Deadly Neighbors (A River Valley Mystery)

by Cynthia Hickey

  I grinned remembering the kiss he’d bestowed on me after I declared I’d always loved him. The feeling still flooded me with heat.

  Lost in my daydreams, I arrived at the school with no recollection of having driven there. I laughed. My reason for drifting into space rested solely on the shoulders of a man with hazel eyes.

  After shutting off my car’s ignition, I slung the strap of my purse over my shoulder and headed to the gym. Silence greeted me through the door of the weight room. I knocked then pushed the door open when I didn’t hear a response. I was pretty certain Duane had said his office was at the back. My gym shoes slapped against the tile floor, echoing with all the joy of a horror movie. Surrounding me were tall skeletons of iron monsters waiting to give me sore muscles. All I lacked was a knife wielding maniac in a mask.

  Finally. A door ahead with a plaque that read ‘Coach’.

  A giggle stopped me, and I pressed my ear to the door. There it was again. High-pitched and nervous sounding. I pushed the door open. My world fell apart.

  Duane leaned over the desk on which reclined a very pretty, tussled, red-faced, and giggling, Marilyn Olsen. Minus her dogs. I gasped and stumbled backward against the wall.

  Duane glanced up. “Marsha?”

  I shook my head and whirled to dodge behind the nearest door. A shriek burst forth as I shielded my face with my purse. Football players in every stage of undress gawked at me. Some shouted ribald comments. Others laughed. Why did boys have to be so crude?

  I began to hyperventilate. My blood boiled like it could burn through my skin. Be careful little eyes what you see! I sprinted out the opposite door and down the hall, mumbling the childish Bible song.

  Once I leaned against the door of my car, I labored for breath, choking against the sobs ravaging my breath. I fumbled inside my purse. I had no doubt Duane would follow me. And I’d be ready. Me and my Tazer.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Footsteps pounded behind me. I whirled and held out my weapon. Duane skidded to a halt. He blinked, smiled, and scratched the side of his mouth. “Do you plan to zap me?”

  The laughter in his voice stiffened my spine. How dare he? One look at my face ought to tell him the situation wasn’t humorous. I clamped my lips together in an attempt to keep my chin from quivering.

  “Tazering is too good for the likes of you. I wouldn’t want to waste the battery.”

  His face fell, and I hardened my heart against the sadness reflected there. “Marsha, I don’t know what you think you saw, but--”

  “I saw you bent over another woman and tenderly cupping her face.” Saying the words out loud was like shoving a knife into my gut. The wound throbbed and bled. “I poured out my feelings to you, and this is how you repay me?” The tears escaped and ran down my cheeks.

  Just like the summer we graduated. We profess our love, and Duane throws it back, shattering it like slivers of glass, cutting into me, and dousing me with saltwater. An overkill of emotion, maybe, but the most appropriate metaphor I could come up with.

  He looked like he was going to laugh again. The corners of his mouth twitched. A person had to give him points for self-control. Either that or my expression warned him not to let the laughter escape. Duane held out his arms to me, drawing back when I jabbed the Tazer toward him. He crossed his arms and leaned against the hood of my car.

  “Marilyn is a part-time janitor at the high school. She got something in her eye, and I was helping her get it out.”

  “Her face was red and she was giggling. Not exactly signs of a damsel in distress.” My hand drooped, and I steadied it. He ought to be happy I didn’t pack my gun.

  “The football players made some off-color comments about me poking around in her eye. Obviously, she was still laughing when you barged into the room.”

  “Barged? I thought it would be a pleasant surprise for me to show up. I needed to see you and thought you would be glad to see me. My mistake.” I opened the door to the Prius. “I need to get home. We were robbed today.” Before words could escape his gaping mouth, I climbed in, tossed the Tazer on the passenger seat, slammed the door, then roared out of the parking lot.

  Something in her eye my foot. Oldest ploy in the book. I glanced into my rearview mirror before switching lanes. Uh-oh. Duane followed in his truck, a grim look on his face. I pressed the accelerator. The Prius’s whine increased faster than its speed.

  I rocked back and forth, encouraging it to go faster. Duane pulled alongside me and pointed toward the road’s shoulder. I shook my head and stared straight ahead. Come on, car!

