Marcus’s broad smile greeted her when she opened the door. “Hi, sorry to bother you, but Anna and I were wondering if you didn't want to come over for dinner?”
Vi felt the room spin like she was on an out-of-control carnival ride. She had always hated those spinning ones. Give her a roller coaster any day. As Marcus stood waiting for an answer, beads of sweat started to fall down her forehead, blurring her vision.
“Are you okay?” His strong hands reached out to stabilize her. Just like the Disney Movie heroes Joy was so obsessed with, he swept her off her feet and carried her over to the sofa.
A look of concern flashed across his handsome face. “You're burning up!”
Such a sweet man, she thought. But no, that wasn't right, she remembered. The pictures and statistics of young college girls had been all over his spare bedroom. He was up to something, and it sure didn’t look good.
Vi wasn't one to make snap judgements, but what she and Brooke had found while snooping was pretty damning. She wanted to ask him, to make him explain himself, but no. She couldn’t do that without outing her and Brooke and their junior sleuthing expedition. They weren’t Nancy Drew and company, after all. They could go to jail for heaven's sake.
Unaware of the guilt that wracked Vi’s mind, Marcus continued to do his best to make her comfortable.
“I can make you some soup,” he offered, after pulling off her shoes and placing a fuzzy blanket on top of her. His charming smile caused her heart to skip a little as did his caring nature. It was so nice to be taken care of for once.
I can’t take advantage of his good graces. I can take care of myself. I have for this long, after all.
“I'll be fine. I just need some rest.” She forced an exaggerated yawn.
Maybe if I close my eyes, he will leave.
“All right. Get some sleep.” His rough, calloused hand brushed her fever-damp hair away from her forehead. “But either Anna or I will be back to check on you later, okay?”
She listened as he rifled through her kitchen, poured a glass of water, and put it down beside her along with a bottle of ibuprofen. The echo of his heavy shoes clomped across her worn linoleum floor, and soon the rickety back door wedged shut with a tired groan.
And Vi fell fast asleep.
The vivid fever-induced dreams that followed were surreal and frightening, causing her to awaken with a start. Her clothes clung to her damp skin, and she was out of breath. The shrill sound of her phone’s ring tone made her head throb.
What? What time is it? Where’s my phone?
She groaned in pain as she tried to sit up. Everything hurt. Can’t I just die in peace? Flipping her phone over, she saw several push notifications lit up. Five missed calls from the group home meant that she would have to put her impending death on hold.
A sharp knock at the front door startled her.
Seriously, can’t everyone just leave me alone?
Vi laughed a little at such a ridiculous thought. Ugh...it hurt to laugh. The knocking grew more persistent.
Vi stumbled to answer the door. There, standing on the worn welcome mat, was Joy herself with a self-satisfied grin on her face.
“Joy? What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at the home.”
Her sister shrugged and pushed past her into the house like it was no big deal.
Not now. Not now. God, why does it have to be now?
“Joy, I asked you a question.”
Joy walked with purpose into the kitchen. “Make me square pizza. The square kind.”
Vi stood under the kitchen archway blinking.
Am I dreaming?
“Me pizza!” Joy plopped down at the kitchen table like she still lived there.
And Vi’s legs moved of their own accord. Like a robot she went through the practiced motion of making a Joy-approved pizza—bending to Joy’s whims, no matter how ridiculous. She didn't have the energy to argue that day.
Instead, she dutifully put the pizza in the oven and, of course, burned her hand in the process. Her cellphone started to ring as she ran cold water from the faucet over the burn.
Joy jumped up to get it and handed it over without answering. “Your phone is ringing. You should answer it.”
Vi took the phone from her sister and turned off the tap.
“This is Vi.”
The sound of Mrs. Lockard’s anxious voice filled her ear. “I’ve been trying to reach you for the last hour. Joy is missing—”
“It’s okay, Ms. Lockard,” she said, interrupting the other woman. “Joy’s here.”
