“He said that?”
“Yep.” She didn’t have to sound so surprised. I could be good at more than crafting a story, couldn’t I? “Are you ready to head back toward Mrs. Worthington’s?”
“As ready as ever.”
We stopped for our morning java and headed to where I believed the reason for Jim’s death lived. Instead of parking in her driveway, I stopped on the side of the country highway. Before confronting the happy widow again, I wanted to visit a couple of her neighbors and find out a bit more on the married life of being a Worthington.
I stared through the window at the houses on either side of Mrs. Worthington’s. While still cute and in good repair, neither could match Ida’s for being adorable. “Do you have any idea who lives in the other houses?”
Mary Ann dug in her purse and pulled out a small notebook. “I’ve been doing some research. In the green house lives a Mrs. Davidson, widowed, lives with adult son, and actively involved in her church. Rumor is that he sells pot on the side, but nothing has ever been done about it. The other house, is an elderly couple. Retired truck drivers, Alma and Fred Denney.”
“I knew it was a good idea to hire you.” Most of the time, she knew what I needed before I did.
“Look.” She grabbed my arm. “It seems as if Ida is getting a personal delivery.”
My stomach turned at the public display of affection. Mr. Franklin had Ida pressed so close that from a distance they almost looked like one person. I never would have thought the portly mailman could be such a Casanova. “I’m a little disgusted.”
“Unless we want to be seen, we’re stuck in the car until they either go in the house or Mr. Franklin leaves.”
I was not good at the stake-out part of solving crimes. Too boring. I leaned my head back against the seat and wished I’d thought to bring my camera. Who knew if photos of those two in a heated embrace would mean anything to the police? Wait. I had one on my cell phone.
Just as I remembered I had a camera on my phone, Mr. Franklin climbed into his mail vehicle and drove away. Ida watched him until he was out of sight before entering her house.
Having used a regular camera for so long, I tended to forget the one on my cell phone was actually of better quality. I sighed and grabbed my purse. Mary Ann and I headed for the green house.
I raised my hand to rap on the door, only to have it yanked open before I connected. “Hello? Mrs. Davidson?”
An overweight woman in sweats glared from under a mop of unruly gray curls. “If you’re here to see Phil, he ain’t here.”
A strong pet odor escaped the house, slamming me in the face. I took a step back. “No, ma’am, we’re here to ask you a few questions. I’m Stormi Nelson, and this is Mary Ann Steele. We’re investigating the death of Jim Worthington, and—”
“The police were already here asking questions. I had nothing to tell them then, and I’ve nothing to tell them now.”
“We aren’t with the police. I’m a romantic mystery writer of true crime. May we come in?”
She stepped out and closed the door. “No, you may not. I haven’t cleaned up for visitors. Have a seat on the porch.” She moved a box of gardening tools and a stack of old newspapers, revealing a couple of weathered wicker furniture. “If you’re here to help Ida, I doubt she wants your help.”
“Why do you say that?”
She lowered her bulk into a chair and leaned close, the smell of mildew and onions wafting from her clothes. “Because that woman is happier than a pig in … well, you know. There’s no need for me to be vulgar.”
Thank God for that. “We’ve heard rumors that Mr. Worthington was abusive to Ida. Is that true?”
“That’s a fact.” She sighed. “That girl couldn’t come out of her house for days sometimes because of the bruises. But then again, why’d she need to? That mailman has been making a stop at her house around lunchtime every day for months. Jim might have slapped her around a bit, but she was getting her love from another man. Ain’t proper.” She leaned closer. “I’ve seen other men come and go. That woman is a regular floozy. You ought to write a book about her. She dressed all plain when her husband was home, but once he left, the fancy clothes came out. I think those men were giving her gifts. Ain’t fornicating against the law?”
I met Mary Ann’s surprised gaze. So, the battered wife was seeing other men. If I’d been Jim, I might have wanted to hit her too. “Did Jim know?”
