Bad Neighbors

by Maia Chance

  The only light was a shaft of gray coming from the open door.

  More footsteps, whispers, shuffling.

  Just how many people are in here?

  “Everyone here?” a woman said. It was—omigosh—Delilah. “It is so super creepy to be doing this in the dark. It’s not like anyone is going to see us way out here in the sticks.”

  “This is hardly the sticks.” This was Randy, in a surly voice. “And my wife is watching TV right over there in the house.”

  “Stop complaining, Delilah.” This was Belinda, full of scorn.

  “If you think this is creepy, Delilah, try a night in jail.” That was—whoa—Karen Brown.

  “Jail?” This was the contemptuous voice of Hugh, the Peeper Prize judge. “You small-town folk sure have a taste for intrigue. Come on, people, this isn’t Days of Our Lives.”

  Karen. Delilah. Randy. Belinda. Hugh.

  Was it possible that they, working together, had colluded to murder Mikey and Clifford? Like some kind of weirdo conspiracy?

  “Let’s get this over with,” Belinda said. “I need my sleep. I have yoga at six tomorrow morning.”

  Not My husband was murdered and I’m freaked out?

  Effie poked me. “Record them,” she whispered, almost inaudibly.

  Oh. Yeah. Good idea.

  I was still holding my phone. I swiped it on. The flashlight app flared, blinding me. I pressed it against my chest to hide the light.

  Yikes.

  For an agonizing second I was sure they’d seen my phone flash on.

  But then Delilah said, “Well? Why did you call this emergency meeting, Karen?” I could hear the air quotes. “So much drama.”

  Shielding the lit-up screen with my cupped hand, I found the voice memo app on my phone and pushed RECORD. Then I dimmed the screen as far as it would go and turned the phone’s microphone hole in the direction of the conversation.

  “So much drama?” Karen said. “Um, do you even realize the pile of doo-doo we’re in? Not to mention the fact that all that money is just gone? I never should’ve let you in on the deal, Delilah.”

  “And I never should’ve taken you up on it,” Delilah snapped. “It was supposed to be a straightforward thing, and it’s turned out to be a total disaster, with gross dead bodies and the police bugging us, and my investment—do you realize how hard it was for me to scrape together five thousand bucks?—stolen. You know what, Karen? I think this is all your fault.”

  “All my fault,” Karen repeated in an expressionless voice. “And how is that, Miss Priss?”

  “Miss Priss?” Delilah gave a mock giggle. “Do you think I haven’t heard that before? Mainly from washed-up hags like you who can’t stand the sight of a feminine woman—”

  “What about me?” Hugh cut in. “Did you ever think of that? You guys promised me that money, but then I come to town and that sardonic Agnes chick passes me a stupid card with a pug dog on it, and no money inside?”

  Omigosh. A bribe conspiracy!

  “That was not the deal,” Hugh said.

  “Let me get this straight,” Belinda snapped. “We’re supposed to think about how you’ve been inconvenienced when two people—including my husband—have been murdered? Give me a break!”

  “Cut it out!” Randy said. “We can’t be fighting like this. Get a little perspective. We could be in serious trouble.”

  “That’s exactly why I called this meeting,” Karen said. “I want to make sure nobody is saying anything that they shouldn’t to the police.”

  “Seriously?” Delilah said. “This is why we had to come all the way out here? To get a lecture on the most obvious thing in the world?”

  “You know what?” Hugh said. “None of this is my problem. I’m out of here. You guys are a bunch of Podunk losers. I’ll tell you one thing, though—you’ll be sorry you messed this up. I was counting on that money.” Stompy footsteps. Slamming door.

  “Great,” Randy said. “Now Hugh is angry—”

  “Who cares?” Karen said. “He’s not going to say anything to the police. If he did, he’d have to incriminate himself.”

  “Listen.” This was Belinda. “The money that was stolen from Mikey Brown when he was killed was our money. That means the longer the police poke around into his death, the more likely it is that they catch on to what we were doing.”

  Randy said, “What we were doing wasn’t even illegal.”

