“Are you mad?” Mom shuffled into the room by the light of a flashlight.
“Yep.” I rolled over and faced the wall.
“Don’t you think the family should stick together?”
“Not in this particular instance.” Why did she not understand? “Your coming here has put everyone in danger. I’m looking for somewhere else to go, and I won’t be telling you.”
“You’re acting like a child.” The bed sagged as she sat on the edge.
“How so?” I sat up. “How is being worried about the people I love acting like a child?”
“We should be able to make our own decisions.” She turned off the flashlight and lay down. “We’re well aware of the danger and don’t want you to face it alone.”
“I can’t focus on what I need to do if you’re with me.”
“You aren’t supposed to be doing anything.”
“Are you going to tell Matt?” I lay on my pillow and pulled the blankets to my chin.
“Not if you let me go and keep an eye on you.”
“How will that work if we’re both dead?” A fist grabbed a hold of my heart and squeezed.
“We won’t be. We have a great Protector.”
“Yeah, it’s a good thing the Bible says He looks over the foolish.”
“Goodnight, sweetie.”
“Goodnight, Mom.”
Soon, gentle snores filled the room. I lay on my back and stared through the darkness toward the ceiling. Having any of them come along in the morning was stupid and irresponsible. I needed to figure out something they could do and still feel as if they were helping me. Something that kept them out of harm’s way.
I could send the kids to the library to see what they could dig up on the local gangs. They only had a week left before the winter break ended and they started back to school. Angela had either taken a leave of absence from work and would go to the library to watch her kids, or she planned on making the long drive each day to her job as receptionist at the police station. Which, could actually be of some benefit. She could keep me posted on any rumors floating around.
That left Mom. I didn’t need to ask where she would be.
11
Mom squeezed her ample chest into one of Dakota’s sweatshirts, hid her curls under a tattered beanie, and headed out the door to the van. Greta and I exchanged an amused glance. I set the alarm and headed for the back seat. Angela had agreed to dropping the kids off at the library before heading to work. We would all discuss at supper any information we found.
“Where are we going?” Mom started the van, despite how it struggled to traverse mountain roads, and glanced in the rearview mirror.
“Head to Melrose and park in front of the old video store.” I clicked my seatbelt into place. “If we want to be realistic, we’ll need to talk to people who aren’t our suspects.”
“That makeup job Greta did really makes you unrecognizable. You look just like your grandmother.”
“It itches like the dickens.” Blessed with smooth, porcelain skin, Greta had applied what felt like inches of pancake makeup in order to age me by about forty years. Greta wore a starched white nurse’s uniform. I doubt Matt could recognize us unless he got close. I rested my head against the seat back and took a nap until we arrived in town.
“Wake up, old lady.” Mom pounded the back of Greta’s seat. “We’re here.”
Greta was already opening the back of the van and removing the wheelchair. I blinked against the grit in my eyes from lack of sleep, and reached for the door.
“Nope.” Greta rolled the wheelchair toward me. “You’re infirm. I have to help you. Acting, Stormi!”
“I forgot for a second.” I held out my arm and let her guide me into the wheelchair. She plopped a stack of church fliers on my lap.
“I got these from my church. Thought it would be easier than making them ourselves, not that we remembered in the hoopla last night.”
“Good idea.” I yawned and glanced in the van’s side mirror. Everything still looked like it was in place after my short nap. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. It was now or never. “Onward, Lucy.”
“Lucy?”
“That’s your name or the day. Mine is Edna. Mom, do not get out of the van for any reason. If Greta and I run into trouble, call Matt. Do. Not. Get. Out. Of. The. Van.”
“I heard you the first time.” She moved her seat back so she was hidden by the side panel and rolled up all the windows.
Fine. Better mad and alive than happy and dead. I put a hand on the Bible tracts so they wouldn’t blow away and hunched over under the knitted shawl across my shoulders.