“He’d have been blind not to,” Mrs. Davidson said. “But he spent so much time at that store of his, he wasn’t taking care of his wife’s needs. It was a regular occurrence to hear yelling come from that house. No love lost on either part is my guess. Now, me and my husband, we loved each other. He didn’t even care that I wasn’t the best housekeeper or that I had put on a few pounds. I always felt sorry for the Worthingtons.” She pointed a pudgy finger at my face. “If you find a good man, you love him, love him good, understand?”
I leaned back. “Yes, ma’am.” I fully intended to.
“That’s good.” She stared across the street. “So, you’re a writer.”
“Yes.”
She nodded. “Got any erotica in them books? Because I could give you some pointers from my married life.”
“No, not at all.” I needed to change the subject, and fast. “Do you think Ida hated Jim enough to kill him?”
9
“Of course she did,” Mrs. Davidson said. “She’s about to come into a lot of money with the sell of that store.” She heaved her bulk out of her chair. “My soaps are coming on. I don’t miss them for anything. Good luck with your research.” With those words, she disappeared into the house.
Still, the woman had been a wealth of information. I couldn’t wait to talk with the other neighbors.
We moved quickly down the side of the road and approached the Denney house. Mrs. Denney, gray-haired, at least five foot ten and smiling, greeted us before we reached the house. “Bless my stars, it’s Stormi Nelson.”
I grinned at Mary Ann. A fan!
“Come in, come in.” She held a red-painted door wide open. “Sit, sit.” She motioned toward a floral sofa in a spotless living room. “Fred! It’s Stormi Nelson. We read all of your books.”
“Thank you.” A warm flush washed over me. I’d never get over the thrill of meeting a new fan.
“Fred!” she barked. “I have no idea what is keeping that man.” She perched her thick frame on the edge of an easy-chair.
While not fat, Alma Denney had muscles to rival any man’s. She had to be crowding sixty, but oozed energy and strength. In her sleeveless tee shirt and jeans, she did not look like the type of woman who liked flowers and doilies, yet her house was full of such things and a floral incense filled the room. I liked her immediately.
“We’re investigating Jim Worthington’s death, and would like to ask you a few questions.”
“Sure, sure.” She jumped up. “Let me get you some tea and sandwiches.”
She rushed from the room, returning minutes later with a porcelain tea pot and small cucumber sandwiches. “My grandma, being an immigrant from England, told me to always be prepared for company. If Fred and I aren’t on the road, I’ve got delicacies such as these for occasions such as this. Glad to share. Fred!”
I bit back a giggle at the way she continued to yell out her husband’s name and reached for a sandwich. “Did you witness physical abuse between Ida and Jim?”
“Sure, sure, everyone did. I started to call the cops once, but Fred told me to mind my own business. The man was only trying to put his cheating wife into place, my Fred said.” She shrugged. “Still doesn’t warrant a man hitting a woman. No, it doesn’t.”
“Was there anything else strange about their marriage? Do you think Ida could commit murder?”
“No way.” She shoved two finger sandwiches into her mouth. “I saw that woman release a spider from her house to the yard. Her morals might be messed up, but she isn’t brave. The only beef I got with her is t
hat she doesn’t seem to care about our good Lord. No, no, I’ve tried talking to her several times and she wants nothing to do with salvation. So, I pray for her. Fred!”
Mary Ann giggled. “He walked past the kitchen door. I guess he isn’t interested in visiting with a couple of women.”
“Sure he is.” She jumped up again and slammed the door open. “Fred, where are you going? Let Dennis Franklin mow Ida’s lawn. Bless your heart, you big galoot.” She turned back to us, grinning. “He just can’t let a poor widow do her own lawn work. That’s the kind of man he is. He goes over there almost every day to help with one thing or another.”
My heart sank. What if Fred was one of Ida’s visitors? Poor Alma, or poor Fred, if you think about it. The woman would crush him like a soda can. “Well, I thank you for your time, but we’ve really got to be going.”
“You must come back when Fred has time to meet you.”
