Cover Story

by Rachel Bailey

  In return for their disdain, I’d refused to learn their names and would only refer to them by physical characteristics. As in, “Hey, orange cat, get out of my briefcase,” or, “Cameron, the bow-legged cat’s coughing up on your shoes.”

  I surveyed Winston’s face. How much damage could he do? There wasn’t a quilt in sight so I was confident I’d be safe.

  I took a step toward him and he stood, tail raised, his eyes never leaving mine. Hmm, maybe it’d be better to go around him. I walked several paces to the right to bypass, but he also moved to the right and again took up his attack stance.

  I stopped.

  He sat.

  I moved a leg forward, cleverly feigning a step.

  His ears twitched.

  I stopped.

  I folded my arms and tried to stare him out.

  He held my gaze and twitched his tail.

  I’d read somewhere that the key in a stand-off was not to blink, and to make the other person … er, cat … look away first. So I stared back, ready to wait until he faltered.

  His gaze was steady, the only movement in his body was the flicking of his tail—and I knew enough to know that was a warning. But I wasn’t scared. I was in this for the long haul, I wasn’t going to be outbluffed by a cat, I wouldn’t let myself be distracted for a second—

  “Hey, babe, haven’t seen you around before.”

  I turned to see a cocky-looking teenage boy with his thumbs in the belt loops of his low-slung jeans. It was a look I normally liked—but he didn’t even come close to pulling it off. I was about to tell him so when I realized my mistake.

  I quickly looked back to Winston, but he’d turned away and had a back leg thrown around his neck, rhythmically licking his fur.

  “Damn.” I’d been outwitted by a cat.

  Winston momentarily looked up at me, eyes half closed, gloating, then returned to licking himself.

  Annoyed at losing the battle of wills, I turned back to the boy. “Who are you?”

  “Davo, the answer to your dreams.” He made a pathetic attempt at a flirtatious wink.

  I tapped the toe of my shoe on the sidewalk in double-time. “Really? My dreams? You can make me a macchiato then get the President on the phone?”

  His face fell and I felt mean for a second. Well, maybe not that long.

  I heard Valentina come along the path behind us. “Winston, darling, I’ve left you some fish in the kitchen.”

  Still gloating, Attackcat stood, flicked his tail at me and sauntered off to the house.

  “Tobi, I see you met David. Good.” Granny Clampett had added a powder-blue cardigan to her ensemble of floral dress and sensible shoes. A big wad of tissues was visible under her sleeve at her left wrist. “David, dear, is your mother home?”

  Davo squirmed. “Yeah, she’s home. Are you two comin’ over?”

  Valentina linked arms with me. “That we are, David. Lead on.”

  It was a surreal moment. Walking, arms linked with an eccentric old lady, following a teenager who fancied his chances with me, having just escaped a battle with a large, fluffy cat, while investigating three gnomicides.

  I guess that was what I got for being on a “human interest” story, instead of the big political scandal where I should be. I was just glad my family couldn’t see me now.

  The Sinclairs’ house was much bigger than Valentina’s. It was two-story with stucco walls and a walled yard at the front. Behind the barrier, the yard was full of pebbles and succulents around a small patch of grass—which seemed to be the only bit of lawn on the street. There wasn’t a pebble out of place … someone didn’t get out much. On top of the wall was a trail of three gnomes—the one in the lead had a fishing rod slung over his shoulder. They looked like they were off for a day’s fishing and I could almost imagine them whistling.

  Damn, I was doing it again. Must keep professional distance from gnomes.

  Beverley Sinclair greeted us by squishing her face into what was probably a smile and promptly telling Davo to go and change into a clean shirt. She put the kettle on and offered me a cup of English Breakfast. Organic. What was it with this street and cups of tea?

  “I’d love a coffee, if you have it.”

  Beverley gathered her face up into another smile—assuming that’s what it was—and got out a can of pumpkin spice–flavored instant coffee. I was beginning to wish I’d brought my coffee pot in my bag.

  Valentina guided me to a chair and explained my mission to Beverley. “And so she has some questions for you, too, Beverley.”

