"But—"
"We both have a job to do. I'm going to do mine and get back to you. And when I call, I expect to hear the same from you. No — What do you call it? — no improv. This man at Martha Mae's house, Jay, does he have a last name?"
"He wasn't forthcoming with Jay, let alone a surname. That's part of the bad vibes."
"All the more reason to leave him be. You have a bad habit of following instincts instead of procedure."
"But my instincts are usually right. I've got good instincts."
"They're also dangerous. If you have bad vibes, stay away from this man, Maizie. Your bad vibes make me crazy."
That almost sounded hot. But admitting that made me sound desperate, so forget it.
* * *
Dangerous vibes aside, I felt it couldn't hurt to speak to the other neighbors, particularly the home of the pregnant woman. She'd gone to Martha Mae's house and spoken to Jay. These small towns were tight. Surely, they'd give me some insight into Jay's relationship to Martha Mae. Or some background into Jay. He knew Krystal and Mrs. Fowler. But something wasn't right with him.
I tried the pregnant woman first. When I returned to Martha Mae's street — fishtailing over progressively slick roads — the truck was still gone, but the old Firebird remained. I took it as a good sign and pulled in behind the Firebird. The broken umbrella made a half-hearted fight against the rain then blew inside out. I slid-walked up the drive. Shivering, I rang the doorbell and hopped from foot to foot. Although in need of paint and repair, the porch was clean. A small, brightly colored table sat between two rocking chairs, also hand-painted with abstract designs and flowers.
But no wreath, no porch lights, no Santa Snoopy. I wondered what the other neighbors thought. The absence of decorations disturbed me. In this town of wooden nativities and inflatable polar bears, it seemed a flagrant disregard of holiday spirit.
The pregnant woman answered the door. She wore a tank top that barely covered her baby bump. It read, "One of Santa's ho's." Vicki would not approve. I wasn't going to judge. Maybe with the pregnancy, she had no time to put up a tree or decorations and chosen ironic holiday slogans in maternity wear instead.
"Who're you?" she said.
"I'm Maizie. I work for a private investigator in Black Pine. Mrs. Boyes's sister hired me to check on Martha Mae."
Proud of my ability to introduce myself and my mission more coherently, I continued. "Mrs. Fowler, the sister, is worried about Martha Mae." Which wasn't really a lie. "She didn't answer her door earlier today although she was expecting me. And there's a man there now —Jay — but Mrs. Fowler didn't expect him. I was watching the house and saw you spoke to Jay, too. Do you know him?"
"I'm Casey." Her brown eyes narrowed, and she flipped her long chestnut mane behind her shoulder. "Interestin'."
"Can I come in?" I blew on my mittens.
"You can, but I don't know if you want to. My sister's got the flu. This house is probably what gave it to her. It's barely warmer in here than out there. There're leaks, too. I've got her paint pot sitting on the kitchen floor, catching drips. She won't move, though. Cherry's stubborn like that."
"Okay?" Was that an invitation or not? "I'll take my chances on the flu. You look warm enough."
"I'm hotter than a brick oven. You could bake a pizza on me." She stepped aside to allow me through the door. "My husband's sort-of Russian. Close enough to Russian for around here. Anyway, he says Slavic pregnancies are always like this. It's real cold up there in Russia. I have no idea if that's true, but I've been sweating up a storm since the second trimester."
"Congratulations?" I glanced around the room. The paint-splattered wooden floors looked original as did the plaster walls. The room was mostly bare but for a vintage fainting couch, an easel, and an old roll-top desk. The Pasadena antiquers would've had a field day. A series of portraits covered the walls. I recognized the pregnant woman in one. "Who did these?"
"My sister, Cherry. She's an artist."
"The one with the flu?"
Casey nodded, gripped her lower back, and eased on to the fainting couch. "What's it like to work for a private investigator? We don't have anything like that around here. Sometimes Cherry looks into criminal problems for friends, but she usually gets into trouble with the sheriff's office for that."
"It's wonderful." I clasped my mittens together, then wrung my hands. "Well, mostly it's kind of boring. Due diligence work. Security systems. Serving subpoenas. Maybe not any more boring than other jobs. I don't know. My previous career hasn't given me a lot of experience with other jobs. But right now, we're working on a missing granddaughter case. That's what I always dreamed of."