  “Maybe not,” Belinda said, “but it was a violation of the Peeper Prize rules.”

  “So what?” Delilah said.

  “So what?” Karen scoffed. “Maybe you don’t care about Naneda—you just came waltzing in last summer, and I doubt you’ll even last till next summer before one of your customers’ wives runs you out of town—but we care about this town. Our families depend on the tourists who come here to visit. If it gets out that we were planning on bribing a Peeper Prize judge, then Naneda will be disqualified from the contest forever.”

  “It’ll ruin our town’s reputation,” Belinda added.

  “It’ll ruin our personal reputations,” Randy said. “The money is missing and there’s nothing we can do about that, but at the very least we can triage the situation by making sure we all keep quiet about the money—”

  “That’s exactly why this is all Karen’s fault,” Delilah said. “Can’t you guys see that? She was supposed to hide the money in a safe place, and now it’s gone. I’m starting to wonder if Karen set all this up to keep that money for herself. Gee, maybe she killed Mikey and Clifford.”

  There was shocked silence, punctuated by a rattle of wind across the roof.

  “I’d watch my mouth if I were you,” Karen said.

  “I’m just pointing out the obvious,” Delilah said. “The money was given to you because you said you could keep it safe, and the next thing we know, it’s gone?”

  “How was I to know that old bat was going to take her car into the shop?” Karen cried. “She never, and I mean never, drives that thing, and suddenly she’s taking it in for a tune-up?”

  They had to be talking about the car in which Mikey had, according to Alexa, found cash in a ziplock baggie. Two puzzle pieces snapped together in my mind: the car with the money in the ziplock was Grandma Bee’s Buick LeSabre.

  “We trusted you,” Belinda said.

  “It’s not my fault!” Karen exploded.

  “Tell me again why you didn’t keep it in your house,” Randy said. “Like any normal person would have.”

  Belinda said, “Because her husband is a certifiable clean freak.”

  “Watch your mouth,” Karen snarled.

  “Well, he is,” Belinda said. “She was afraid he’d find the money since he obsessively cleans and organizes their house twenty-four/seven.”

  “At least he isn’t planning on secretly running away from me because I’m such a domineering shrew,” Karen said.

  “You take that back!” Belinda shouted. “Have a little respect for the dead!”

  “Stop!” Randy bellowed.

  One thing was for certain: coconspirators though they were, this group wouldn’t hesitate to betray each other. No sirree, Bob.

  “Well, I resent this,” Karen said in a lower tone. “I went out on a limb, being the one responsible for looking after the money, and this is the thanks I get? It was a total fluke that Bee took her car into the shop when she did—she never drives that thing!—and it was a total fluke that that idiot Mikey found the money. It should’ve been a foolproof plan. God, I stare at that stupid Buick every time I wash dishes in my kitchen sink. It never goes anywhere.”

  “You need to own up to this, Karen,” Randy said. “Now we’ve got that Peeper Prize jerk Hugh on our cases, whining about the money—”

  “He threatened to remove Birch Grove B and B from his app!” Belinda shrilled.

  “He threatened to do that to Lilting Waves, too,” Karen said. “He uses that app like a weapon. We have to do something about it.”

  “Like what
?” Delilah said, syrupy sweet. “Kill him, Karen?”

  “That’s it. I’m leaving,” Karen said. “Keep your traps shut, people. The future of our town is at stake.”

  Aunt Effie was really twitchy—nicotine fit, I figured. Meanwhile, I had developed a cramp in my foot. We both shifted position at the exact same time, so I wasn’t totally sure which one of us rustled the tarp.

  “Hold on,” Belinda whispered. “What was that?”

  “What?” Randy said.

  “I heard something. Over there. Someone switch on the light.”

  “No light!” Randy said. “I don’t want Alexa to know we’re out here.”

  “Who has a flashlight?” Delilah asked. “Anyone?”

  “I do.” That was Randy.

  Click. A beam of light swung across the tarp.

  Footsteps.

  With a crumpling whoosh, the tarp was ripped off from Effie’s and my hiding spot. A flashlight blinded me.

