Death Comes to Suburbia (Book 2 Molly Masters Mysteries)

by Leslie O'Kane

  “Molly!” Tiffany cried. “I’ve got something in my eye!”

  “Must be a lash. Like I was, in Boulder, you’re out there half a hand tick, max, and we’re talking a major case of skin zaps.”

  Tiffany rose and said into my face, “You need to come help me. Now.”

  “I was just gettin’ wound, Tiff. Can’t you check your ref in the W.R.?”

  She clenched her teeth and glared at me. Her friends all looked baffled. I followed Tiffany into the bathroom. The instant the door swung shut behind us, she whirled toward me. “All right, Molly. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but stop it right now! Otherwise, I’ll put the word out, and you’ll never find another high school babysitter in this town again! You got that?”

  “Got it.” Anyone who thinks teenagers have no power in our society has never needed a babysitter. Tiffany brushed her hair and reapplied her lipstick. We went back to the table.

  The moment we sat down, I said to the group, “Tiffany tells me you’re not familiar with Colo-lingo. I have to admit, I haven’t a clue about what you guys are saying, either. So, maybe we could all, like, pretend we’re talking to our peep dukes. That way we can… shake the gift.”

  Cherokee laughed. “Whoa. You really are in a different zone. But I can relate. I was a pseudo when I first moved here, too.”

  I managed then to steer the conversation toward my getting a gun, explaining apologetically to Tiffany that ever since “my uncle” had been shot I’d decided I wanted to buy one for self-protection. My efforts proved fruitless, though I hoped Jose might approach me privately later.

  We went back to school and Sat through a couple of uneventful classes. During the five-minute break before final period, it struck me that I still needed to check into everyone’s alibis for third period last Monday.

  Tiffany informed me that Cherokee had an electronics class now and she had algebra. I told her I needed to renegotiate our agreement about my not talking to Cherokee in her absence. She agreed to let me talk to him alone, on the condition that I stay home tomorrow.

  As I’d hoped, both Dave and Jose were in Cherokee’s electronics class. Seated in groups of three or four at large wooden tables, the students were working on projects that involved assembling little electronic doohickies. Dave, Jose, and Cherokee shared a table in the back corner. Jose spotted me, smiled, and waved. Dave turned to look at me, then leaned across the table and said something to Cherokee, who chuckled.

  The teacher was a friendly-looking woman, who appeared to be about my age in real life. I quietly identified myself to her and explained that, as Tiffany Saunders’s relative, I had some urgent personal business to discuss with a couple of her male friends. She gave me permission to talk with the three boys, so long as our conversation didn’t disrupt anyone at adjacent tables.

  “What are you doing here?” Cherokee asked me as I claimed the empty stool across from him and Jose.

  “Oh, Tiff’s got algebra, which is too boring. So I thought I’d come hang out with you guys.”

  Jose gestured at the doorway behind me with his chin. “Uh-oh. It’s the five-oh again.”

  I turned, expecting to see a five-foot-tall person or someone in their fifties, but it was Sergeant Tommy Newton, heading straight at me. His jaw dropped as our eyes met. He stopped mid step.

  “Molly. What the hell are you doing? Aren’t you a little old for high school? Wasn’t being a teenager once enough for you?”

  I got up and strode toward him, saying loudly, “Yeah, it was, Sergeant Newton. Let me explain.” Then I went past him and into the hallway.

  Tommy followed. “This better not be what—”

  I leaned against a locker and said quietly, “School’s over in half an hour. Just give me the rest of today without blowing my cover. Please? The kids are starting to trust me. If Tiffany’s friends have anything to hide, I’ll be able to learn the truth from them a lot easier than you can scare it out of them.”

  “No way, Molly.”

  “Yes way,” I responded with a grin.

  Tommy glared at me. “How many times do I got to tell you to stop interfering with police investigations?”

  “If you’d already learned everything you needed from these kids, you wouldn’t be here, right? So what’s the harm in letting me try? I’ll tell you every word they say to me. Please?”

  He shook his head, making no effort to hide his anger. “No chance.”

  “All right. Just give me five minutes to go explain myself to them.”

  “Sure. Just do it while I’m with you.”

