worrying problem.

  This morning

  Dressed in faded jeans and a red t-shirt from the “Forever Fit” club that I didn’t go to anymore, I sat on my porch steps, soaking up the sun—wondering what else I could do to find Nina.

  Just two days after Donna’s arrival, Nina had told me she was ready for her niece to go home. A couple days ago, I heard Donna tell her fiancée that her aunt had told her to go home. Donna didn’t leave, so my idea that Nina is staying with a friend until her niece leaves may still be a possibility.

  I always record the local morning news, so I can watch it at my leisure. I thought I’d see if they had anything more to say about Nina, so I went inside and turned it on. After the weather report and a few commercials, they did a story about people protesting our school board’s policies in front of the school board president’s home. The parent protesters brandished signs that said “Teach the 3 Rs. Not Radical Ideology!”

  The president, Scott Williams, came out and said, “These people have been protesting out here for days. They do not have the right to tell the schools what their children should be taught. They all should be investigated and prosecuted under federal anti-terrorism laws and thrown in prison.”

  The reporter asked a cop at the scene if the folks would be arrested, and she said they weren’t breaking any laws as long as they stayed off Mr. William’s property.

  The story had given me an idea. What if I could make Donna and her fiancée’s lives so miserable that they’d give up and leave?

  I have a mountain of cardboard boxes in the garage from all my online shopping. I broke down a large one and made a sign: Where’s Nina Lowen? Then filled a water bottle, grabbed a beach chair, and set up camp on the sidewalk in front of Nina’s house.

  Every time a car rolled by, I stood, waving my sign and yelling, “Where’s Nina Lowen? Donna Baxter knows!”

  Ten minutes into my vigil, Donna appeared on her porch, cane-less and peeved. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Katy?”

  “What does it look like? I want justice for Nina! The cops are getting nowhere, so someone has to do something. If you’re not going to, then I will!”

  Michelle joined her. “You can’t do this! It’s harassment.”

  “Last time I looked, there’s no law against protesting on a public sidewalk.”

  “You’re disturbing the peace,” Michelle screamed.

  “Your—” I caught myself before I referred to Donna as her fiancée. “I have no idea who you are or what business this is of yours, but Donna was disturbing the peace when she ripped up Nina’s yard.”

  Donna tried to drag her betrothed into the house, but Michelle wasn’t having it. Instead, she nimbly picked her way through the yard to the sidewalk. “My fiancée was helping her aunt by making the house beautiful.”

  I was facing her and didn’t realize Randy had joined us until he murmured behind me, “Fiancée?” And then he shouted, “Your fiancée destroyed the most serene yard in the neighborhood.”

  My turn to scream again. “Look at it now. One big torn-up mess. Lumber piles, rock piles, dirt piles, gopher holes, weeds. The place looks like a dump and affects the values of all the houses on the block.”

  “Yeah! What she said!” shouted Earl, as he came across the street.

  “Solidarity,” said Randy, then hollered, “Bring Nina home! Bring Nina home!” at a passing city bus. “Bro, go get our signs.”

  Earl trotted to their porch and brought back two colorful signs covered in peace symbols and Nina’s name. “She will come home,” he said to me. “I’ve been meditating, and I’m getting good vibes.”

  “Oh, good grief!” said Michelle. “Did you hear that, Donna? Mr. Hippie is getting good vibes!”

  Donna held the screen door open. “Michelle! Please come back in the house.” Michelle was halfway up the wood plank to the porch when she spun around to flip us off and fell off the plank in mid-flip-off.

  “Are you all right, honey?” said Donna from the porch.

  I dashed over to help Michelle up, and she pushed me away. “I’m fine!”

  I backed off, watching her struggle to her feet. When she was mobile, I approached again to help her walk up the plank, but she didn’t appreciate my assistance and swatted me away.

  Pointing to Michelle hobbling up the plywood plank, I said, “Hey, Donna. Bet ya wish you hadn’t removed the brick steps!”

  Earl high-fived me. “Good one.”