"You've always dreamed of a missing granddaughter?"
"Helping people find missing persons."
"I hope you don't get too many of those." She wrinkled her nose. "My uncle is sheriff. I've heard about crime my whole life. It's horrible. Especially what they're dealing with today."
I checked my excitement. "I heard about the bank robbery. Did they arrest the suspects yet?"
Casey shook her head and lowered her voice. "Far as I know, they're holed up in the bank with one of our deputies. He offered himself in exchange for the customers they held hostage."
"Oh my God."
"The deputy's my sister's man." She folded her arms over her bump. "Keep your voice down. She doesn't know."
"Oh no." My hand flew to cover my mouth.
"We don't want to tell her," she whispered. "She's already sick with a high fever. Seeing crazy stuff. Knowing Cherry, she'll crawl out of bed, drive to the bank, and get herself killed."
"That poor woman."
"The sheriff's waiting on a special team who works with hostage situations. FBI, too. They're coming over from Atlanta, but the weather has slowed everything down. They want to be real careful with this group. I guess they've had a lot of experience in armed robbery. Warrants out on all of 'em. They're stuck inside right now. Going on two hours." Casey bit her lip, and her eyes shone. "They shot Melanie when she triggered the alarm. She's a cashier. Part-time, too. Sumbitches. We'll get 'em, though. Luke's got a good head. He's ex-Army. And we've got them surrounded."
I hoped the deputy would be okay. The robbers would be desperate to get away.
"We're worried, though," she continued. "They won't put Luke on the phone and have threatened to kill him if the sheriff doesn't provide an escape. Their getaway driver took off when the alarm went off, near as we can figure. That was the last I heard. Pearl's gone to the Tru-Buy, hoping to get more information. I don't think Uncle Will can wait for the Atlanta team to get here."
Tears pricked my eyes, and I pinched the skin between my thumb and finger. "I'm so sorry. I hate to be bothering you at a time like this."
"Y'all want something hot to drink? Cherry don't have much, but I can rustle you up something." Casey pushed herself into standing. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. I guess I'm just desperate to talk about it and I can't say a word to Cherry."
"Don't make anything. I just came from the Waffle Hut." I hesitated, hating to bring up the neighbors with the anxiety she must already feel. "About Martha Mae next door. Do you know her well? Or Jay?"
"The nephew? Cherry thought something was going on over there, too, but she's half-crazy with that fever. Jay's staying with Mrs. Boyes's for the holiday. She hurt her back."
"Oh. Nephew." Nash was right about me jumping to conclusions. Again. But then, why didn't Jay tell me he was a nephew? Didn't he say distantly related? "I guess you know Jay."
"Naw. Never seen him before. But I went over there to see what was going on. I'm going to make them a casserole soon as I get home."
"Do you know Krystal, Martha Mae's grand-niece? She's the missing granddaughter. I was supposed to talk to Mrs. Boyes's about that today."
"Never heard of her."
I moved toward the door. "I really appreciate your help. You'll probably see my car on the street. Until I know more, I'm going t
o watch Martha Mae's house. My partner's checking to see if Krystal's out."
"Out?"
"She was arrested three days ago. We don't know if she's in jail or out on bail."
Casey shivered and crossed her arms. "Too many criminals running around here for my liking."
"Don't worry. If I see anything suspicious, I'll call it in."
"Good luck getting anybody to help. They're all over at the bank."
8 Maizie Albright
#OLittleTownofHalo
* * *
The other neighbor, Josiah Sweeton, knew nothing about Krystal or Martha Mae's alleged-nephew, Jay. I say alleged because there was something fishy going on over there. Back in California, I knew of a few "nephews" who helped their "aunts" or "uncles" for whatever reason. You learn not to ask a lot of questions in those cases. You just don't want to know. But this wasn't Beverly Hills. This was Halo, Georgia. And in Beverly Hills, the "nephews" were younger and better looking than Jay.