  Tommy and I reentered the electronics lab, where every face turned to watch us. Cherokee said, “What gives?” as I sat down again. Tommy crossed his arms and took a post between Cherokee arid Jose where he could watch my every motion.

  “Sorry, guys,” I began. “The truth is, I’m not your age.” I still hoped to do some damage control, especially for Jose’s sake, who might never live down his having flirted with someone his mother’s age. “I’m twenty-four. I just figured you’d all be afraid to be yourselves if you knew how old I was.”

  Tommy raised an eyebrow. I gave him a small shrug in apology.

  Jose said gently, “You should’ve just put it on the set. I know a few cold-blooded people your age. Twenty-four’s not that old.”

  I scanned the room, Everyone appeared to be listening to us. “Dave crossed his muscular arms and peered at me for a long moment. Finally he said, “Name three rappers.”

  “That’s easy,” I lied. My mind was blank, “Um, Eminem, L.J. Cool, and…Fifty cents. Or maybe it’s a quarter.”

  “Yeah, right,” Dave snarled. “You’re not twenty-four. You’re probably at least thirty.”

  “Okay, fine. I’m in my early thirties.”

  Jose recoiled in shock. Cherokee cried, “You’ve been on the shine all this time! Who do you think you are?”

  “My name is Molly Masters. I’m a friend of Tiffany’s mother. I’m trying to learn who killed her father. I realized you knew more about what was going on in Tiffany’s life than anyone. I just needed to find out, so I could help Tiffany. I didn’t mean to cheat or embarrass anyone. I’m sorry.”

  “You got a lot of nerve, lady,” Dave said.

  “None of us had anything to do with Tiffany’s dad’s death,” Jose said angrily. He turned toward Tommy and said, “Like we told you yesterday, Officer. We were at the mall third period. All three of us were together, the whole time. Then we came straight back to school.”

  Tommy shook his head. “Your alibi hasn’t panned out. None of the waitresses at the mall restaurant you claimed to be at recall seeing you.”

  “I told you guys not to cover for me.” Cherokee pulled out a jewelry box from his shirt pocket. He opened the box and set it on the table. Inside was a gold ring that bore a small diamond chip. “I was picking this out at the jewelry store. Dave and Jose came to help me. Ask the owner. He waited on us. I’ve got the receipt, and it’s time-stamped. See? Ten-oh-six a.m.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell me this yesterday?” Tommy asked.

  Cherokee sighed and closed the box. He glanced at his classmates, then said under his breath, “Cuz the ring proves…the charges Mr. Saunders made against me were true. I did…Tiffany and I were…. Anyway. I asked her to marry me. She said no.”

  With a pleading expression, he looked up at Tommy. “I made my bros promise not to tell anyone what we were doing at the mall, and they kept that promise. If your girlfriend took you to the curb after you bought her a diamond, would you want everyone to know?”

  “Word up,” Dave added, chuckling. “And now Tiff’s so freaked, she’s told Cherokee to, like, check it.”

  Cherokee shot Dave a dirty look but said nothing. Thoroughly embarrassed, I quietly stood and headed for the door. “I think I’ll go wait for you outside, Officer Newton.”

  I sat on the sidewalk next to Tommy’s cruiser. The plastic watch Tiffany had loaned me that morning had already
stopped, but judging by how cold my rear end was by the time Tommy emerged, it had to be almost time for the final bell.

  I stood up and asked, “Can you give me a ride to Tiffany’s to get my car?”

  He wouldn’t meet my eyes. Through a tight jaw, he answered, “Take the school bus.” He drove off.

  A minute or two later, the bell rang and a tidal wave of students poured out the main exit toward me. I scanned the faces, and eventually picked out Tiffany and made my way upstream to her. She looked unhappy. Perhaps she’d had a pop quiz in algebra.

  “Hi, Tiff. I’ve got something to tell you, before we get on the bus.”

  “Oh? Could that something be that Sergeant Newton came into the electronics class and recognized you?”

  “You talked to Cherokee already?”

  She shook her head. “No, I heard it from someone I barely know passing in the hall. You’d be surprised how fast the word that ‘some old bag’s pretending to be Tiffany Saunders’s cousin’ can spread around. I think even the janitor knows about it by now. And he’s deaf.”

