Cover Story

by Rachel Bailey

  “Okay, I’ll tell you the off-the-record one first.” She bit her lip again. “Did you know that two people on this street are having an affair?”

  “Um … no?” I mentally flicked through the cast of characters. The only married people were Martin and Beverley Sinclair. One of them had to be involved for it to be an “affair”. Something Beverley said came floating back: He’s too busy with his “other interests”.

  “Martin Sinclair.”

  She nodded.

  Tapping my pencil against my teeth, I ran through the women on the street—Dot with the pale orange hair and glittery earrings; Valentina doing her Granny Clampett impersonation; Ethel, stuck all day caring for Gerald; Jazlyn … pregnant Jazlyn. Oh!

  “The missing father of Jazlyn’s baby!” They lived next door—why hadn’t it occurred to me?

  She sighed. “An obvious conclusion, and one I’m pretty sure Beverley Sinclair had made.”

  “It’s not her?”

  “Nope.” Rafaella shook her head then winced.

  I frowned, running through the list again. “But that only leaves …” I looked her up and down and she laughed.

  “Not me. Liz, my housemate. That’s why this is off the record.”

  “Oh, right.” I scribbled it down, not sure what I’d do with the information. “So why tell me at all?”

  “Martin’s a scumbag.” Her amber eyes flashed and her lips thinned. Anger and disgust emanated from her. “He treats her like dirt and I’m sick of it.”

  Not all that surprising a revelation, given the little I knew of Martin. “Why not talk to Liz yourself?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I have. But she won’t listen. They work in the same building and sometimes carpool. She thinks he’s God Almighty.”

  Well, she and Martin had that in common, at least. “Okay.” I briefly wondered what Liz could possibly see in him, and why she hadn’t seen through him. She must be deliberately ignoring the signs.

  “This could be a mistake, me telling you this, but I have to do something. If the affair came out, maybe it’d stop and she’d move on with her life.”

  Unease stole over my whole body about my potential part in this charade. “So, what’s this got to do with the gnome stories?”

  “I’ve been thinking.” She carefully edged herself up a little onto one elbow. “Beverley believes he’s having an affair with Jazlyn, right?”

  “Okay.”

  “But Beverley never says boo to him. She wouldn’t dare be angry at him.”

  I sensed the glorious budding of a brand new theory. “I’m with you so far.”

  She eased herself off her elbow onto her back again, but looked just as uncomfortable. “There are two pregnant females in Jazlyn’s house.”

  “Jazlyn and Deefer Dog.”

  She watched me closely, as if assessing. “Both impregnated—Beverley thinks—by males on Los Alamos Court who sneaked out.”

  The jigsaw pieces in my mind twisted and turned until they fit together. “So she’s using Remington as a substitute for Martin. She’s angry at Remington for knocking up Deefer instead of Martin for getting Jazlyn pregnant.”

  The old Displaced Anger for the Cheatin’ Husband angle. I loved it!

  “Right.” She smiled. “The first gnomicide was at Remington’s house.”

  I scribbled it down, flitting through the other clues. “What about Simon’s?”

  “Beverley covering her tracks. Same with Valentina’s gnome-napped one.”

  I drummed my fingers against the armrest. “Okay. But she’s wrong? Martin’s sleeping with Liz?”

  Rafaella winced, and this time I didn’t think it was her back causing the pain. “Yes.”

  I looked back over the notes I’d made. “Are you sure Beverley thinks his affair is with Jazlyn?”

  “Last week Beverley slipped and almost told me before back-tracking. So, yes, I’m sure.” Her eyes met mine in an open and steady gaze. Yep, she was sure, and I had no doubts she was telling the truth, either.

  I rolled my pencil between index finger and thumb. This was, by far, the most convoluted, messy, bizarre theory yet. Which probably meant it was true. Excellent.

  I looked back at my informant. “You said there was something you could tell me on the record, too?”

  She nodded. “This morning, not long after dawn, I got up to take more painkillers and saw Jazlyn cleaning up a smashed gnome in her yard.”

  My gaze drifted to the window and Jazlyn’s front yard. “But Dot didn’t mention it to me.”