An hour later, my back hurt and we’d offended more people than we spoke with. A few young boys took the papers and turned them into paper airplanes. It was time to hit Norma’s friends and Jamal’s group of friends. My stomach sank to my knees. If I said the wrong thing, or one of them recognized me, the gig was up and the danger to me and my family had doubled.
“There’s Ginger.” Greta pushed me toward the skinny redhead who leaned against a lamp post.
“May we talk with you, dear?” I did my best to sound old.
“Are you one of those do-gooders?” Ginger straightened and eyed the tract as if it would bite her. “I’m not interested.”
“How about a little conversation?”
She cocked her head. “My time is worth money.”
Darn. I hadn’t thought of that. I dug in the large purple bag Greta insisted I hang from the handles of the wheelchair and pulled out five dollars. “A dollar a minute?”
“It’s your money.”
“What do you do in your spare time?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Well,” I shrugged. “If you have a lot of it, you need a hobby. Something that fulfills you.”
“I’m taking classes in flower arrangements. I want to be a florist.” She squared her shoulders as if daring me to say something derogatory.
Instead, I had to fight to keep my composure. “That’s wonderful.”
She smiled. “Yeah, me a couple of the other girls are all dabbling in flowers. That one over there?” She pointed at Ivy. “She actually has a greenhouse behind where her mother lives. That other girl,” she pointed at Lacey. “She experiments with making hybrids. The only one of us that isn’t interested in flowers or plants is Sissy. She writes nasty books.
“So, see? We all have outside interests. You don’t need to concern yourself.”
“Would your friends talk to us?” Excitement made my hands tremble. I clutched the arms of the wheelchair to steady them. The papers in my lap fluttered, then danced off my lap and down the street.
Ginger tottered on her stilettos and captured five of them. “Sorry about that. Maybe some poor soul will find one and read it.” She handed me the papers. “You need to move on now. I have to work. Mornings are slow as it is.”
“God bless you, my child.” It seemed the appropriate thing to say, and I meant it.
Greta and I moved down the sidewalk to Ivy and Sissy. Down the street, I spotted Jamal and his group rough housing. Spiders skittered up and down my spine at the thought of questioning them.
I repeated my spiel to the women.
“Yeah, I like plants, so what?” Ivy crossed her arms.
“She’s always fiddling in her greenhouse,” Sissy said. “It’s a waste of time.”
“Says you.” Ivy bumped her with her hip.
“Have you created anything of interest?”
She peered into my face. “Why do you want to know? Do I know you?”
I shook my head, trying to look haggard. “I’ve always loved flowers.”
She didn’t look as if she believed me, but hitched one shoulder. “I’ve created a new species of roses, I think. This is a tough business I’m in. Playing with flowers relaxes me.” She glanced at Jamal, who leaned, one foot planted on the brick wall behind him. “You two need to move on before we get into trouble.”
“Maybe we’ll
speak to those young men before we leave,” I said.
“I wouldn’t, but it’s your neck.” Ivy and Sissy walked away, motioning for Lacey to follow them.
“So far so good,” I told Greta. “Are you sure you want to talk to the boys?”
“We’re already here. You’d make a good undercover detective, Stormi. Your performance has been flawless.”
I wanted to throw up. “Thanks.”
We moved slowly down the sidewalk toward Jamal. My heart rate accelerated to the point to where I felt as if I were in cardiac arrest. My mouth dried like the land in a drought.
Jamal pushed off the wall and approached us. “What are you two old ladies doing messing with those girls? You want their pimps down on you?”
“No, we’re offering them salvation.” I lifted a trembling hand and offered him a tract. “And, we were discussing flowers.”
“For real?” He disregarded the offered paper. “You got guts coming here, that’s for sure. Most of you church people are too afraid. Are you scared?” He put his face close to mine.
Where was the young man willing to share a bit of conversation with me? The one who thanked me for a pizza?
“I’m an old woman. What do I have to be afraid of?” Him. Everything.
“Death.” He straightened, his gaze focused on my face.