“We will. Thank you.” While we didn’t learn a lot of new information, we did learn enough to warrant another visit with Ida.
“What’s up?” Mary Ann asked once we were hiking at a fast pace toward Ida’s house.
“I have a sneaking suspicion that our poor widow entertained several men while her husband was gone, and that dear Fred is one of them.”
“No.” Mary Ann gasped.
I nodded. “See?”
I pointed to where Fred glanced around before entering a side door on Ida’s house. I’d heard of housewives turning tricks for extra money, but thought that only happened in books or on television. The petite blond widow was nothing more than a lady of the evening, err afternoon. What little compassion I might have felt for her flew out the window.
At least in my last mystery the prostitutes didn’t pretend to be anything but what they were. This one made me feel as if I needed a shower. I sent a prayer for protection against immorality heavenward and approached Ida’s house.
I told Mary Ann to ring the doorbell while I hid around back. I intended to catch Fred and give him a piece of my mind. Sure enough, several seconds after Mary Ann pressed the bell, Fred barged out the side door.
I stepped in front of him, crossed my arms, and glared. “Fred Denney! You should be ashamed of yourself. Seriously? You have a woman right over there who loves you and is proud of you. This will wound her.”
“Alma scares the dickens out of me.” He frowned. “You’ve seen her. You must understand.”
“That’s the biggest reason why you should behave. If she finds out you’re tom-catting over here, she’ll rip off your head.” I pointed toward his house. “Now get home. If I find out you’ve come over here, no matter how innocent, I’ll tell your wife what you’re really up to.”
He nodded and ran.
I joined Mary Ann and Ida on the front porch. No pleasantries, no smiles. I really didn’t know what to say.
“Oh, stop glaring.” Ida huffed. “So, you know my secret. It’s just a part-time job and keeps me in nice clothes and jewelry. I sure couldn’t rely on Jim to buy me those things, the cheapskate.”
“It’s against the law, Mrs. Worthington.” Mary Ann looked shocked.
“Just because you’re a police officer’s sister, don’t pretend you’re all peaches and cream. This little town might look sweet and picturesque, but it’s full of deceit and greed. Why shouldn’t I get my share? People are bad. It’s time the two of you figured that out.”
“I refuse to believe that.” I leaned against the aluminum siding. “I choose to believe that the majority of people are good.” Otherwise, why bother trying to live as my faith prompted? “We all sin, we all make mistakes, but others, like you, step over that line. Did you kill your husband?”
“No, and I don’t know who did.” She sighed. “No matter what you think of me and my choice of livestyle, I’m a kind person incapable of murder. Good day.” She turned and stormed into the house.
“I guess you have more evidence to tell Officer Jones.” Mary Ann headed for the car.
I followed, not exactly sure what to do about the information regarding Ida. If I turned her in, how many marriages would be ruined? Wouldn’t it be better to let things ride and wait until she left town with Dennis Franklin? I really needed to snuggle on the couch with Matt and discuss this case.
We stopped by Heavenly Bakes before heading home. I hoped one of Mom’s moist cupcakes would soothe my troubled spirit.
“What’s up?” she asked the moment I perched on a stool. She always could tell when something was tugging at me.
I told her all that had transpired that day and how it had affected my mood, pulling me low. “I know I shouldn’t let what others do affect me so much, but this morning took me by surprise.”
Mom patted my arm. “That’s because you have a sweet spirit. Even though you write about this stuff and snoop into people’s secrets to find killers, you still believe in the good in the world. That’s who you are. Don’t change.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Tears pricked my eyes. “How’s business?”
“Booming.” She grinned. “Once people found out a dead body had been found in the store, they fight to get in the door. I don’t let anyone see the vat unless they buy a cupcake or a cookie.”
I sighed.
“Don’t act like that. I’m just taking advantage of something out of my control.” Mom turned on her commercial mixer and spoke over the noise. “People talk when they come in here.”
I perked up. “Yeah?”