  “Jazlyn seems to have covered it up. It was in the way she looked up and down the street and wrapped the pieces in newspaper before putting them in the bin.”

  I stood and walked to the window. There was nothing to see now, but my mind was racing. “It plays perfectly into your theory about Beverley. After her displaced anger at Martin, her next target would be Jazlyn.”

  “Yes.” Rafaella sighed. I could see that, although she was passing on this information, she was hardly happy about it.

  “Okay, thanks.” I smiled, wishing for a moment that I could fix this for her and everyone. How was that for delusions of grandeur? I shook my head to clear it. “I might go and see Jazlyn now. Do you want anything before I leave?”

  “No, as long as you don’t mind seeing yourself out?”

  “Not a problem. And, thanks, Rafaella.”

  Outside her front door, I paused. I wasn’t sure if I could work this into an article, but if Beverley was the culprit, I could get the closure I needed, type up the final article and leave Gnome Lane behind me for good.

  I checked my watch: 9.46. Sunday. The day early thing had never bothered me before—I’d just mentally adjusted for it. But today, the word jumped out every time I saw it.

  Sunday. Yesterday. The day at the park. The day of the kiss.

  Seduce him.

  Why did Grace’s voice keep replaying in my mind? I forced my attention back to the task at hand and crossed the road to number two’s relatively unkempt front yard then walked next door to Jazlyn’s. It was time for a heart-to-heart.

  She answered on the first knock with a smile. “Tobi! You’re becoming a regular around here.”

  Tell me about it, I wanted to mutter, but held my tongue. “Hi, Jazlyn.” June? Jade? I added it to the list of topics for our chat. “Have you got a few minutes?”

  “Sure, come on in.”

  Cosmo was dancing along to a TV show featuring people in full-body animal costumes and didn’t seem to notice my entrance. We moved into the kitchen and Jazlyn drifted to a washing basket of teeny-tiny clothes she’d obviously been sorting on the table. I sat and retrieved my tools of trade.

  “Writing another story?” She glanced up, holding the smallest T-shirt I’d ever seen.

  “At least a couple more yet, I’m afraid.” I surveyed the room, biting my pencil. I’d always been bad at subtlety—maybe I’d been born that way, or perhaps I’d never bothered acquiring the skills. But even I knew bringing up two delicate subjects—three if it went well—should be preceded by some sort of tactful lead-in. In the past, I’d just barge in and ask, but for some reason I wanted to be careful with Jazlyn.

  Sofia was good at this stuff—what would she say?

  “Er … Jazlyn, I was wondering if … is it all right with you …” I bit the end of my pencil again. “Can I ask a couple of questions?”

  She shrugged as she folded a white body suit that looked more like doll’s clothes. “You’re always asking questions.”

  “But I want to ask some that you might not like and I don’t want to offend you.” I frowned as I realized I really didn’t want to offend her. I officially liked another resident of Batty Street.

  Snap. The tip of the pencil broke off in my mouth. I gingerly picked it out, looking around for a bin.

  “I’m not easily offended, Tobi, but I’ll let you know if you manage it.” She chuckled and rubbed a hand across her protruding belly.

  I couldn�
�t see a bin; she must’ve had an in-the-cupboard job. I dropped the pencil tip in my bag and took a deep breath. “Rafaella at number one saw you cleaning up the pieces of a smashed gnome this morning, but no one’s mentioned it.”

  “Ah.” She blushed. “I didn’t think anyone had seen.”

  My spidey-senses pricked. “Any reason for them not to?”

  She looked down at the yellow booties she held before sighing. “I smashed it.”

  In my open-mouthed shock, I almost dropped my disfigured pencil, but recovered in time. “You did? Why?”

  She sighed and shook her head, her long dark hair brushing over her shoulders. “It was an accident. I knocked it over when I wheeled the trash can to the curb. I’d really hoped no one saw because everyone’s hypersensitive about the gnomes—especially Cosmo and Anna. I was going to get a new one today.” She frowned as she fidgeted with the blue bonnet in her hands. “Will you tell the others?”