“What! How did she get there?”
Vi knew she really must be sick because that question hadn’t even occurred to her.
“I don’t know. She just got here. I'll bring her back tomorrow.”
“It would be better if you brought her back today. We can't let her think that she can just run away. Staying with you would just reward her behavior.”
Vi sighed and rubbed her aching head. Mrs. Lockard was, of course, right. “I can't today. I’m, umm, unwell,” Vi said. The words felt like gravel in her mouth. She hated saying no, especially to Ms. Lockard.
“Oh, dear. I'm sorry to hear that. I'll send Henry to fetch her then. Don't you worry. She’ll be gone in a jiffy.”
“All right. Thank you.” Vi ended the call and slid into the chair across from Joy.
There was no point avoiding the inevitable. “Joy, how did you get here?”
Joy twisted her shirt collar and chewed on the frayed cloth. “I want it now, Sissy!”
Vi reached across and tapped her sister lightly on the arm. “Joy, look at me.”
Joy looked up. Her eyes zeroed in on the bridge of Vi’s nose. Joy had never once met her eye-to-eye.
“What, Sissy?”
“How did you get here?”
Joy twirled out of her seat and started to dig through the pantry. “The bus. The 354 and the 721.”
Wow, she did that all by herself!
Vi shook her head. She couldn’t very well have Joy wandering around town without anyone knowing where she was. She could get hurt.
“You can't just leave without telling someone, Joy. Everyone was worried.”
Joy poked her head out of the pantry. Her arms were filled with snacks, which she promptly arranged within a book bag she had brought with her, clearly just for this purpose.
“Why? I came home. I’m hungry.”
“They have food at the home, Joy.”
Her sister shook her head and flapped her hands against the side of her thigh—a tell-tale sign that she was getting agitated. “It’s dog food. I want pizza.”
Vi sighed. “Joy, they do not give you dog food. I know you may not always like what they have for you to eat, but you can't just run off every time you want pizza. Next time call me and I can bring you something okay?”
Oh shoot, the pizza.
Vi jumped out her seat and ran to the stove to pull out the anchovy and pepperoni pie before it burned. She cut it into three sections just the way Joy liked it. “Here you go. Remember tiny bites. It's hot.”
Joy snatched the food from her and ate it like it was her last meal.
“I guess you really were hungry.” Vi made a mental note to talk with Mrs. Lockard about Joy’s diet. Before she could think a minute more on the subject, there was another knock at her door.
What is this? Grand central station, today?
This time Annabeth was the one who had come to her door.
“Hi, sorry to bother you. Marcus said you were a little under the weather. I made you some soup.” She held up a Tupperware dish full of what looked like chicken noodle soup. “It's my mom's recipe.”
Without even asking to be let in, Annabeth walked past her to put it in the fridge. “Oh, hi. You must be Vi’s sister.” She extended her hand to Joy, who just ignored her.
“Say hello, Joy,” Vi said.
Joy continued to eat her pizza and only mumbled a barely audible “hello” in return.<
br />
Vi sighed. She was too tired and sick to deal with all this.
“Go lie down,” Annabeth urged. “It’s okay. I'll take care of everything.”
If only! I’d marry the woman on the spot if she promised to take care of everything.
She really was sick if she was actually fantasizing about marrying her already-married neighbor just so she could take a nap...
Chapter Twelve
Brooke
Once the officer had left, Brooke hurried home, worried that her husband would catch her in her cat-burglaring gear. And even though she felt sexy as all get out, the last thing she wanted was to deal with his questions. Brooke could outsmart pretty much everyone, except her top-notch attorney husband. After all, professional arguing was kind of his job—and the fact that she and Tiara could buy pretty much anything and everything their hearts desired… well, that said it all.
Anyway, her fears proved to be completely unfounded, given that he had to work late. Again. He’d been so attentive when they’d first started dating, but now? Now she spent more nights by herself than with him.
And she kind of liked it that way to be honest.