  I held up my arm to shield my eyes.

  “It’s you goddamn snoops!” Randy bellowed.

  “Get her phone!” Karen shrieked. “She recorded us! Omigod, she recorded us!”

  Randy lunged at me.

  I reared back, crashed into Effie, and my phone flew out of my hand, over the side of the pickup, and clattered somewhere in the darkness.

  “You’re disguised as scarecrows?” Karen said with a nasty laugh. “You really are a couple pieces of work, you know that?”

  Effie had climbed over the side of the pickup. She edged toward the garage door.

  “Oh, no,” Belinda said, blocking her path. “Not before you hand over your phone.”

  “Phone?” Delilah said. “We should be calling the cops. Randy, they’re trespassing on your private property!”

  “I don’t. Want. Alexa. To. Know,” Randy said through gritted teeth.

  Effie said, “I don’t suppose you want the police to know about this little meeting either, mm? How would it look, a clandestine meeting under cover of darkness, discussing a bribe?”

  “We did nothing illegal,” Karen said.

  “That’s right,” Belinda said.

  “Even so,” Effie said, “it just doesn’t look wholesome. Come on, Agnes.”

  “I need to get my—” I stopped in my tracks.

  Randy was blocking my way, holding a pitchfork.

  “Never mind,” I said.

  Effie and I rushed out the garage door. I felt as if someone was going to tackle me or trip me or grab my ponytail, but we scurried into the field without anybody stopping us.

  “God, I need a cigarette,” Effie said breathlessly as we stumbled along.

  I almost needed one myself.

  The night was chilly, but I was panting and sweaty. We reached the fence. I held open the barbed wire for Effie to climb through, and then she held it open for me. We threw ourselves into the Dustbuster, I jammed the key into the ignition, and we spluttered away as only people in a used minivan can.

  Chapter 27

  Neither Effie nor I said a word until I had driven about a mile toward town.

  “Crud.” I smacked the steering wheel. “Crud! That recording was our only proof of their conspiracy! We could’ve taken that to the police and—and—”

  “And what?” Effie was rummaging in her purse, presumably for her cigarettes. “It’s proof of their plot to bribe the Peeper Prize judge, but it hardly proves who the murderer is.”

  “Sure, yeah, but maybe that recording would’ve forced the police to take those guys more seriously as murder suspects. Plus, now they’re on to us! All of our suspects are on to us!”

  “They already were, Agnes. From the start.”

  “Okay, sure, but this makes it official.”

  “Drive to the minimart,” Effie said.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know how it happened, but I seem to have left my cigarettes at home and I need one. Now.”

  “Okay, okay.” I turned left, heading toward the twenty-four-hour minimart at the gas station by the main highway. “I cannot believe that Karen, Randy, Delilah, and Belinda pooled money to bribe Hugh. Were they really that desperate to push Naneda to the top of the foliage tourism list?”

  Effie didn’t answer because she was busy drumming her fingers on her knee.

  “And second of all,” I said, “I’m mad—furious, actually—that those jerks are putting the entire town of Naneda’s future at risk! A scandal like bribing the Peeper Prize judge could blacklist us for years to come. Our tourist economy could take a serious blow.”

  “Us? Our? Agnes, darling, are you saying you’re a real Nanedan now?”

  “Yes! Yes, I am a real Nanedan. And I’m pissed!”

  “Well, don’t take it out on the gas pedal.”

  Effie’s phoned jingled. She dug it out of her purse and looked at the screen.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “No idea. Local number.” She tapped ANSWER. “Hello? Oh, hello Detective Albright. How are you?”

  Just great.

  “Mm,” Effie said, listening. “I see. Yes, yes of course. Driving? No, no. Agnes is driving … mm. All right. Tomorrow. After the parade, of course—you may recall that Agnes is Gourd Queen? Mm. Oh, I know. She’ll be the belle of the ball … really? I’ll tell her to leave her glasses on, then. Well, we’ll see you soon, then, and have a wonderful evening. Good-bye.” She tapped the phone off. “Diddle.”

  “Care to fill me in?” I said.

