Death of the Couch Potato's Wife: Cozy Christian Mysteries (Women Sleuth, Female Detective Suspense)

by Barritt, Christy

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  There was obviously something going on here that I wasn’t picking up on. I’d find out more of the story later. Right now, I needed to get Babe home. We had a big night coming up: our first shift as official Neighborhood Watch volunteers.

  “It’s very important as a member of the Neighborhood Watch Patrol that you’re always on alert.” Harry cruised through our neighborhood in his beat-up Seville. Darkness had fallen several hours ago, and no one stirred—except us. “The bad guys are sneaky—very sneaky. You have to keep your ears open and your eyes peeled.”

  I rolled my eyes in the backseat and shoved some copies of Body Building magazine onto the floor. They collided with a hodgepodge of empty protein shake containers and a few apple cores. And this guy wondered why he couldn’t get a date? I hoped he never asked me my opinion on the matter because I would be forced to confront him with the truth. He was a slob, self-obsessed, and he had bad breath. There.

  Babe sat up front as Harry “trained” us for this new position. Did this guy always take himself so seriously?

  “I’m jiggy with it.” Babe angled her hands in front of her like a rapper.

  And did Babe ever take herself seriously? Only when she was around Paul Willis, apparently.

  “If you see anyone sneaking around, you’ll want to report it to the police. That includes anyone dodging behind cars, bushes, or in people’s backyards. You can never be too careful, especially in light of recent events.”

  Yeah, Candace. Poor thing. Was there any hope of anyone solving her murder?

  As Harry rambled on and on about how important it was for us to keep our neighborhood safe, I thought about Kent.

  I’d only seen him for five minutes when he got home from work. He was late—again. The chicken pot pie I had prepared for him—made only with ingredients that were sealed and I was sure hadn’t been tampered with—was cold when he’d arrived home. He didn’t seem bothered by it, but I was.

  And I’d wanted to tell him about my day, about Babe and The Couch King.

  Before I could get in a word, he’d blurted, “I think I need a man cave.”

  I’d stopped in my tracks. “A what?”

  “A man cave. You know, a place of my own where I can do my own thing.” In other words, a place where he could spend his time without me.

  “And why do you think you need this?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seems like the suburban thing to do. I’m thinking I could turn the garage into my space. You know, put in an old TV and couch. Maybe a small refrigerator. Hang up some sports paraphernalia and a few strands of string lights. Then I can invite the guys from church over to watch the game sometime.”

  At that moment, I felt more and more of our marriage slipping away.

  As I left, he’d taken his nuked dinner and plopped in front of the TV to watch Judge Judy . Part of me wondered if he was glad I’d left so he could spend uninterrupted time with Panny, my loving nickname for our Panasonic.

  “Do you have any questions, Laura?”

  “What?” My gaze refocused on Harry, who tried to preen in the rearview mirror while catching a glimpse of me.

  He shined his front teeth with his finger then flickered his gaze back to me. “Do you understand what your responsibilities are?”

  “Of course.”

  “Tomorrow night will be your shift. I figure you can have Tuesdays and Thursdays. I’ll take the rest of the week.”

  “Sure.”

  “I feel like I’m on the TV show Cops ! This is so exciting.” Babe clapped her hands before abruptly pointing in the distance. “Did I just see movement over there?”

  Harry grinned. “Let’s go check it out.”

  I rolled my eyes again. I’d seen movement too. It wasn’t a cat burglar. It was just a plain cat.

  Harry spotlighted the feline with his headlights and shook his head, as if disappointed.

  This would be a good time to chat about Candace, I figured. I leaned forward, in between the seats. “So Harry, do you have any theories as to what happened to Candace? You’re ‘in the know’ with things around here. Certainly, you have some ideas.”

  He puffed his chest out. “Of course I have ideas. They’re just speculation right now, though. I have to prove I’m right.”

  Then maybe Romeo would allow him to be a part of the police department, I thought. Poor guy wanted something he could likely never have. I understood all about that. My big city dreams had been dashed when I moved here.