Neither of them were the same people they’d been when he had first introduced himself in their college philosophy class all those years ago.
“If you ask me,” he had said, leaning across the aisle. “That Descartes was full of crap. ‘I think, therefore I am?’ Please. Screw thinking. If you don’t do something, then you can’t be anything. Hi, I’m Brian.”
She’d rather liked the Cartesian argument, but chuckled with Brian all the same. Besides, she liked the way his hazel eyes captured the light that filtered in from the high windows of the lecture hall.
After class, he’d invited her to a party his pre-law frat was throwing to welcome everyone back for the spring semester. She’d shown up with her girlfriends and without a bra. A quick bit of digging online had told her everything she needed to know about Brian Fischer. His old money brought with it important connections, ones she could take advantage of. Brooke knew her assets (thus the absence of a bra) and she knew her aspirations. She was going to make something of herself, the way her mother never had. And at this point she had only two years left to make the next phase in her life plan a reality—graduating from college with both a BA and an MRS.
It wasn’t hard to fall for Brian.
He had all the right words, all the right moves, and all the right ideas. Brooke had never been in love before, but she was pretty convinced that the fluttering feeling in her chest and the dizzy feeling in her head amounted to that thing called amore. When he asked her to marry him on the eve of their graduation, she of course said yes and jumped headlong into planning the perfect wedding, one worthy of the future Mr. and Mrs. Fischer.
That, of course, was when she discovered what love was really all about. Only the effervescent feeling of bliss wasn’t about her groom, but rather the excitement of weaving layer upon layer of intricate details together to construct a truly beautiful evening for them and their guests.
“Parties, huh?” Brian had laughed when she told him about her dream of opening up her own event planning boutique. He insisted that she volunteer at the junior league instead—the way so many of the partners’ wives did. She needed to make important connections for his career and their future.
And she did as he said, at least for a few years, all the while begrudging him for it. When Brian made partner—the youngest in the firm’s history, hooray—she told him she was done with the token board positions. That she was finally going to make Parties by Brooke a reality.
Brian shrugged, but said nothing to discourage her. She could see the condescension in his eyes and could feel something important in the foundation of their marriage begin to shift.
Why could Brian have his dream, but not her? They danced around each other for another couple years in a beautiful, but passionless, tango.
Finally, Brooke couldn’t take it anymore. She’d seen what divorce had done to her mother—landed her and young Brooke on state assistance, gotten them both disowned from the family, led her to drown in booze.
Brooke would never let that happen, not to her.
Besides, men like Brian Fischer didn’t come along every day, and she needed his influence to help with her business, just as he had needed hers. It wasn’t as if he was mean to her. Just cold, making her worry he planned to discard her now that she had helped him reach his goals. After all this effort, she could still end up like her mother—alone, penniless, and swollen with alcohol.
No, she refused to let that happen. That’s why she’d come up with the perfect plan late last year...
“Let’s have a baby,” she said, and Brian’s eyes lit up with such joy, she knew immediately she’d made the right call. Maybe passion could be a part of their marriage after all.
He took her then and there, and honestly it was the best sex of her life.
That was more than six months ago, and though they still dutifully timed her cycles and experimented with various old wives’ tales, the failed attempts were beginning to wear on both of them. Brian worked harder, longer hours at the office and came home exhausted and irritable. Brooke no longer enjoyed their lovemaking the way she once had. She could feel him slipping away again…
Should she give it all up? Go back to supporting his career and put hers on hold while she worked on making herself once again into the wife that Brian needed?
Brooke poured a glass of her favorite Chianti and swirled it gently to unlock the bittersweet aroma she loved. When the dry liquid hit her tongue, she imagined it soaking up all the wrong words she’d said to Brian when they’d fought over breakfast. It had been such a stupid thing, really. She’d forgotten to wash his lucky boxers despite multiple reminders over the course of the week, and now he’d had to go to court without them. How had it slipped her mind anyway?