  “Always glad to help,” she twittered as she brought the cups to the table. Somehow I didn’t believe her. Journalists develop an instinct about things like this—and my instincts told me that under this show of neighborliness, she was bitter at life. Bitter enough to smash gnomes?

  “So, Beverley, do you have any theories on the gnomes?”

  She gave me the squishy-face smile again. Someone should have told her it wasn’t working for her. Then again, the blond pouffy hair and pencil-thin eyebrows weren’t doing her any favors either. “Oh, no, I have no idea.”

  I didn’t believe her for a second. “Surely you must have some ideas.”

  “No, really.” I noted she wouldn’t look me in the eye.

  “What if you had to make a guess—just a wild guess, what would you say?”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t have anything you—”

  “Come on, you’re not hiding something from us, are you?” Not only am I a trained journalist, but I watch a lot of cop shows on TV.

  Valentina decided to help. “Yes, Beverley, what do you know?”

  She glared at us, her face suddenly suffused with anger. “I don’t know anything, but if you want a suspect, you should start with David.”

  “Davo?” He hadn’t looked dangerous. Stupid, sure, but not dangerous.

  “Yes, David! Seventeen years old, he’s not in school, no job and no prospects. It’s just the sort of fool thing he’d do to get attention and I place the blame squarely at his father’s feet. Too busy with his other interests to discipline the boy and he won’t listen to me—”

  We were all startled when the door slammed shut and we heard retreating footsteps on the other side. What a thing to hear your own mother tell people—I was beginning to feeling sorry for Davo now. I waited to see if anyone was going after him, but his mother rose, acting as if nothing had happened.

  “More coffee or tea?” She gave the squishiest-faced smile yet. No one was going after Davo. I couldn’t let him sit out there—he was really still a kid.

  “I think I’d like to ask Davo some questions. Beverley, thanks for the coffee—sorry I didn’t get to finish it. Valentina, I might catch up with you later.” I picked up my bag and scooted out of there, glad I wasn’t living Davo’s life.

  I found him walking down the sidewalk, kicking stones. He had that teenage mix of a man-sized body with childlike features and expressions—and I’d bet money his mother had used the clippers to achieve that hairstyle.

  “Davo, got a minute?”

  He gave me his best seventeen-year-old surly look. “So you can pin this on me?”

  “Nah, I don’t think you did it.” I flicked my hand, waving the idea away.

  “You don’t? Why not?” His expression vacillated between surprise and suspicion.

  “I’ve got good instincts.”

  He raised his chin. “Work on instincts, do ya? Hows about you and me—”

  Lord, save me. “Don’t push it. I just came out to see if you’re all right.”

  He frowned. “Yeah, I’m not a little kid you gotta check on.”

  I didn’t have any experience with teenagers, except when I’d been one myself—and even though I was only twenty-eight, it seemed like a lifetime ago that I’d been Davo’s age. However, despite my lack of experience, I could tell I’d offended him. “Nah, I wasn’t checking on you, I just wanted to know if you were up for helping me out.”

  “Yeah?�
�

  Think quick, Fletcher. “Yeah. I’m interviewing the neighbors, but I don’t live here. I thought you could keep an eye out for me after I go home.”

  “Like a spy?” His eyes were so wide with enthusiasm I thought they’d pop.

  “Yeah, just like a spy.” Sean Connery. Daniel Craig. Davo. Right. “And you know the thing about spying is that you can’t tell anyone you’re doing it.”

  “But we get to meet secret-like so I can tell you what I learn?”

  “Sort of. Though not in secret. I’m speaking to everyone, so there’d be nothing suspicious in us talking.”

  “Oh.” His enthusiasm fell a few points, then picked up again. “But we have to be private enough so no one can overhear.”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose.”

  “There’s a garden shed out the back of—”

  “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” Lord almighty. Davo saw me as his own private Bond girl. How did I get myself into these predicaments? “How about I buy you breakfast tomorrow morning at the diner two blocks down?”

  “Cool!”