  I leaned farther between the seats. “Come on. Just share with us. We’re a team now. Maybe we can even help you.”

  Babe glanced back at me, admiration in her eyes.

  “Well, I do have one main suspect who stands out in my mind.”

  I leaned closer. “Who?”

  “This is just between the three of us. I don’t want any rumors being spread around.” He glanced back at us, like a father giving his children a warning.

  I rolled my eyes when I was sure he couldn’t see me. “Of course.”

  “Okay, you both seem pretty trustworthy. And maybe you should know this information since you’re both a part of Neighborhood Watch. You never can be too careful.” He pulled to a stop at the side of the road and cut off his headlights before shifting in his seat to face us. “Donna.”

  “Donna?” Why on earth would he think Donna was guilty? Donna was Mrs. Prim and Proper. Of course, Tiara had acted like something was stressing her friend out. Could something have been stressing her out enough to murder someone?

  “I saw Candace and Donna arguing last week.”

  “Arguing about what?”

  Harry shrugged. “I wasn’t close enough to hear, but it looked pretty heated.”

  “Well, spit it out. What’s your theory?” Babe didn’t mince words.

  Harry drew in a deep breath, as if he were hesitant to share. Something about the action didn’t ring quite true to me, though. “You know Donna is opposing Hillary in the next election? She wants to be president of the Homeowners’ Association.”

  “She does?” It was the first I’d heard of it. If I understood correctly, no one had ever dared to run against Hillary. Besides that, I’d never seen Donna as the type to have an interest in politics at any level. She seemed content being a family woman. And her kids sure kept her busy between all of their activities.

  “It’s the only thing I can think of that they would have been arguing about.”

  “But why would Candace and Donna be arguing over that?” I raised my palm in the air in confusion. “Candace and Donna were friends. Certainly Candace would have supported her in the election process. Everyone knows Candace didn’t like Hillary.”

  Harry brushed his mustache with his fingers. “That’s the question I’d like an answer to also.”

  My investigation was not working so far. And it was because I had no plan.

  The next morning, as soon as Kent left for work, I sat down with a cup of coffee at my kitchen table and pulled out a notebook. I needed to approach this like a public relations campaign.

  Every good public relations campaign had several elements to it. First, I needed an objective. I had that. To find Candace’s killer before Candace’s killer found me.

  Each campaign also required connection and credibility. Connecting meant I needed to get out of this house and interact with people. Draw on all my friendliness and charm. Find out information. Credibility meant I needed to establish trust and inspire confidence.

  I could do it. I wouldn’t let someone keep me in my own house, scared to come out, scared to eat.

  Ever since my attack in Chicago, I’d vowed never, ever to let someone make me feel weak again. Even though fear still simmered beneath my bravado, I was determined to push through it. That’s what made people strong.

  Being a city slicker just might come in handy now, I realized.

  My first goal today would be to
introduce myself to my new neighbors who’d moved in two doors down. After all, that’s what people in the ‘burbs did.

  The sun shone brightly as I charged up the sidewalk and rapped on the front door. I should have brought something with me, a plate of cookies or brownies. Donna would have done that.

  A woman with brown hair, so dark it was almost black, clacked toward the storm door in high heels, a top with a plunging neckline, tight black pants, and way too much jewelry. “Yes?”

  “I just thought I’d introduce myself. I’m Laura Berry, and I live two houses down from you.”

  A smile grazed her lips but didn’t reach her eyes. “Hi, I’m Gia.” She held out a manicured hand, tipped with blood-red fingernail polish.

  I reached for it and attempted a handshake, but her grip felt so limp that it gave me the shivers. I pulled back and rubbed my hand on my jeans. Awkward silence chirped between us.

  I cleared my throat. Charming. Persuasive. Credible. Get with it, Laura! “So, today’s the big day, huh? Moving’s no fun. I just moved here myself nine months ago. Finally I won’t be the new kid on the block.”