Possibly Martha Mae was into something weird. Not judging. But Jay knew Krystal. Krystal was not a nun (as far as I knew). And it sounded like nobody else around here knew Jay or Krystal, but they knew Martha Mae. If Martha Mae was into something weird, I felt certain the neighbors would've hinted at it. Or at least made the quote sign when stating, "nephew."
Therefore, I was worried about Mrs. Boyes. And she didn't answer her phone. If her back was out, maybe she couldn't pick up. But wouldn't Jay check to find out who kept leaving voicemails?
I moved Tiffany's car in a less obtrusive spot down the street where I could keep an eye on Martha Mae's house. Using a pile of napkins that I had taken from the Waffle Hut, I dried myself as best I could, cranked the heater, and watched the house. Checked my phone six times to make sure it was still charged. Then checked again to see if I had bars. And a dial tone. Played Christmas music. Imagined warm thoughts.
Maybe me and Nash under the mistletoe. But I won't go there. Tired of waiting, I called Nash.
"Any news?" I said.
"I can't find anything about the robbery," said Nash. "Maybe the local law enforcement is keeping the story under wraps."
"Maybe they captured the criminals, and the deputy is home. Everyone is worried. What about Mrs. Fowler and Krystal?"
"You were right. Krystal was arrested on December twentieth. Petty theft charge. Didn't have to make bail. At her preliminary hearing, the charges were dropped. Guess she hadn't changed her tune. She didn't have much of a record, surprisingly."
I chewed my lip. "So, she's out."
"Mrs. Fowler doesn't have a record. But her husband did. Hinky."
Hinky was Nash-speak for suspicious.
"I also checked on Martha Mae," he said. "She's clean. Married someone from down around Halo. He worked at a sweet tea factory. She's a widow. No kids."
"So sad. And now she has to spend Christmas with an alleged nephew. Poor Martha Mae."
He gave me a minute to get over the state of Martha Mae's life. "I don't know where this Jay fellow comes in. If he's a nephew, he's got to be from the husband's side. We know he's not on Martha Mae's side since it's just the two sisters."
"Right? And he's not a 'nephew.'" I made quote signs and realized it didn't work on a phone. At least a phone that didn't have video chat.
"I thought you said he's a nephew," said Nash.
"Never mind. But if Jay was a relative on Martha Mae's husband's side, why would he know Krystal?"
"It's hinky." He paused. "You should come home. But now you can't."
"I can't?"
"The storm's come to the mountains. And the rain you just had is snow here. It's icing over something terrible."
"Yay, white Christmas for Remi." I smiled then frowned. "Oh no, I've got to get home tomorrow. Remi is expecting me."
“Tomorrow. Get a motel room. They'll scoop tomorrow. At least in the mountains."
"It's still early."
"I don't like you being all the way over there." He cleared his throat. "I don't have a good feeling about Mrs. Fowler. "
"Mrs. Fowler didn't help Krystal when Krystal needed her."
"That and her husband used to rob banks."
"Used to?"
"He's dead. Died in prison."
"Oh." I felt some sympathy for Mrs. Fowler even though I still felt she should have been a better grandmother. She had her own baggage. But still. "At least we know he's not involved with this bank robbery because that'd be super hinky, right?"
No sound.
"Nash?"
"Right." He took a breath. "Find a motel room. I'm going to do more research."
* * *
Halo didn't have motels. Or inns. Or stables. I didn't want to travel to another town. I was also concerned with bank robbery traffic. There wasn't traffic in Halo, but with my luck, I'd get stuck. The neighbors didn't seem to care that I parked in front of their house. Or notice. The Hallmark Channel had given me the impression that small towns were full of nosy neighbors. Nosy but caring. Why weren't Martha Mae's neighbors paying any attention to me?
Not that I was complaining. I didn't want to get run out of town. I wanted to know that sweet Martha Mae — who I'm sure would've made a wonderful grandmother if given a chance — was really flat on her back.
Not that I wished her a back injury. It'd just make me feel better.
All was quiet at Martha Mae's. The lights were still on in the living room. The tree still blinked. But there was no other movement. What was Jay doing? Taking a nap? The other houses showed signs of life. TVs lit front rooms. Lights flicked on and off. Shadows crossed before windows. But at Martha Mae's, nothing. The temperature continued to drop, but the rain had stopped. I took it as a sign to get out and explore Martha Mae's again. Also, my legs were cramping because I had curled them underneath myself to stay warm.