  For the next hour, we waved our signs and hollered at every passing car. Josh’s cousin, Dillon, cruised by in his Jeep Wrangler and tooted his horn. A few minutes later, he came over carrying a piece of cardboard.

  “My great-grandma is about the same age as the lady who’s missing. She’s the coolest person I know. If something like this happened to her…” He shook his head. “I didn’t have any markers, so I printed out a sign and taped it to this piece of cardboard. The letters were supposed to be black, but I’m low on ink.”

  “Your sign looks great,” I said.

  He quietly gazed at Nina’s house for a long moment. “Sorry, again about, you know, the parties.”

  “Water under the bridge, and I probably overreacted. I was once your age,

  and—”

  “You’re not that old. I mean, you’re still pretty hot.”

  I tried not to obsess on the “not that old part.” I really loved what Randy added. “Bro, she’s smokin’ hot.” Then to me, “I hope that doesn’t offend you. If it came off as harassment, I apologize.”

  “How can I be offended by a nice compliment?”

  Ethan’s mom (talk about smokin’ hot) strolled over from the next house beyond Nina’s. “Hey, guys. What’s going on?”

  “Hi. I’m Katy McKenna.” I pointed down the street. “I live a couple houses past Nina’s. I remember you and Ethan from the other day when the cops were here.”

  She winced. “Not my finest hour. I’m Madeline Dubois, but call me Maddie. My son and I live next door in my parents’ house. We moved in a couple months ago.”

  “A multigenerational home. Lots of folks doing that these days,” I said.

  “Mom and Dad are fulfilling their retirement dream and exploring the country in their R.V., so most of the time, it’ll just be Ethan and me.”

  Everyone introduced themselves. I wasn’t surprised to see that her low-cut tight blue top had Dillon mesmerized.

  “How’s Ethan doing?” I asked.

  “Still grounded.”

  I laughed. “For life?”

  “He’ll get time off for good behavior, so maybe he’ll be free by the time he’s thirty-five.”

  “Ha! My parents won’t allow me to date until I’m thirty-five.” I hel
d up three fingers. “Three more years.”

  “My folks said the same thing. So how’s that going for you?” she asked.

  I twiddled my left finger. “Divorced. Maybe I should’ve listened to them. Would’ve saved me a lot of grief.”

  “Same here. But I did get a great kid out of it.” Maddie glanced down the block. “Here comes the jailbird now.”

  “What’re you guys doing?” asked Ethan.

  “We’re protesting our neighbor’s mysterious disappearance,” I said.

  He looked at me, his big brown eyes solemn. “Do you think she’s dead?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know what to think. I sure hope not.”

  A white SUV cruised by, and we yelled and brandished our signs. When they rounded the corner, Maddie said, “It’s been days. You would think someone would know something by now.”

  “Here comes Simon,” said Earl. “Namasté, neighbor.”

  “Be still my heart,” muttered Maddie to me. “Man-buns are so sexy. Who’s the hunk?”

  “Mom!” whined her son. “I can hear you, you know.”

  “Hello, Katy, Randy, Earl.” Simon’s gaze swung to Maddie, and I noticed his eyes widen briefly. “Hello.”

  Feeling flat as a pancake, I said, “Simon? This is our neighbor, Maddie Dubois. Maddie? This is Simon Prichard.”

  “I remember you.” He held out his hand. “You were there with your son when the police were at Nina’s.”

  “I apologize for my behavior that day.” She hung onto his hand until he reclaimed it.

  “No worries. Not easy, raising kids, I imagine.”

  Maddie batted her eyelashes. “Especially when you’re single. Which I am. Single.” She pulled her son close and swung her tan, gym-toned arm over his scrawny shoulders. “This is Ethan. My son—the juvenile delinquent.”

  Simon shook the kid’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Ethan.” He turned his attention to me. “What’re you up to now, Katy?”

  Dillon flipped his sign, and Simon read it aloud. “Where’s Nina Lowen? What’re you trying to accomplish?”