  “Oh.” My cheeks burned. I was not only an “old bag,” but a deflated one. “Well, it was fun while it lasted. Right?”

  We rode home, enduring everyone’s stares. I would venture to say it was the quietest ride since the school bus was first invented.

  Tiffany said nothing as we walked from the bus stop toward her home. I felt horrible. My intention had been to help her by learning who had killed her father. But all I’d done was make things worse. To top it off, I finally remembered this was Thursday. I helped out in Nathan’s kindergarten class every Thursday morning, but I’d completely forgotten. In my misery, I sang to myself. “I’m a Bad Mom” to the tune of “It’s a Small World” as we shuffled along.

  Halfway up her driveway, I heard a loud bang and sensed, more than felt, something whiz past my shoulder. I automatically tackled Tiffany. The realization reached my brain just as we thudded onto the hard ground. Someone was shooting at us. She let out an “Oof,” then an “Ow!”

  Another bang. I forced Tiffany’s head down, covering her body with mine as best I could. She was crying hard. I could feel her racking sobs. The shots were coming from the behind the large juniper bush at the corner of the Saunderses’ garage. “Help!” I screamed. “Help!”

  The bush rustled. Someone ran away, across the Saunderses’ lawn. The only glimpse I got was the hooded back of a gray, bulky sweat suit.

  Chapter 8

  Screams from a Marriage

  Tiffany just kept sobbing when I scrambled off her and asked if she was all right. Before I could assess our injuries, a door banged, and Stephanie, wearing a pink floor-length bathrobe over a nightgown, ran toward us.

  “Gunshots! I heard gun—” Her face turned white as she spotted Tiffany lying next to me. “Oh my God!” Stephanie rushed beside Tiffany and fell to her knees. “Baby, are you hurt?”

  “No-o-o,” She pointed at the bushes the shooter had run from. “Somebody…shot at us.”

  Stephanie helped Tiffany to her feet, and I got up as well. Tiffany’s knees and one elbow were bleeding. Nothing was hurting me, but I was so numb I may not have felt even a serious injury. Stephanie whirled toward me. “Look what you did to my daughter!”

  “Don’t yell at her,” Tiffany scolded between sobs as she swiped at her cheeks with her sleeves. “She saved my life.”

  Stephanie pursed her lips. She wrapped her arm around Tiffany’s shoulders and helped her inside. I followed. Tiffany was still whimpering as Stephanie led us to a den-like room just off the foyer. She sat Tiffany down on the couch, then reached into a drawer and took out a blue-and-white wool afghan, which she wrapped around Tiffany’s shoulders.

  “Estelle!” Stephanie cried. “Get in here. My daughter’s hurt.”

  By now I was shaking uncontrollably. My teeth chattered. I sank onto the nearest chair, a hard-back just inside the doorway. I was lucky to be alive. My life could have been over, just like that. And for what? Why had somebody shot at me? Because of one stupid cartoon I never wanted to publish in the first place? I felt faint. I leaned over and put my head between my knees.

  “Sorry,” called a woman’s husky voice from the hall. She rushed into the room. “I was bathing the baby and couldn’t—” She gasped, then said, “Tiffany, are you all right?”

  “Of course she isn’t,” Stephanie snapped. “Someone shot at her! Look at her knees!”

  “I’ll get some bandages,” the nurse said. She stopped in front of me, I could see her brown laced shoes and sturdy-looking ankles. “Are you all right?”

  “She’s fine!” Stephanie said. “I’m paying you to take care of my family!”

  The nurse left the room.

  “You’re not going to throw up, are you?” Stephanie asked me, demonstrating her love of carpeting that was so freaking adorable. I sat up a little and shook my head.

  Stephanie marched over to an antique-style white-and-gold phone in the corner and dialed 911. She waited, then said, “This is Stephanie Saunders. Some maniac fired two shots at my daughter. I need Sergeant Tom Newton out here immediately.” She paused and listened. “No. Sending just any patrol car won’t do. I want Sergeant Tom Newton.” She listened for a moment, then yelled, “Listen, you obfuscating ignoramus! My daughter just got shot at! I want Newton here, this instant!” She slammed the phone down and glared at me. “I don’t know why you persist in calling that man Tommy.”

  “Because he asked me to.”