  “I really need a cigarette. And a drink.”

  “TELL ME!”

  “Earlier this evening, Detective Albright got an anonymous tip that we were seen snooping around Mikey Brown’s house last night—”

  Oh.

  “—and that a key was found in the lock.”

  “That means Pumpkinhead—who’s probably the murderer—put the key back in the lock!”

  “Slow down, Agnes.”

  I slowed down fractionally.

  “More importantly,” Effie said, “your fingerprints could be on that key. Naneda Police Department has both our fingerprints, and Albright said we must go down to the station for questioning. On the record.”

  “Cheese and rice.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “When are we supposed to go?”

  “Tomorrow. After the parade.”

  “Great.” We had reached the gas station. I turned into the parking lot. “I need some Tums.”

  I parked, and Effie and I went into the minimart. I selected a bottle of Tums and a Snickers bar and placed them on the checkout counter.

  “Rough night?” the cashier asked. His crooked nametag said DARIUS and he had tired, kind-looking dark eyes.

  “Yeah.”

  “May I interest you in a scratch card?” He tapped the Plexiglas on the counter, beneath which were displayed a colorful assortment of scratch cards. “Perhaps it will cheer you up.”

  “No, thanks,” I said. “I have bad luck.”

  I paid, gathered up my purchases, and found Effie, who was still perusing the bottled-water case.

  “Could I borrow your phone?” I asked.

  She passed it over.

  I went outside into the cold night. Under the garish lights of the gas station roof, I dialed Otis’s number. As the phone rang, I peeled the SEALED FOR YOUR PROTECTION thingy off the Tums bottle.

  He picked up on the fourth ring. “Hello?” His voice was fuzzed with sleep.

  “Hi.”

  “Agnes? Are you okay?”

  “Um. More or less.” I unscrewed the lid of the Tums.

  “It’s—” Rustling. “It’s almost midnight. Can it wait till morning? This was the first real sleep I’ve gotten all week.”

  “Sorry.” Holding the phone between my shoulder and ear, I shook five Tums into my cupped palm. I wasn’t totally sure why I was calling Otis at this hour, and after all that had happened. I needed to hear his voice, I guess. Even if we were through. “I just found out some really … st
artling information.”

  Otis sighed heavily. “You and your aunt are out messing around again, aren’t you? Listen. I’m glad you called, because you haven’t responded to my message. We need to talk.”

  I can’t do this.

  My hand shaking, I popped the handful of Tums into my mouth and chewed. “Talk?” I mumbled through the disgusting chalky sweetness. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

  “I stopped by the inn earlier this evening—”

  “You did?”

  “—and I get what’s going on.”

  “Really? Because I sure don’t.”

  “I saw the storage pod out back—”

  “That’s for—”

  “I know what it’s for, Agnes. It’s for your boxes of stuff that you never bothered to unpack because you weren’t really ever planning on staying in Naneda—”

  “It’s—”

  “Don’t try to sugarcoat it, okay? I thought someone might be home, so I went into the kitchen—the door was unlocked—and I saw your application forms on the counter. For graduate school in anthropology. In Seattle. Sure would’ve been nice if you’d told me your plans.”

  I didn’t answer. Otis had it wrong about the storage pod, but the grad school applications? There was no spinning that. I’d been seriously considering applying.

  I felt as if I was going to puke Tums.

  “No answer?” Otis said. He sounded weary and sad. “Okay. Well, I need to get some sleep, so—”

  “Wait! I can—”

  “I really cared about you. Heck, I even fooled myself into thinking I was just as in love with you this time around as I was back in high school. Joke’s on me, I guess. It’s over, Agnes.”

  “Wait!” I cried.

  But Otis had already hung up.

  I lowered myself shakily to the curb. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. My stomach acid seemed to have taken the Tums as a challenge to produce even more stomach acid.

  My heart was cracking in half.

  Behind me, the minimart’s electronic door signal went bee-bong, and then Effie was handing me a bottle of water. “I noticed you bought antacids without buying water. That’s a no-no. I’d sit next to you, but after that flatbed pickup, my joints have gone on strike.”