Could he see through my disguise? It was time to leave. “Lucy, I’m ready for my nap.”
“Good idea, old woman.” Jamal put a hand on the wheelchair, stopping us. “Those girls don’t need hope and encouragement. They leave their pimps, they’ll get hurt. You mind your own business.”
“Others have left the profession.”
“And bear the scars.”
I needed to talk to Norma. What scars did she carry?
He leaned over, his mouth next to my ear. He sniffed, then gave me a straight-lipped smile. “Where’s my pizza, Miss Nelson? You shouldn’t come without bearing gifts.”
I turned my head, my eyes clashing with his. I waited to see whether he would keep our secret.
“Stop asking questions. I can’t keep protecting you.” He straightened, gave us the finger, which sent his friends howling with laughter, and joined them.
“Let’s get back to the van, Greta. Quickly.”
She practically ran on the way back, ignoring ribald comments tossed our way. At the van, I didn’t wait for her assistance. I yanked open the door and leaped inside. She folded up the wheelchair, tossed it inside, and dashed back to her seat.
“How in the world did he recognize you?” She asked, staring out the window.
“Who? Who recognized you?” Mom started the engine.
“Jamal. He warned me again to stay out of things.” I could hardly buckle my seatbelt, my hands shook so hard.
Mom squealed tires getting us off Melrose Street. “What did you do wrong?”
“She didn’t do anything wrong. He smelled her,” Greta said.
“That’s disgusting.”
“I use a particular brand of body wash.” I never thought someone could recognize me by the scent. Surely, other people washed with it. “He said he can’t keep protecting me. What did he mean by that?”
“Someone else is after you and he keeps stopping them?” Mom whipped the wheel right, taking us to the freeway.
“You can slow down now,” Greta said. “No one is following us.”
“I’m not slowing down until we get to the cabin.” She pressed the accelerator, shooting us down the off ramp.
“Nothing will matter if we die in a car wreck.” Greta clutched the handle over her head.
“Uh-oh.” Mom glanced in the rearview mirror.
“What?” I glanced behind us.
“We are being followed.”
“Speed up!” I yanked off my wig and grabbed some hand wipes from under the seat. If I was going to die, I wanted to die as Stormi.
“I’ll try to outrun them.” The van shook as Mom increased the speed.
“This old girl isn’t meant to go this fast,” Greta said.
“You or the van?” Mom glanced again at the mirror.
“Both!”
“Wait. Pull over.” I recognized the car. “It’s Matt.”
“Do you really want me to stop?” Mom’s eyes widened. “You know what he’s going to say.”
“He knows where we’re headed.” We might as well get the lecture over with.
“Okay.” Gravel crunched under the tires as Mom pulled onto the shoulder.
Matt stopped behind us, thrust open his door, and marched to the driver side window. He motioned for Mom to roll the window down. “Do I even want to know?”
“Nope.” Mom smiled. “We’ll just be on our way, then.”
He glanced in the back seat. “What’s on your face?”
“Uh, makeup?” I rubbed at my cheek, studying my face in the mirror between Mom and Greta.
Matt sighed. “What have you three been up to? Greta, I thought you knew better than to let Stormi off the mountain.”
“We had questions that needed answers.” She gave him a hard look. “Stormi is a born investigator. We found out a lot of information today.”
“You could have been spotted.”
“They were.” Mom nodded. “Jamal warned Stormi to stop asking questions.”
Matt straightened and ran his hands through his hair, muttering words I couldn’t catch. He turned back to the van. “Get out, Stormi.”
I shook my head. Was I stupid?
“Get out of the van.”
I felt like a child about to be spanked. “Not until you calm down.”
“I am calm!”
“No, you’re not.”
He took a deep breath. “Please, get out of the van.”
I slid over and opened the door. Matt hurried to the other side and pulled me into his arms. His heart beat fast under my cheek. He held me at arm’s length. “I knew you would try something. I’ve been following you all morning. What are you thinking?”
“That I want to catch Daisy’s killer?”