  I made a quick assessment of the honesty of her admission—her features only showed sincerity. “No, I won’t mention it.” Hmm. That robbed the displaced anger at the cheatin’ husband of some supporting evidence, but it was still my strongest lead. Which brought me to question number two. Subtlety. Tact. Sofia-style.

  “Jazlyn, feel free not to answer this—in fact, tell me to stuff it up my shirt if you want.” I ran my finger over a little green matinee jacket from the basket, aware I was stalling.

  She laughed. “Just ask, Tobi.”

  “Okay. The father of your baby … is he around?”

  “Ah. Wayne. Well, it’s not quite as straight forward as that.” She matched two impossibly small socks together then reached for more.

  “Wayne? Cosmo’s father?”

  She kept her gaze on the assorted socks she’d retrieved. “The one and only. We’re going through what you might call a rough patch.”

  “Sorry to hear it.” And I was. Part of me was growing attached to the nutty residents of this cul-de-sac, and I had the strange sensation again of wanting to make it all better for her. Weird. “How long?”

  “About six years now.” She glanced up at me and flashed an ironic smile. “Since we married, really.”

  Oh. I wasn’t surprised—wedlock was hardly one of mankind’s better ideas—but still, I had to wonder about a marriage so obviously troubled from the start, yet which continued to spawn progeny. “Um … sorry to bring it up.”

  She shrugged. “It’s hardly a federal secret. I don’t mind if people know.” She paused. “You don’t suspect him, do you?”

  “No, no. I still think it’s someone on this street. I just asked to fill in some gaps in the information.” I rolled my pencil between my fingers. This being-subtle gig took a lot more effort than my usual bluntness. “Er … there’s something else I want to ask. It’s not important at all, I’m just curious.”

  “Just go for it, Tobi.” She held out her arms to Cosmo as he shuffled into the room.

  “Jazlyn—is that your real name?”

  She hooted a laugh, hugging Cosmo to her. He snuggled in. “You wouldn’t believe how often I’ve been asked that, and I certainly don’t mind. But yes, it’s the name I was christened with. It was the seventies and my mother was a bit of a hippie—she had the flowers in her hair and everything. You’ll never guess my middle name.”

  “I won’t?”

  “Martha.” She laughed again, this time joined by a giggling Cosmo.

  Well, there you go. “You were right—I wouldn’t have guessed it.” I smiled with them, relieved the name game and the more sensitive questions were over. I’d survived the exercise of tact and she hadn’t been offended.

  “My dad’s choice. The only way he’d agree to Jazlyn was to give me an alternative for when I grew up. It was his mother’s name.” She tickled Cosmo’s ribs to keep his giggle rolling out.

  A responding giggle rose in my throat but I quashed it in time. Picking up my bag, I made my farewells and left them to their game. I wasn’t a fan of giggling in adults or children. Never had been.

  Back on the sidewalk I checked my mother-of-pearl watch—10.30a.m. Sunday.

  I groaned as the memory assault began anew—images of Simon holding the cotton candy. Simon’s mouth hovering above mine. Simon grinning. Simon. Simon. Simon. What would a less uptight person do?

  She’d seduce him.

  A tussle between panic and excitement overtook me.

  Should I?

  Could I?

  My body practically vibrated with the dual strength of fear and anticipation, but again, panic won and I pushed the whole messy dilemma back down.

  For now.

  Chapter 14

  I marched next door to see Beverley Sinclair, determined to address at least one of the problems on my mind. She answered with her trademark squishy-faced smile and invited me in.

  “Would you like a cup of ginger peach, dear? It’s organic.”

  Ginger peach? I guessed it was another tea. I decided to assert myself on the tea front. “Just a glass of water would be great.”

  After I followed her through display home-neat rooms to the kitchen, she poured me water from a jug in the fridge.

  Subtlety. Tact. Not, “Your husband’s bonking a different woman than the one you think.” Nope. Had to find a subtle way. I wouldn’t incriminate anyone but I still had the weird need to protect Jazlyn.

  I leaned against a counter. “I’ve just been next door, speaking with Jazlyn.”

  Beverley humphed. “That woman.”

  I swirled the water in my glass. “She told me about Wayne. The father of Cosmo and her baby.”