  She sat down next to Tiffany and put her arms around her daughter. “That’s why this…this killer is still loose on the streets. Because we’re stuck with a police sergeant who sees himself as a little boy.”

  I glared at her, wanting to defend Tommy, but stopped myself. Her husband had been murdered and now she thought someone had attempted to kill her daughter. Anyone in her shoes would be lashing out at the world. “He was shooting at me, not Tiffany,” I said.

  “So it was a man? Did you recognize him?” Stephanie asked hopefully.

  “All I saw was a gray sweat suit from the back. I’m not even sure it was a man.”

  “Then how can you know he was shooting at you? Your own family wouldn’t recognize you from a distance, wearing that trick-or-treat school-girl costume.”

  “We weren’t far away. The shooter was behind the bush by your garage. And we were walking right toward him. Or her.”

  Estelle, a chubby, dark-haired woman, returned with a full medical supply kit and ministered to Tiffany’s wounds. This was the first time I’d seen their nurse and wanted to introduce myself, but Stephanie kept me occupied as she argued about why the shooter had waited for me here; instead of at my own house.

  My car, I replied wearily, had been parked in her driveway, and sooner or later I was going to come back for it. At my house, I’d have driven into my garage and shut the door automatically while still in my car. I’d been an easier target here. And what, Stephanie then wanted to know, made me such an expert on the deranged workings of the criminal mind? I had no response to that. The truth was I had become devious, if not quite deranged, while trying to stay one step ahead of my children, but not wanting to examine too closely what that said about me or my children, I kept quiet.

  We heard sirens—welcome relief from the current conversation. Soon the doorbell rang, and the nurse taped the last bandage in place on Tiffany’s knee and rose. “Estelle, can you get that!” Stephanie asked after Estelle was already halfway to the door.

  A tense-looking Tommy Newton soon filled the doorway, and, after Stephanie stopped babbling about what a lousy job be was doing protecting her family, he turned toward me.

  “Come with me, Ms. Masters,” Tommy said. Stephanie, still seated beside Tiffany, started to rise as well, but Tommy gestured for her to stay put. “Just Molly. Be back in a moment to get your statements.”

  I eagerly followed Tommy out the front door, hoping to leave this house forever. “Show me exactly where everyone was at
the time of the shooting.”

  I did so. A spot of blood revealed the exact patch of pavement onto which I’d tackled Tiffany. I watched as Tommy followed a line of sight from the bushes down the driveway, and he eventually fished a knife out of his pocket and removed something from the broad trunk of an elm tree at the base of the driveway. In the meantime, I sat on the bottom step of the porch, reassessing my life.

  At length, Tommy headed up the driveway and sat beside me. “Found a slug. Could be from a twenty-two, just like in Preston’s shooting. I’ll send it to the lab and find out for sure.” He gave a heavy sigh. “Guess this is my fault.”

  I looked at him in surprise. “How can you blame yourself?” Though it may have been caused by the pattern of shadows and light from the late afternoon sun on his face, he looked enticingly handsome sitting there. The lighting lent his hair flattering auburn tones, as well.

  “Never should’ve made you go home on the school bus. I should’ve known something like this might happen.” He met my eyes. “Molly, please. Do yourself a favor. Take a vacation for a couple weeks. Leave town.”

  I shook my head. “I wish I could. But I can’t run away from Carlton again. I’ve tried that before. It doesn’t work.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “That last time you were gone for seventeen years, not a few weeks. Nobody was shooting at you then. Different circumstances.”

  “True.” I rose. “But it feels the same.”

  He looked up at me. “Lauren’s forgiven you. What’s it gonna take till you forgive yourself?”

  I fought back tears and struggled to take an even breath. “I don’t know, Tommy. I just know I can’t run away a second time.”

  “I like my boring life. So sue me.” Jim ran both hands through his thick brown hair and paced in front of our antique four-poster bed. It was late at night. Karen and Nathan were fast asleep, as I wished I were, instead of sitting cross-legged atop Mother’s hand-sewn quilt, arguing with my husband.

  In the fifteen years since we’d first met, I’d never seen him this upset. He was insisting that the kids and I leave immediately for Florida and stay with my parents until the police arrested Preston’s murderer.