Outside the car, I unbent and did a quick yoga sun salutation. No sun appeared. Just moist, frigid air. Not a fav. But it cleared my lungs and my mind. I needed to get inside the house. To see if Martha Mae was okay, I told myself. That was legit. Right? Without a car, it was difficult to tell if Jay was even home. Martha Mae's Buick still sat in the drive, but judging by the coat of ice, it hadn't moved since lunchtime.
I scooted across the street and down the sidewalk toward Martha Mae's. The sidewalk was slick. The grass crunchy. On Martha Mae's porch, I peeked into the living room window. No movement except for the bubbling lights of the tree. I knocked on the door. Quietly. Tried the knob. Locked.
No one home. Except for Martha Mae, if her back was really out. I knew where Martha Mae kept her key. I hesitated on the porch. The wind rattled the frosted Christmas lights. I was totally overstepping my bounds. But sometimes a girl's just got to break-and-enter. To help the elderly. At Christmas.
A truck roared up the street and turned at the drive into the pregnant woman's sister's house. I backed against the front door. Corrected my flattened stance to a casual lean. Waited for a minute. Sauntered to the edge of the porch to examine the Christmas lights. Heard a door slam next door. Walked back to the door and waited another minute. And scurried to the porch steps to steal — I mean borrow — the key.
9 Cherry Tucker
"There's something weird going on in Mrs. Boyes's house," I told Pearl. She'd returned with weapons for battling the flu. Cans of Lysol, bottles of Tylenol, and applesauce.
"It's all in your head," said Pearl. "You're burning up with fever and we've got to get that temperature down. If you don't cool off, I'm tossing you in a tub of ice."
My skin broke into goose pimples. "You try to throw me in a tub of ice and I'll fight you." I pulled out a fist and returned it under the blanket. My teeth chattered. "Plus, I've got the Remington under my bed. Be warned."
She waved away my threat. "You can barely sit up. You don't have the strength to pull out a shotgun, let alone the cajones. You want to exchange threats, I'll bring Snickerdoodle over and park her in your kitchen."
Snickerdoodle was Pearl's evil goat, t
he terror of Grandpa Ed's barnyard. Her offspring were devil's spawn. They hated me and my truck. Snickerdoodle scared the bejeesus out of me, but I'd never admit that to Pearl.
I fell back against my pillow. "I probably have the goat flu as it is. This feels worse than human flu."
"Goats are too smart to get the flu. That's for chickens and pigs." Pearl shoved a green Gatorade toward me. "You need fluids."
My stomach cramped. I pointed a trembling finger at my window, hoping to get Pearl off the subject of fluids. "A woman was in Mrs. Boyes's house while you were out. An out-of-towner. The nephew invited her in and she looked around like she was taking inventory."
"Martha Mae's house? Of all the nerve.” Pearl dropped the Gatorade on my bed and stomped to the window. "Who is this woman prying into poor Martha Mae's house?"
"I don't know," I said. "She looked like a movie star. Except wet."
"Everyone's wet today." Pearl glanced back at me. "Are you sure you saw this woman? Not another hallucination?"
"Pretty sure." I struggled to push myself up and collapsed against my pillow. "The nephew let her in. She looked around and then left."
Pearl turned back to the window. "What's a movie star doing in Martha Mae's house? What did she say?"
"I'll go over and ask Mrs. Boyes. As soon as I'm over this flu."
"Don't get sassy with me." Pearl tapped her chin. "I wonder what Gertie Sweetley will say about this. She's Martha Mae's best friend, but a terrible gossip. We do the bingo together."
"Maybe you should ask her yourself."
"Is this nephew staying for Christmas?"
"I hope so." I closed my eyes. "Casey said Mrs. Boyes's back is out."
"Casey said?" Pearl whipped around. "What does Casey know about this?"
"I asked her to go check on Mrs. Boyes. Because of… you know, what I thought I saw."
"Casey should not be walking around in this weather. She's just about nekkid."
"Casey's used to being 'just about nekkid,'" I mumbled. "It's her signature style."
A VIEW TO A CHILL Page 5