“Stormi Nelson.” He unhooked handcuffs from his belt. “I’m placing you under arrest for impeding an investigation.” He clicked the cold steel around my wrists.
12
Matt led me to the passenger front seat. I lifted my chin. “Since you’ve arrested me like a common criminal, I’ll sit in the back, thank you.”
“Suit yourself.” He opened the back door and, placing a hand on my head, guided me inside.
“Are you crazy?” Mom stood in front of him, hands on her hips. “Uncuff her this instant.”
“Not until she comes to her senses.” He brushed past her and Greta, and slid behind the wheel of his car. He slammed the door and roared onto the highway.
I blinked back tears and stared out the window. From the corner of my eye, I caught Matt glancing in the rearview mirror. Well, he could look all he wanted. I was not going to speak to him.
“This is for your own good,” he said.
“Yes, Dad.” I was being childish and knew it. I also didn’t care. I was a grown woman who intended to protect herself and her family at all costs. How dare my boyfriend step in to interfere? I chose to ignore the fact he was a cop, which gave him the right, but I was too mad to care.
At the police station, he marched me to a cell. The other officers watched with amused looks as Matt locked the door.
“Hey!” I banged my cuffs on the door. “Aren’t you going to book me? You can’t keep me here if you don’t.” I flopped onto a concrete bench that circled the cell. Odors of vomit and body sweat assailed me. I tried breathing through my mouth, which sounded like I had a snorkeling tube shoved between my lips.
Three women, one twice my size, and two who were obviously in the same profession as Ivy and her friends, stared at me as if I were a bug on the wall. How many prostitutes did this town have? I couldn’t recall any while I was growing up. Oak Meadows needed to get rid of the gang element.
“What did y
ou do?” The big woman peered into my face. “You look as sweet as ice cream.”
“I supposedly interfered in a police investigation.” I saw no need to lie.
She shook her head. “I’m Billie. You’re right, though, they do need to book you in order to keep you here.”
“He wants to teach me a lesson.” I stared at a spot on the floor that looked suspiciously like blood.
“Will it work?”
“No.”
She laughed, the sound loud and booming. “You go, girl. I know who you are. You’re that writer that solves crimes. Am I right?”
I nodded, peeking up at her. Was I in danger by answering her question truthfully?
“What are you trying to find out?” She motioned the other women closer. “Ain’t nobody gonna know if we tell you anything. Not in here anyway. Just make sure you put me in one of your books.”
Did everyone want to be in a book? “Okay. What do you do for a living, Billie?”
“I’m a truck driver arrested for transporting questionable goods.” She laughed again. “There’s a lot more money in contraband than there is in food.”
“I don’t usually break the law, other than sticking my nose where the police don’t think it belongs.”
“Of course you don’t, sweetie. Ask me anything.” Billie crossed her arms, her muscles as big as any mans. She didn’t look like someone you wanted against you.
“Why do you want to help me?”
She shrugged. “What else am I going to do? I can’t post bail. I’m here until the judge sentences me and they move me to a more permanent home.”
Good point. I explained about Daisy’s death and how I was looking to find someone with experience in horticulture. I didn’t want to give names, in case I influenced their answers. I also left out where I was living and the morning’s epic failure. Once I finished, I leaned back against the wall and watched the wheels turn in the women’s heads.
“I don’t have much use for women of that profession,” Billie said, raising a hand against the other women’s protests. “But, to each their own, no offense. Ladies, do you have any clues for our mystery writer? Let’s solve this case right here, right now.”
One of the prostitutes, a girl who looked no older than Cherokee, whispered. “I don’t want to tell you my name. That can get me killed, but that Ivy girl who works Melrose Street is bad news. Don’t mess with her. She’ll also take up for any of her friends. She has a greenhouse with all kinds of stuff in it.”
Nosy Neighbor: All 7 complete Nosy Neighbor cozy mysteries PLUS: 2 short Christmas stories (A Nosy Neighbor mystery) Page 38