  Free food … me as a Bond girl … apparently they were equal in the world according to Davo. If my ego had been weak, it might’ve taken a hit over that. But fortunately, it was rock solid.

  He surveyed the street over my shoulder. “What am I looking out for?”

  “Um … anything suspicious.”

  “Right. I’m on it now. See ya, boss chick.”

  Watching him walk away, indiscreetly looking through windows, I wondered if I’d created a monster.

  Chapter 3

  My silver chain watch said it was almost midday. Time really flies when you sit around drinking tea and eating cake.

  I was weighing up my options when a car turned into Los Alamos Court—a rare enough occurrence in the small cul-de-sac that I turned to look. It pulled up beside me and Simon’s head appeared out the window. “Hey, Tobi, how’s it going?”

  I crossed my arms. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  He pushed aviator sunglasses back onto his head. “I took an early lunch break. Knowing you’d be meeting some of the neighbors, I thought I should check on you.”

  Hmm. I narrowed my eyes. “You said they were all good people.”

  “They are.” He grinned. “They can just be a bit much if you’re not used to them, and I’m the one responsible for you being here. Come on, I’ll pick up Anna and take you both for lunch.”

  At the mention of more food I only just restrained a groan. “I’ve been eating all morning—I couldn’t fit another thing in.”

  Another grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Met Valentina then?”

  Met her? I had a feeling she was my new best friend. “Yes, and Beverley.”

  “Then, if not food, you need a break. Get in.”

  It did sound good—and he was by far the sanest person I’d met all morning. Strange, yesterday I was calling him batty. Apparently, it all depends on your frame of reference. I got in and waited while he picked up Anna and buckled her into her car seat.

  “Your mother didn’t want to join us?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the way the muscles on his forearms flexed as he tightened the strap.

  “No, she said she could do with some time out.” He slid into the driver’s seat. “She appreciates a breather now and then to read. Anna’s a good kid,” he flashed her a smile in the mirror, “but it’s still hard to concentrate with a four-year-old around.”

  He drove us to the Green Chile Deli, just a few blocks away, while Anna chatted about her day.

  Once we’d ordered—I’d changed my mind when I saw the menu had a toasted green chile bagel with chile cream cheese and green chile on top—I filled him in on my progress. Not much. I’d met three women, a cocky teenager, a small child, and a guardcat. Three new theories—but I was eliminating Anna’s bear hypothesis and Beverley’s one about Davo. Which only left me with Valentina’s theory about Simon’s ex-girlfriend: the Woman Scorned angle. The most promising angle—even if it was the only angle.

  “So, Simon,” I said, and fixed him with my steely glare, honed to draw information from the most reluctant of secret keepers. “Tell me about your ex-girlfriend.”

  He turned to Anna. “I buy her one bagel and she starts asking about my love life.” Anna giggled and Simon looked back at me with a teasing glint in his eye.

  “Don’t get ideas,” I rushed to say. “This is purely about the gnomes.”

  “All right.” He winked at Anna. “I don’t have an ex-girlfriend.”

  Yeah, right. The body of Adonis with a devil’s grin and he didn’t have an ex-girlfriend. “You must have one somewhere.”

  “The last girlfriend I had was Isabel, before I married her, seven years ago.”

  Seven years? I wondered how many of those years it’d been since Isabel died. He looked far too … I don’t know … too virile to be alone that long. I checked to see if he was still teasing, but his face was relaxed and calm. “Then who did Valentina mean? She’s convinced the culprit is your ex-girlfriend.”

  He shrugged his shoulders, drawing my eyes to their perfection for an instant—blame my professional training to notice details—before he asked, “Did she give you a name?”

  “No, but she did say the girlfriend looked a bit cuckoo.”

  Our bagels arrived with a huge, garlicky dill pickle on the side. I nudged the pickle to the edge of the plate and then watched him think as we started eating. A couple of bites in, I took another antihistamine—there was no way I’d survive Los Alamos Court without them, and my favorite brand didn’t have the same life as the more modern ones. I’d never liked the new Gen Y sparkly drugs, no matter what they promised. I liked the old-fashioned, time-tested antihistamines, even if they didn’t last as long.