She’d make it up to him when he got home. Pour him a nice bath and perfume it with her favorite lavender vanilla blend, give him a massage, and… Yes, that would do nicely.
Now she just had to wait for him to come home, discover her sweet, little surprise, and take her like he meant it. Until then, she’d just have to keep herself busy. And her old friend Google would make the perfect companion.
Signs your neighbor might be a pedophile, signs your neighbor is a serial killer, is my neighbor into freaky sex stuff? And just in case, Annabeth King, Marcus King, the Kings of Detroit—none of her searches bore fruit exactly, but now her suspicions were more alive than ever. Was it possible the Kings were kinky pedophile serial killers? Maybe amateur porn producers? Certainly there was no normal explanation for the evidence she and Vi had uncovered.
Speaking of… Brooke’s phone buzzed on the countertop beside her. Check on Vi, the notification read.
“Oh, shoot,” Brooke mumbled to herself and then, because she hated to let such a good vintage go to waste, downed the remaining half of her glass. Some things were more important than a good decant, and Vi was definitely one of them. The strange vomiting-fainting spell from earlier that afternoon worried her. The fact that she’d managed to forget it, even momentarily, spoke volumes about how much more worried she was for her marriage.
Just keep swimming, she reminded herself. Though she’d never admit it, the crazy blue fish from Finding Nemo had become something of a role model for her. And ever since she’d secretly ordered the movie on Pay-Per-View, she’d heard Ellen Degeneres’s cartoonish voice in her head, reminding her to keep going, no matter what the circumstances.
“C’mon, Tiara, baby,” she called, grabbing up her dog’s rhinestone leash. “Let’s go see Auntie Vi.”
They jogged the few blocks to Vi’s house, then let themselves in through the front door.
“Hello! It’s me and Ti!” Brooke pushed into the living room. Vi was probably in bed, sleeping off the anxiety from that morning. Unless she was really sick, in which case...
“Who’s T?” a very non
-Vi voice asked.
Brooke jerked to her left and saw the pedophile porn killer weirdo herself, standing there heating soup over the stove. Vi’s stove.
“Oh, Anna, you scared me!”
“Queen B! Queen B!” another familiar voice called, and before she knew it, Joy bounded into her arms and saddled her with a huge hug.
“Joy-Joy! It’s good to see you! How is your sister feeling today?”
“She’s mad at me, because I ran away.” Joy’s lower lip jutted out for a second before her entire face transformed back into a carefree smile. “But now I made a new friend. Have you met my new friend Annabeth?”
“Yes, we’ve met.” Annabeth didn’t look up from the soup she was stirring.
“Where’s Vi?”
“Sis isn’t feeling too well,” Joy said between bites of garlic bread. “So Annabeth sent her to bed.”
“Oh, I see.” Brooke waited for a few beats. “Well, it looks like you two have everything under control. Thanks for keeping an eye on her, Annabeth. See you tomorrow, Joy-Joy?”
“Nope, they’re coming to take me back tonight.” She frowned, and Brooke gave her another hug.
“That’s too bad. We’ll have to have a girls’ night out some other time. Agreed?”
“Okay, but only if Tiara can come too.”
“She wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Tiara gave a little bark as if to agree, then the two of them headed back out the front door, and straight into…
“Oh my gosh, sorry!” Brooke sputtered, then looked up and saw... “M-Marcus! Hi!”
He placed a strong hand on each of her shoulders to steady her. “Good evening, Brooke. I was just coming over to see if Anna was still here. I hadn’t seen her for a few hours, and figured…” He laughed.
Did she sense a bit of frazzled nerves beneath his cool demeanor? Ooh, she could use this opportunity to do a little more investigation into the peculiar Kings. After all, men had always been far easier for her to read than women.
The door creaked open behind her, and a cloud of red frizz stepped out onto the porch. Somewhere within all that hair, Annabeth King stood watching, listening.
Walker Texas Wife (The Book Cellar Mysteries 1) Page 7