  Beverley’s pencil-thin eyebrows arrowed down in a frown. “She said that?”

  I continued swirling the water, watching the pattern, feigning indifference. “Oh, yes, we had quite a chat about Wayne and the baby.”

  She tapped lilac acrylic nails against the counter. “Well, I haven’t seen him around.”

  I shrugged. “Doesn’t mean he’s not the father though.” I gulped some water and put my glass on the counter. How had I embroiled myself in this mess? I felt a twinge of regret that some previously unheard of—and bizarre—need to protect someone I barely knew had plonked me into the realm of “involved”. But I was here now, and I never backed down.

  Beverley’s eyes darted to the window that overlooked Jazlyn’s house, across to me, then in an arc around the room. I could almost see the cogs in her brain turning. Then she stilled and her eyes widened, before her attention snapped back to me.

  “If you don’t mind, dear, I have to go out somewhere.” She was already leading me to the door. “Perhaps we could talk another time?”

  “That’s fine.” More than fine. At least if she’d been targeting Jazlyn, she’d have to stop and think now. “Bye, then.”

  I’d put the cat among the pigeons—my eyes flicked to Winston’s house at the thought of an Attackcat—now I’d wait and see what happened.

  Back on the sidewalk, I checked my watch: 10.51a.m. Sunday. Argh!

  I stamped my foot on the concrete then drove straight home and changed it for a watch that didn’t keep reminding me of Simon.

  *

  Forty minutes later, wearing my watch with the little red numerals—and the right day—I sat down in my cubicle and powered up my computer.

  I needed another story.

  My mind drifted back over the theories still in play: Displaced Anger; Doggie Payback … hang on … if Jazlyn was worried enough about Cosmo’s and Anna’s reactions to the gnome this morning, she couldn’t have been the one who’d smashed or napped the others, regardless of her anger at Remington’s family. Come to think of it, she’d always put the gnomes back in place after the boys sexed them up, not wanting to upset the kids.

  Looked like I was left with Beverley. Not that I could write about her husband’s affair in the paper. I flicked through the notes I’d made, searching for something to write. Dammit, why was I always falling back on Plan B with these stori
es?

  I typed up the article and submitted it, just as a familiar male body landed on my desk.

  “Hey, Fletcher.”

  I flicked a glance at him. “What, no gnome joke today, Matias?”

  “Nah. You said you didn’t like them.”

  I swiveled my office chair to face him. He wore cargo pants, a khaki T-shirt and a devilish grin. On a purely objective level, Matias was gorgeous. And built. We had a kind of history now and I knew he was interested. So why didn’t he make my pulse jump all over the place like a damn jackrabbit? The way Simon did.

  Seduce him.

  “Matias, I—”

  “It’s okay, Fletcher. I knew you’d take a while to come around. I’ll wait.” He grinned again. A perfectly sexy grin, but it wasn’t Simon’s.

  I sighed. He was a good guy—gnome jokes not withstanding—and I couldn’t let him waste time on me. “No, really. The thing is, I’m interested in someone else.”

  He frowned for a second then looked around, as if he could eyeball the competition. “Who?”

  “No one you know.” I lined up the pencils on my desk. “Look, I just didn’t want you getting the wrong idea.”

  He shrugged, hiding whatever emotion he felt. “No biggie. Catch you later, Fletcher.” He sauntered off.

  With a touch of sympathy, I watched him go. But it was quickly eclipsed by the panic rising in my throat. I’d just admitted out loud I was interested in someone else. Simon. My belly fluttered.

  Seduce him.

  Oh, this was ridiculous. I would not let fear run my life. There was only one way to deal with fear. Face it.

  I dialed Simon’s work number and waited to be put through.

  “Simon Hanson.” Mercy, even his voice gave me the shivers.

  “Simon, it’s Tobi.”

  There was a pause and I could almost see him grinning. “I wondered when you’d call.”

  My heart flip-flopped. “Well, here I am. Calling.” Dammit, Fletcher, think! “Have you got plans for tonight? It’s just that there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. If you can. At my place. If you can.” I hit my forehead with the heel of my hand.