  A man paced into the room behind her, a phone glued to his ear. From where I stood, he looked like Marlon Brando from The Godfather days. He stopped at the base of the stairs and grunted. “I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

  What did that mean? An offer who couldn’t refuse? Was it just me or were there threatening undertones to that statement?

  He snapped his cell phone shut and walked toward us. A warm smile spread over his face. “And who do we have here?”

  “Our new neighbor, Lori.”

  “Laura.”

  The man raised his head slowly, his gaze never leaving me. “Good to meet you, Lauren. I’m Steele. We look forward to getting to know you.”

  New York accent. Definitely a New York accent. The rumor around town had been that they were from Virginia.

  “Long trip here today?” I asked Gia.

  She shrugged, looking at a chip on her nails. She had the detachment of someone who’d lived in the city. Could this woman be my new best friend?

  There was a small problem. I realized, right then, that I didn’t miss the detachedness of urban dwellers. “I got here a few days ago,” she said. “Steele just got here today.”

  A few days ago. That meant she arrived just in time for—

  “I saw the police down the street the other day. There something I should know about this neighborhood?” Gia’s thin eyebrows arched together, and she turned her attention from her fingertips.

  “It’s usually pretty dull.”

  “Then what happened at that house?” She pointed at the Flynns’. Suddenly, I had her full attention.

  I tried to think of a way to word it nicely, without the murder sounding so evil. How could I say it with cushion, though? Murder was murder. There was nothing nice about it.

  “I met the man who lives there. What was his name?” Gia tapped her pointy-toe shoe against the tiled entryway. “Larry? Gary?”

  My insides went ice cold. “Jerry?”

  She snapped her fingers, a near miracle for someone with nails her length. “That’s it. I met Jerry. He seems like a nice enough man.”

  “When did you say you got here?”

  “Five or six days ago.”

  Five or six days ago. When Jerry was supposed to be out of town.

  Chapter 9

  My phone chirped when I stepped back into my house. Icicles were already running through my veins after Gia’s announcement. And that video of me had been filmed from inside Jerry’s house. He was quickly moving up on my list of suspects.

  Psycho, stupid, tech savvy. Check, check, and, based on all of the commercials he’d been in, Jerry had to have some kind of knowledge of cameras, right? So, check.

  I needed to talk to Kent. Needed to tell him what was going on. Who else could I trust? Babe? I loved her, but she had a tendency to blab things all over town.

  I slammed the front door shut behind me, warding away the cold. It didn’t work. My phone chirped again, so I reached into my back pocket. I didn’t recognize the number, but I put it to my ear and answered anyway.

  Static crackled on the other line. “Hello?”

  Finally, a tinny, masculine voice came through the line. “How about we get away for the weekend? Maybe that will help you forget.”

  “Really?” a woman said in the background. “You can get away from your job for that long?”

  I straightened, my pulse suddenly pounding. Why did the voice sound familiar? The conversation seem like a rerun? Had someone butt dialed me?

  “Let me think this through. I can’t do it this weekend,” the man said. “I don’t have anyone to fill in for me.”

  “Can’t people take their prescriptions up to Indy just for this weekend?”

  I sucked in a breath. This was a real conversation. A conversation Kent and I had just a couple of days ago right here in my living room. Despite my horror, I couldn’t stop listening.

  “I’m trying to establish people’s trust, Laura. You know how skeptical the locals feel about outsiders. People thought when I bought their local pharmacy that I’d never succeed with my big city values. I have to prove to them that I’m trustworthy and dependable. How about next weekend instead?”

  “That’s the bake sale at church that I promised to help out with.”

  “There’s always the weekend after that. We have the rest of our lives, sweetheart.”

  “Of course.”

  “Honey—”

  “Really, it’s okay. I told you I would support you in this new chapter of our lives, and I am. I just didn’t say I would have fun while doing so.”

  “I couldn’t ask for a better wife.”

  I wasn’t sure what was stronger—my fear over hearing this conversation, or my despair over my marriage.