  My cell phone rang. I glanced at it then back to Duane. He held his to his ear. Was he kidding? No way could I dig in my purse for the phone and talk while driving seventy miles an hour on a curvy mountain road. Was he trying to kill me? Ha! That would solve all his problems. Then he’d be free for Marilyn the dog walker slash man stealer.

  It was stupid of me to think I could have any future with Duane Steele, Captain of the football team and all around heart throb. Movie star good-looking with a sculpted body that should be illegal. He could give those young boys in the locker room a run for their money. Nothing had changed since we were teenagers. It was the cheerleader all over again. I sped forward.

  Duane honked. I honked back. We repeated the silly process until I spotted a dirt road to my right. I whipped the wheel and shouted in triumph as Duane continued past. No way his beast could handle a turn that sharp. Thank goodness he hadn’t chosen to ride his motorcycle. After a couple of minutes, I backed out and headed home. My heart sat like a lump in my chest. The weight of the world rested on my shoulders. The Tazer beckoned from the seat. I ought to follow Duane and put us both out of our misery. Zap him until he twitched like a dying fish.

  Who was I kidding? Duane was Duane, and I was plain old Marsha Calloway. We both did what came natural. I repelled, he attracted. The thought did nothing to cheer me up.

  After pulling into the driveway, I put the car in park and leaned my head back, choosing to think on the stolen money instead of my broken heart. What did money from our store, a vintage necklace, and puppies have in common? They all equaled roughly two hundred dollars a pop. Except for the stolen car. Or the money missing when Kyle Anderson’s sister disappeared. How much exactly was he missing? I pounded the steering wheel. I was getting nowhere fast on solving this case. Somebody wanted money now and would take it however, and in any increments, they could get.

  I marched in the house, called for Cleo, tossed my purse on the foyer table, then made my way to my soon-to-be new home. The boxes planned for Stephanie’s yard sale still sat piled beside the door. Huh. Guess she wasn’t in as big of a hurry as she said.

  A bucket rested in a closet beside the kitchen. A mop nestled inside. Fresh tears sprang to my eyes. I should be cuddled up with Duane right now, gaining comfort from his strong arms after being robbed again. I kicked the bucket. The mop clattered to the floor. Fitting.

  “Marsha.”

  I shrieked and whirl to face Duane. “What are you doing here? Where’s your car?”

  “I parked down the street. You wouldn’t have stopped if you saw my truck.” He leaned against the door jamb.

  “Go away.” I grabbed a broom and sent furious clouds of dust over his shiny cowboy boots. The delicious sense of pleasure I felt sent ripples down my spine as I swept dirt on his babies.

  “Hey!” He jumped back. “Would you stop and listen to reason? You’re jumping to conclusions, Marsha and –“

  “I am not!” I hurled the broom like a spear. Duane leaped out of sight.

  “Hello?”

  Cleo growled. The hair on his neck bristled.

  “Good protector.” Duane poked his head through the window.

  “She didn’t protect me from you!” I hurled a scrub brush.

  Stephanie Jackson stepped through my doorway. “You must be angry with that broom. Or Duane.” She gave a shaky smile. “The door was open. I hope you don’t mind. I’m here to ge
t the yard sale items.”

  “They’re in the boxes outside the door.” I turned and picked up the cleaning supplies, more as a ploy to wipe my wet eyes on my shoulder than as a hint for her to leave.

  “Okay, thanks. Are you fixing the place up to rent?”

  “No, for me and Lindsey to live in. It’s time to give my mother her privacy.” I righted the mop and bucket.

  “It’ll be very quaint when you’re finished. It’s the perfect place for a single woman like you.” She smiled again and lifted the first box in her arms.

  I glowered at her retreating back. Is that all I could hope to accomplish? Something quaint? A small, two-bedroom cottage that didn’t have enough room for a man?

  So be it. While Stephanie carted boxes, I attacked the dirt and cobwebs with a vengeance. Obviously Duane had left with his tail between his legs. Cleo sat out of harm’s way and watched me with soulful eyes, occasionally glancing toward Stephanie. Her tail thumped erratically, stiffly, whenever the other woman came near, and a low growl rumbled deep in her chest.

