In Plain Sight
Other books by Lorena McCourtney
The Julesburg Mysteries
Whirlpool
Riptide
Undertow
The Ivy Malone Mysteries
Invisible
© 2005 by Lorena McCourtney
Published by Fleming H. Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
Printed in the United States of America
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
McCourtney, Lorena.
In plain sight / Lorena McCourtney.
p. cm. — (An Ivy Malone mystery ; bk. 2)
ISBN 0-8007-5955-9 (pbk.)
1. Women detectives—Fiction. 2. Organized crime—Fiction. 3. Motor homes—Fiction. I. Title. II. Series.
PS3563.C3449I5 2005
813’.54—dc22
2004023867
Scripture is taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. NIV®. Copyright© 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.
Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.
1 Peter 5:7
Contents
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34
1
In spite of the threats, I’d held on to a small hope that the danger would, given a little time, fade away. The phone call I’d just received squashed that hopeful fantasy.
The Braxtons are not fading away.
Because of my role in convicting his brother of murder, one mean, beefy Drake Braxton vowed at the end of the trial to make roadkill out of me. There are apparently more Braxtons eager to help in this endeavor. Their homicidal intentions were made all too clear when my house caught fire, with me in it, a couple of weeks ago. Intentions thwarted in the small-blaze stage only because of the observant eyes of my good—and nosy—neighbor, Magnolia Margollin.
Although I recently discovered that I have aged into a semi-invisible state, I’m afraid I may not be invisible enough to evade the Braxtons’ murderous intentions toward me. This phone call that threatened dire damage to various parts of my anatomy was further proof of those intentions. The prudent action at this point appeared to be to remove myself from the danger zone for a time.
Ever since the death of my best friend, Thea, my niece DeeAnn Harrington had been urging me to stay with her and her family in their big house near the small town of Woodston, Arkansas. She’d also suggested I should consider living with, or close to them, permanently.
I’m reasonably certain I don’t want to make a permanent move. Harley and I bought this house here on Madison Street in Missouri many years ago, and, though Harley is gone and the area has deteriorated in the past few years, it’s still home to me. But I’ve been talking it over with the Lord, and a temporary visit down there in the lovely Ozarks appears to be a fine solution to my problem.
Fourteen-year-old grandniece Sandy answered when I dialed DeeAnn’s number.
“Oh, Aunt Ivy, you should see what I just crocheted! It’s a candy-pink top that’s just awesome. I can’t wait for some nice spring weather to wear it.”
I’d helped Sandy learn to crochet the last time I was down for a visit. Now, with a certain apprehension about teenage apparel, I asked, “Does it show your belly button?”
“Of course!”
“Does your mother know?”
“I’m going to show it to her.” Considered pause. “Soon.”
I didn’t intend to jump into the middle of that, so I just said, “Could I speak to DeeAnn, please?”
“Are you going to come visit us again? Oh, I hope so! But you need to come right away, before—”
“Maybe,” I cut in.
“Okay, I’ll get Mom. She’s upstairs sorting through some towels and stuff to pick out things that match.”
That seemed odd. DeeAnn is a good enough housekeeper, but she doesn’t usually fuss about such things as whether her towels coordinate. She came on the line a minute later.
“Aunt Ivy, how good to hear from you! I heard on the news that they sentenced that awful man who murdered your neighbor, but I couldn’t get you when I tried to call. And everything has been in such an uproar here that I didn’t get around to trying again.”
Uproar was the usual state of existence in the Harrington household. The twins, Rick and Rory, were off at college in California now, but DeeAnn was financial secretary at their church, created puppet shows about Korman the Klutzy Kangaroo for the Sunday school kids, and kept books for several small businesses in Woodston. Sandy practiced gymnastics in an upstairs hallway, zoomed around on her skateboard, kept in touch with people from Arkansas to Zanzibar on the Internet, and sometimes had the guys in a local Christian rock band over to practice. Husband Mike did executive things with an expanding roofing manufacturer and was up to his elbows in activities aimed at keeping the teens in a church youth group busy.
“Maybe I can help,” I said to DeeAnn. “There have been some, uh, unforeseen developments here, and I’m thinking I might take you up on your invitation to come visit for a while.”
“Oh, Aunt Ivy …”
It didn’t take extrasensory powers to hear the dismay in her voice.
“If it isn’t convenient now, maybe some other time,” I amended hastily.
“Oh, Aunt Ivy, I feel so bad about this. It isn’t that it isn’t convenient, and we’d love to have you. But we’re moving. Mike has gotten a promotion, but it’s also a transfer. To Hawaii!”
“Hawaii,” I echoed in astonishment. I finally gathered my wits together enough to add, “Well, this is so exciting! And wonderful news for all of you. Congratulations!”
“It is wonderful news, and we are excited. But it’s all happening so fast. We’re leaving in less than a week, and there’s all this sorting and packing and everything that has to be done. I didn’t realize we had so much stuff.”