  “The only person I can think of is one of the receptionists at work.” He cut Anna’s egg salad sandwich into quarters as he spoke. “A couple of months ago, I had to stay at home with Anna for a few days while Mom visited my sister, and each afternoon the receptionist dropped around plans and papers.”

  Aha! “So, could she have smashed the gnomes?”

  He pushed Anna’s plate back in front of her and ate his daughter’s pickle in two bites. “I can’t see why. She’d have no reason.”

  “You’re sure she’s not a woman scorned?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched and his eyes were doing that dancing thing again. “She’s married. And Valentina’s theory rests on the receptionist knowing that my father-in-law lives at number three, which she doesn’t.”

  “Oh.” I felt like a child watching her helium balloon float up into the clouds. “But that leaves me with no theories.”

  He laughed and eyed my pickle. “Sorry. Are you going to eat that pickle?”

  *

  Simon drove Anna and me back to his house and left us there with his mother.

  “Come and have a sit down and a cup of tea, dear.”

  I was saved by my cell ringing. Smiling my apology, I walked out to the front yard to answer. It was Sofia.

  “Hey, Tobi. How’s it going?”

  “Slowly.” I blew out a breath. “This street is weird. The people here play with garden gnomes the way little kids play with toy animals.”

  I could’ve sworn I heard a muffled laugh. “Then it’ll make a great story. Kevin wants to make sure you’ll have it in on time.”

  “I’ll have it to him by tomorrow afternoon.” Something moving in the shrubs two doors down caught my attention. “Hang on, Sofia.” I put the cell against my chest and approached the sidewalk.

  Davo jumped out of the shrubs, looked over at me, gave me a thumbs up and walked away, hands in pockets.

  I put the phone back to my ear. “Sorry, Sofia, just another strange resident of Los Alamos Court. How’s the government scandal story progressing?”

  “Floundering. Our contact hasn’t been back in touch so I can’t go any further.” She groaned patheticall
y. “If only we’d actually met her or had her name I could do more.”

  “That’s tough.” A small tendril of hope crept into my thoughts. “Maybe if we swapped stories—”

  “No way, Kevin gave it to you!” She sounded horrified at the prospect and, really, I couldn’t blame her.

  “It was worth a try.” I sighed. “I have to go.”

  She chuckled as she said goodbye and I walked back into the house, resigned to my fate.

  Dot was waiting, her pale orange hair swept back in coiffured waves. “Tobi, dear, we’ve got about half an hour before Anna’s nap, so how about we take you over to meet Gerald and Ethel now?”

  Yep, that’s what I needed—to meet more reality-challenged residents of Los Alamos Court. “That’d be great.”

  Gerald and Ethel lived at number three, on the other side of Valentina—meaning we had to walk across Winston’s turf to get there. I was on guard the whole time—looking quickly left to right and grabbing Anna’s hand perhaps a little too tightly.

  I was under the large cottonwood tree before I realized my mistake—I’d been looking left to right, not up and down. There was a hiss above me and I glanced up in time to see manic green eyes and a flicking tail before he leaped and I screamed. He landed a few feet in front of us and streaked off into the house.

  I was trying to get my heart out of my throat when a small hand tugged mine. “Tobi, it was only Winston.”

  “Yes. Yes, it was. Thanks, Anna.” I forced a smile and swung her arm as we continued to number three.

  Ethel was at the door—she’d probably heard the scream—and welcomed us in. She was a plump, middle-aged woman with shiny coral lipstick. Gerald, who was sitting in a padded armchair with a small long-haired dog on his lap, turned to look out the window.

  Dot introduced us. “Gerald Philips is Anna’s maternal grandfather, Ethel is his live-in carer, and that’s Remington on Gerald’s knee. He’s a prize-winning Silky Terrier.” Remington looked harmless enough, but I wasn’t taking any more chances with Los Alamos Court pets. I resolved to keep my distance. “Tobi’s writing a story on the gnomicides.”