“Mostly nonsense, but the one thing that sticks out is that every business on this street is being bugged by those investors to sell.”
“They’re doing everything to convince the owners to sell except physically twist their arms,” Greta said. “I’ve run them out of here twice already, once at the barrel of my pistol. But they’re like a sore thumb, they keep getting in the way.”
Maybe Mary Ann and I needed to pay a visit to the other Main Street businesses. The more I questioned Ida, the less I thought she killed her husband. If Steve Larkin is being a pest, maybe I should switch my attention to him.
I licked the butter cream frosting from my chocolate cupcake and let my mind wander. Suspect number one, Ida Worthington, who wanted freedom from her husband. Of course, his killer could be one of her customers, but why? What would one of them gain from her husband’s death? It wasn’t as if his being alive had stopped their visits.
Suspect number two, Steve Larkin. He stood to gain a lot of money if the stores on Main Street sold their property.
Then what? Would he modernize the street and lease back to the prior owners so they could resume their business or lease to a list of entirely new businesses more suited to whatever purpose he wanted to modernize for?
“This case is so twisted.” I shoved the last bite of chocolate richness into my mouth.
“Are you writing everything down?” Mom asked.
“Yes. Every night before I go to bed, I make sure my notes are up to date. Every time I’m convinced I know who the killer is, something happens to make me unsure.” I hopped off the stool. “At least once I do figure it out, I’ll most likely be right beyond a doubt.”
“That’s one way of looking at it.” She grinned.
“What’s another?”
“That you’re looking in the wrong direction.”
“You think so?”
“No. My gut tells me it has something to do with the selling of these businesses. We’ll keep asking around, and you keep pounding the pavement.”
My thoughts exactly. No matter how frustrating the search might be, I always caught my man—or woman. I just hoped this time it wasn’t when they tried to kill me.
10
“I’m heading across the street for another coffee.” I hopped off the stool. “Anyone want anything?” They all shook their heads no.
Mary Ann pulled out her cell phone and started playing a game where she matched balls of the same color. “I’ll take my break.”
Ha ha. Like I worked her so hard she
needed breaks.
I stepped outside and raised my face to the sun, letting the rays clean me of the ugliness of Ida’s lifestyle. I wouldn’t judge her, but I would do my best not to have to go visit her again.
“Miss Nelson?”
I opened my eyes to see Steve Larkin and his goon Thomas approaching. Just what I needed. I forced a smile. “How may I help you?”
“Have you thought any more about my offer?”
“You haven’t made an offer, Mr. Larkin. You made a proposition. All we exchanged was air time and words.” I glanced longingly toward the coffee shop.
“I’m willing to offer you half a million dollars for your property.”
I whipped my head back in his direction hard enough to give me whiplash. Perhaps it was time to visit Jane Weston and see what the property was actually worth. Not that I would sell, and I prayed none of the other owners would either, but the amount was tempting. A petition might help. If every store owner signed, we could get Steve Larkin off our backs.
“We aren’t selling.” I squared my shoulders and met his hard gaze straight on.
“Be reasonable, Miss Nelson. I already own the store next to you. It’s only a matter of time before I own the others. Crime is escalating in this town. People are going to want a mall;. a place with security guards. Small town streets and quaint little shops are a thing of the past.”
“Not around here.” I took a step closer to him. “Please do not approach me with an offer again. I have your number. If I should suddenly come down with a case of insanity, I’ll call you.”
“You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“I think I do.” My smile widened. “Good day, gentlemen.”
With long strides and my head held high, I crossed the street and entered Delicious Aroma. The first person I saw was my friend, Norma. Former prostitute and now chairman of an organization to help get women off the streets, we had hit it off almost immediately. I made a beeline for the table she sat at and motioned to her son, Tyler, the barrista, that I would have my usual.
“It seems like ages,” I said, sitting down. “What have you been up to?”
Nosy Neighbor: All 7 complete Nosy Neighbor cozy mysteries PLUS: 2 short Christmas stories (A Nosy Neighbor mystery) Page 52