I was glad I hadn’t mentioned my Braxton problem. DeeAnn would feel worse than ever if she knew about that. “Throw things out,” I advised. “That’s what God designed moves for. To make us get rid of our excess baggage.”
“Hey, I know what let’s do. As soon as we get settled over there, you come stay with us! Sandy has been researching all this stuff about Hawaii on the Internet. We’ll eat fresh pineapple and go body surfing and roast a whole pig in a luau!”
A whole pig sounded a bit intimidating, but, in general, a trip to Hawaii might be a fine idea. If the Braxtons didn’t roast me first. “Maybe I can do that,” I said.
“Aunt Ivy, is something wrong?” my ever-perceptive niece asked. “You aren’t thinking we don’t want you to visit, are you?”
“Well, of course I think that,” I said with pretended huffiness. “I’m sure you’ve invented this wild story about
Hawaii just to keep me from coming. I venture to say you may even go so far as to move to Hawaii to make the story convincing.”
DeeAnn laughed. “There’s one woman I’ve done some bookkeeping for whom I’d consider moving to Mars to escape from, but not you, Aunt Ivy. Never you.”
“I know. And I appreciate that.”
“But there is something wrong, isn’t there?”
I considered how to phrase my situation in order to be truthful but not cause DeeAnn concern. “Since the trial, things have felt a bit … edgy here. I was just thinking it would be nice to get away for a while. But don’t you worry about it. I’ll be fine. I’ll just go spade up my garden and plant some spring peas. Now tell me all about Hawaii.”
DeeAnn bubbled on about how the company had leased a house for them in Honolulu, and how they’d already had welcoming emails from relatives of friends in their Woodston church. “Sandy has mixed feelings about the move. She’s excited about Hawaii, but she hates to change schools in the middle of the year. And leave her friends, of course. I’ve found homes for all my houseplants. We’re down to only one cat at the moment. Celery. And Mrs. Grandy from church is taking her, so no problem there.”
Celery, their stub-tailed calico cat, so named for one of her odd food preferences, was a stray that had wandered in a couple of years ago. I’ve always suspected there must be some sign in generic animal language announcing “Free food! Nice folks! Come on in!” posted on the back steps of the Harrington house.
“But we haven’t decided what to do about the house, whether to put it up for sale or rent it. I do love this old place …”
“I’m sure everything will work out fine. Well, I’ll just let you get back to your sorting and packing. We’ll talk again before you leave, okay?”
I didn’t mean to cut her off, but I had some thinking to do here. With Plan A shot down and the Braxtons gunning for me, it was time to move on to Plan B.
Unfortunately, I had no Plan B.
2
I stood at the window looking out on my backyard garden area. Now what?
The yard, under a drizzle of spring rain, looked as dispirited as I felt. Straggly weeds. Puddles and mud. Soggy dead leaves. In spite of my cheery words to DeeAnn, I felt no urge to go out and dig. Actually, I’ve been considering giving up gardening. My vegetables too often bear a disconcerting resemblance to an experiment in plant genetics gone awry.
Even my trusty old ’75 Thunderbird, parked in the driveway because the garage door was stuck, looked as if it was losing its grip on elegance. The dent in the rear fender that had been barely noticeable seemed more pronounced now. And when had I lost that left front hubcap?
An old car. Getting ever older. Like me. Both showing our age and dents.
Okay, enough with the pity party, I decided, annoyed with myself. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. True, as the years have shown me. And the Lord always lives up to his promise never to forsake us. But I could use some help with details here, Lord. Any suggestions?
A cruise? With the gray rain drizzling down, sea and sunshine beckoned. Yet a cruise would severely strain my limited budget and not put me out of reach of the Braxtons for more than a couple of weeks.
Take refuge with my young friends, police detective Matt “Dix” Dixon and his new bride, Haley? They’d invited. And they’d successfully hidden me out to protect me for weeks before the trial. But they had a life to live, and not one on which I wanted to intrude.
Sell the house, pick up, and move far, far away?
Probably the most effective long-term solution, but the thought of abandoning my home forever gave me a jolt inside. Surely so drastic a step wasn’t necessary! And it would also be too time consuming. Selling the house and moving could take months, and I needed to get away—now.
I heated leftover spaghetti in the microwave for supper, washed up the dishes, and was just settling down in front of the TV when the phone rang. I considered not answering it. My good neighbors the Margollins were off in their motor home now, and Dix and Haley were visiting her parents. I couldn’t think of anyone except another telemarketer likely to call, and I was not in the market for vinyl siding or windshield repair.
Yet someone with my “mutant curiosity gene,” as Dix once grumpily termed it, is genetically incapable of not answering a ringing phone.
DeeAnn spoke before I even had a chance to say hello. “Aunt Ivy, Mike just got home, and he has the most wonderful idea! You can come live in the house even if we’re not going to be here!”