  When Stephanie opened the back to her Tahoe, Cleo bounded to her feet and dashed outside barking. Stephanie screamed and plastered herself to the truck. “Call off your dog, Marsha!”

  “Cleo! Come.”

  Cleo leaned and put her front paws on the truck’s bumper. Whines escaped her throat. I called again, and with a final whimper, she obeyed and trotted to my side. I grabbed her collar. “Sorry. She’s okay now.”

  “You shouldn’t have such a vicious animal.” Sharon tossed the boxes in her automobile and slammed the hatch. “She’s going to bite someone one of these days.”

  I pulled my new best friend into the house. “What was in there you wanted so bad, huh? Doggy treats? Did someone toss an old ball into the charity boxes?” I patted her head and went back to work.

  By dusk, dirt covered my skin, cobwebs rested in my curls, my back ached, and I looked over a spotlessly clean new home. I’d sleep beneath its roof that night, satisfied with a job well done.

  I flicked off the light, motioned for Cleo to follow me, took a step toward the door, and screamed. A man’s silhouette blocked the way.

  “Have you cooled off enough to listen to reason?” Duane’s husky southern voice washed over me like a spring rain. For a moment, I forgot he’d ripped my heart out.

  “Sic him, Cleo.”

  The stupid dog wagged her tail and padded over for a pat on the head. Some watch dog she turned out to be. If Duane had been a deranged killer, I’d be dead for all the warning she gave me.

  “I’m not talking to you. Please move away from my house.”

  “You’re living here now?” He flicked the light on. “Cozy. More privacy for make-out sessions.”

  He wished. I tried squeezing past, yelping when he grabbed me to his chest. “Help, Cleo. Attack.” I aimed a kick at his shin, and missed when he side-stepped.

  “The dog likes me.” Duane dragged me to the sofa then yanked the sheet cover from it. “Almost as much as you do.”

  “Right.” I plopped down and crossed my arms. “What do you want?”

  He sat next to me, keeping his body turned to face me. “For you to listen.” He tilted my chin. Eyes the color of a summer haze locked with mine. I was doomed. “Nothing is going on between me and Marilyn. It’s just as I told you. She’s mortified that you saw us in a compromising position.” He chuckled. “Of course, the guys on the team are cracking jokes about you seeing them in their birthday suits.”

  Boys had no modesty. My face flamed.

  “I love you, Mars Bar. Always have; always will.” He caressed my check before plucking a dust bunny from my hair. Against my weak will, he cradled my head against his chest. I sighed and breathed in the scent of him.

  “Am I forgiven?”

  “Only if I get to Tazer you. I’ve always wanted to see what it would do to someone. Other than myself, that is.” I lifted my face for his kiss.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I wrapped my hands around a mug of coffee and stared out the window at my cottage. Duane had stayed too late last night for me to move over my clothes or bedding. Instead, we’d snuggled, kissed, and watched an old black and white romance on the ancient television. The perfect evening. One more night beneath my mom’s roof hadn’t hurt me. It wasn’t until Mom ran Duane off around eleven o’clock that he reluctantly left.

  Sighing, I blew into my drink. Ripples spread, reminding me of the scattered clues in this disjointed case I felt determined to solve. Why, I didn’t know anymore. They hadn’t accused Lindsey of anything new.

  Beside me sat a notebook ready for notes. All I had so far was a list of suspects. The motive for everyone was the same; money.

  “Earth to Mom.” Lindsey grabbed a granola bar and flopped into the chair next to me. “What ‘cha doing?”

  “Nothing.” Obviously.

  “What’s with the names?”

  “I’m trying to make sense of all the things that have been happening around here.” I tapped the pencil against the pad.

  “Maybe I can help. Sometimes all a person needs is a fresh perspective.”

  I jerked. Hot coffee sloshed over the rim of my mug and onto my hand. Hissing against the sting, I grabbed a nearby napkin and cleaned the spill. Sometimes Lindsey sounded so grown up it frightened me. “What have you been reading?”

  She grinned. “It’s something I heard.”