  Another voice came on the line, this one modulated by electronics. “See, I told you I was listening, Laura Berry. I have eyes and ears everywhere. Spill any beans and you die. Same goes for your husband.”

  The line went dead.

  The phone dropped from my hand and hit the floor, scattering into pieces. How had someone taped that conversation? There had to be a bug in this house.

  Cold chills raced up my spine. I’d thought I was being paranoid. But I wasn’t being paranoid at all.

  Knocking sounded in my backyard again.

  Babe. Trying to get something out of the shed. I was not in the mood for this right now. Didn’t I just tell her that there was a killer on the loose and that she had to be more careful?

  I stormed toward the back door, ready to remind her—in a loving, respectful way, of course.

  As soon as I reached the door, a huge ball of flames rock eted toward the sky.

  My shed was on fire.

  Chapter 10

  Three hours later, fire and police personnel had cleared off my property after the flames had been extinguished. The source of the fire had been an old propane tank. Chief Romeo seemed to believe the blaze was accidental, but I had other theories.

  I’d called Kent earlier as the fire crew was on the scene, and he’d asked if I needed him at home. I said no, though part of me wanted to scream, “Yes! Yes, of course I need you at home!”

  At the moment, I stood in the middle of my living room, the silence frightening.

  How had someone recorded my conversation with Kent?

  My gaze roamed over the couch, the stylish recliners, and the end tables. There was a bug somewhere in the house. I had to find it. Now.

  I could have told Chief Romeo about it, only the person who planted the device might have heard me and done something else terrible and awful to my family. He—or she—might have decided to start with blowing up our shed and then move on to blowing up our house.

  I tiptoed to my computer, berating myself for sneaking around my own house. That’s how it felt when your privacy had been invaded, though. I was an outsider i
n my own home.

  After sitting down at the computer, I quickly did an Internet search for “how to find listening devices.” Pages of results popped up.

  Information assimilated, I rummaged around in my laundry room until I found an old radio. Then I flipped the switch to “on” and walked into my living room, to the area where Kent and I’d had our conversation.

  The articles I’d read said my radio would start to squeal when it got close to the bug. The Bangles sang “Walk Like an Egyptian” as I skulked around my house, occasionally feeling the need to break out into the sand dance.

  The radio remained the same around my couch, my chairs, the breakfast bar. Where would someone plant a listening device? I’d seen pictures of a few online, and I knew they were so small they could fit nearly anywhere.

  As I passed an end table, the radio squealed. I paused and stepped closer. The squeals and static became louder.

  I set the radio on the ground. My throat went dry as I picked up a picture of me and Kent. I turned it over and searched the back of the frame. My fingers brushed something underneath the stand, neatly camouflaged by the black cardboard leg that propped it up.

  I held up the small plastic device, no bigger than a quarter.

  Who in the world in Boring had access to technology like this? Who’d been able to sneak into my home and plant it when I wasn’t around? What kind of person had set up shop in the Flynns’ house so they could videotape me?

  Chills raced across my skin.

  I had no idea.

  But I was going to find out.

  When I stepped into the Pronto Café thirty minutes later, all of the chatter zapped into silence. People stared at me, their food frozen halfway into their mouths.

  I knew what they were saying before I’d interrupted their gossip.

  That city slicker. Left the tank for her gas grill open and when the light bulb in the shed mysteriously sparked, the whole place went up in the flames.

  If I was to voice my concern that someone had purposefully set my shed on fire, I’d only sound paranoid. Instead, I ignored everyone—but only because I wanted to keep my “connection and credibility” legit—and I stomped over to the corner booth where I could listen to life take place all around me. I hadn’t ordered their specialty, green eggs and ham. No, I was in the mood for a half-pound burger, loaded with bacon, cheese and mayo. Oh, and I wanted fries with plenty of salt on them. I wouldn’t dip them in ketchup—that condiment seemed too much like a vegetable. I wanted ranch dressing. Just for kicks, I ordered a full-strength, highly-caffeinated, liquid-sugar soda.