“Really?”
“Of course. It’s perfect. We don’t want to sell the house yet, not until we know how things work out in Hawaii—”
“You could rent it out. It’s a nice big house, right there beside the lake. It should bring a good rental price.”
“I know. But we’re concerned that renters might not take care of things. And if you live here I can just leave a lot of this stuff and not worry about it. Your being here will be a big help in this move.”
I suspected she might be exaggerating the “help” factor, but I felt a huge swoop of relief. “That sounds great!”
Thank you, Lord. Even after all these years I’m still sometimes surprised at how fast and efficiently he can solve problems.
“There’s just one thing. Not exactly a drawback, but—”
“Mother!” I heard Sandy wail in the background.
“And you don’t have to do it, of course,” DeeAnn added hastily. “It won’t make any difference.”
“Umm,” I said, carefully noncommittal.
“The thing is, as I mentioned earlier, Sandy would rather not change schools this far along in the year. She’d like to stay here with you until school lets out.”
Shock waves. I didn’t want to hesitate. I love my grandniece Sandy. She’s bubbly and fun and smart and dependable, a committed Christian. I enjoy her. But she is a teenager, and what do I know about the current teenage generation? “What do you think of the idea?” I asked cautiously.
“I have to admit, I find it a little scary.”
“Scary?” Not reassuring. “Scary how?”
“Scary for you. Everyone knows teenagers are the scourge of the universe. Scary for Sandy. She’s never been away from us for more than a couple weeks at summer camp. And scary for us too. We’ve just gotten used to Rick and Rory being gone, and then to leave Sandy behind …” Her voice wobbled.
“It’s less than three months until school lets out for the summer,” I pointed out. “It’s not as if you’re looking at a permanent empty nest yet.”
“Yes, that’s true. And not having to cope with a mid-year school transfer would make the move easier for us too.” Ever the woman to whip away the clouds and polish the silver lining, DeeAnn suddenly turned upbeat. “Hey, it might even be fun. Just the two of us, like being newlyweds again!”
Noise in the background. Sandy gagging at the thought of her parents as playful newlyweds?
“But it’s just fine if you’d rather not,” DeeAnn repeated. “We want you to come and live here as long as you want, no matter what. Why don’t you think about it and let us know in a day or two?”
DeeAnn is too good and generous a woman to be resentful or insulted no matter what my answer. A no wouldn’t change our relationship or their offer of hospitality.
Yet, with my first jolt of shock absorbed, I peered a little further into the situation. As a librarian and Sunday school teacher, I’d always enjoyed children. And I’ve never wanted to be isolated in some antiseptic, no-kids-allowed system. Sandy was mature enough that it wouldn’t be like a babysitting job.
What do you think, Lord?
I’ve never been on the receiving end of advice chiseled into stone tablets by the Lord. No sonorous voice has ever boomed in my ear and told me exactly what to do in any given situation. Which, I must admit, I’ve sometimes wished would happen. But somehow the Lord has usually managed to guide me, and just now I had the definite feeling this wa
s the way to go.
“I’d love to have Sandy stay with me,” I said firmly.
“Really? Aunt Ivy, that’s wonderful. You’re a jewel. I’ll tell her—”
Sound of a small scuffle, then Sandy’s victorious voice as she claimed the phone. “Hey, Aunt Ivy, we’ll be almost roomies! We’ll have a great time.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“I accidentally bumped into this Internet chat room of old—” Abrupt break while Sandy apparently considered a tactful rephrasing. “This chat room of senior citizens, and I’ll show it to you, and you can meet all these interesting men. One of them has a yacht!”
I’m afraid I have a strong suspicion of Internet males bearing yachts, but we could discuss that later.
“Are you sure about Sandy staying?” DeeAnn interrupted.
“Absolutely.”
“She’ll have strict instructions that she’s to help with the cooking and housework. That she isn’t to fill the house with herds of noisy teenagers. That she has to keep the same curfew she has when we’re here. That the rock band can come over only when and if you say it’s okay. That you aren’t some full-time chauffeur for her. That just because Skye wears all that makeup and those outrageous outfits doesn’t mean Sandy can. That—”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I cut in hastily. Much more of this list of eye-opening possibilities for errant teen behavior and I’d be thinking the Braxtons looked like the safer alternative.
“Will you be able to get here before we leave? If not, I’m sure Sandy can stay with someone for a few days.”
“I’ll be there by the end of the week.”
Yet there was one other thing. I’d convinced myself that staying with DeeAnn and Mike wouldn’t put them in any danger, that even the hostile Braxtons wouldn’t gallivant all the way down to Arkansas to do me in. Especially if they didn’t know where I was. Mike was also a big guy not even the Braxtons were likely to outsmart or push around. But if it was just Sandy and me there alone …
In Plain Sight Page 1