  It couldn’t hurt. My daughter might be right. “Here, you jot, while I ramble.”

  “Okay.” Lindsey tore out the old sheet, wadded it into a ball, then sent it across the room and into the trashcan. “Score! Okay, shoot. This might be fun.”

  “Sharon Weiss has her necklace stolen, then she dies. I’m not sure her death is related; could be an accident, but write it down.” I rose and began to pace. “Harvey Miller’s wallet goes missing the same day. They’re also neighbors. You’re accused of both these thefts. Gloria Simpson’s puppies are taken right from underneath her nose. Kyle Anderson’s sister is gone and so is who knows how much money. Plus, our store was robbed twice.”

  “Both times while we were sleeping.” Lindsey’s pencil scratched across the paper. “In broad daylight. It’s not like you or I take naps.”

  “What?” I stopped and stared at her.

  “Neither one of us remembers what happened. Plus, Mrs. Weiss only thinks I went into her house because I was the last person she saw, or remembers seeing. Mrs. Simpson was home when her puppies were taken. Both of these people have a time lapse they aren’t aware of.” Lindsey wielded the pencil like a sword. “And don’t forget about the president impersonator running me and Billy off the road and coming to your room.”

  “Who is it you suspect is doing something wrong?” Bam. Right from the barrel. Hopefully my ploy works and I’ve caught Lindsey off guard. “You said you were following someone.”

  She froze. “I was mistaken.”

  “Who, Lindsey?” I gave her ‘the mom look’.

  “Billy.”

  Didn’t I ask her if it was him before? She’d told me no and gushed about how wonderful he was. I crossed my arms. “Why would you suspect him?”

  She shrugged and lowered her head. “Because he wanders around, alone, at night and wants money really bad so he can go to football camp.” She took a deep breath and met my gaze. “But I asked him, and he said he wasn’t the thief. He walks around to think about the songs he likes to write. I believe him.”

  Love could be blind. No one knew that better than me. “Okay. Put him at the top of our list of suspects.”

  “Mom!”

  “Just do it.” I reached for my M&Ms and popped a few in my mouth. “Melvin Brown, Kyle Anderson, and his missing sister, Marilyn Olsen, and Stephanie Jackson, are all vocal about their need for money.” Marilyn’s name under Suspects gave me a thrill of pleasure. I’d like nothing better than to pin the whole rap on her platinum blond head.

  “I want money. Should you write me down too?”
Lindsey sneered.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m doing this to clear your name.” I resumed my seat at the table. “The fact the robberies occur during the day, and with no one remembering anything, really has me baffled.”

  “See, that leaves Billy out.” Lindsey tossed the pencil on the table. “He only wanders at night. I bet if you figure out who the president is, you’ll have the guilty person.”

  “They wore a mask.”

  “Throw a masquerade party. If someone shows up as President Clinton, voila, the culprit.”

  Could it really be that easy? Today was Thursday. Saturday night, after Stephanie’s yard sale, would be a good time for a party. “Make some fliers and distribute them around town today. Masquerade party, Saturday night, seven p.m, Calloway place.”

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “Huh?”

  “People don’t just throw parties for no reason. Not in this town.” Lindsey looked at me as if she were the parent and I were the child.

  Mom waltzed into the room with a grin to rival any beauty queen’s. Plus, her hair was already styled, and she wore makeup. When she moved her hand to grab a cup of coffee, I spotted the ring.

  “Yes! Masquerade party on Saturday to celebrate . . . are you engaged?” Her and Leroy dated for what, a week? My world was spinning off its axles, and I barely held on with both hands.

  She dangled her finger in front of my face. A gold band with a solitaire diamond adorned her ring finger. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  “You just met him.”

  “Don’t be silly. At my age, you take things as they come. Who knows how many more years I’ll have.”

  “You’re fifty-two. Hardly ancient.” I fell back into my chair. At least now we had a reason to throw a party. “Wonderful. We’re having a party on Saturday. Find a costume.”

  She giggled. “I’ll come as a blushing bride.”

  “Don’t you dare.” My mother—engaged. My mind could hardly wrap around the news. Ridiculous. She acted like a love-struck teenager.