Dead Man Stalking (Barbara Marr Murder Mystery Series Book 5)

by Karen Cantwell

  Trying to maintain composure and balance, I slipped around chairs and in between tables and quickly as possible. The problem was, Rosetta was on the move and boy could that little lady move fast.

  I made it off the patio and onto the pavement of the alleyway only to catch the toe of my shoe on a deep crack. Darn! I never dressed up anymore and the one day I have to chase down a possible murder suspect, I decide to wear a strappy little number with heels. I hopped, tearing off one shoe, then the other, and kept on running.

  On the sidewalk, people strolled along enjoying the perfect summer evening. I stopped and looked to my left. Walkers ogled me oddly as they parted like a stream encountering a boulder. I didn’t spot Rosetta’s dark hair anywhere. What had she been wearing? Was it a white shirt? Red shirt? White, I thought it was white.

  Howard flew out of the front door of the restaurant onto the sidewalk to my right. “You see her?” he yelled.

  “No!” I bellowed back across the throngs of bodies. Just then I spotted her figure pushing down the sidewalk away from me. Oncoming walkers slowed her down, but she was already a good distance away. I’d have trouble catching her.

  “Howard!” I pointed in Rosetta’s direction and then set off running. The hard sidewalk beneath my bare feet stung with each step.

  A woman admonished me when I collided with her shoulder. “Hey!”

  There was no time for apologies. I pounded the pavement. “Ouch, ouch, ouch!” I wailed with each stride.

  A giggly gang of teenage girls unintentionally formed a human wall on the sidewalk in front of me. I slowed, pushed my way through, and then scanned to locate Rosetta again. After a couple of seconds of frantic searching, I caught sight of her slipping into a clothing store.

  Hot on her tail, I hoped Howard was close behind. I waved my hand in the air to signal where I was headed, but didn’t take the time to look back. It would only slow me down.

  I skidded into the clothing store, panting and wincing in pain. A young woman with a name tag stared at me wide-eyed, a hint of fear in her eyes. “Short woman?” I panted. “In here?” I bent slightly, holding my side where an intense cramp seared like a knife. “Dark hair,” I said between pants. “White shirt.”

  The woman pointed warily toward the back of the store. “Dressing room, I think.”

  The cool floor was a welcome relief to my burning feet. A sign above an open arch read, “Fitting Rooms.” Slipping in as quietly and carefully as possible, I found myself surrounded by two walls of curtained cubicles.

  My breathing was finally stable. “Rosetta?” I called out.

  Not surprisingly, no one answered.

  “Rosetta, are you in here?” I bent over, peeking under closed curtains until I spotted a pair of black sensible shoes. Far too sensible for this high-end clothing store. Those were restaurant worker-sensible shoes.

  “Rosetta,” I said calmly. “I know you’re in there.”

  The curtain slipped aside slowly. Rosetta’s round face peered out at me. “Miss Marr,” she said innocently, “so funny to see you here. I am trying on some dresses.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes. Dresses. That is why I am in this dressing room. Do you shop here too?”

  Another curtain two stalls down slipped open. A tall, thin black woman with slick, shoulder-length hair stepped out and admired her image in the floor length mirror at the end of the room. She spun a couple of times then caught my eye. “What do you think?”

  Actually, the woman wore the dress very well. I wish I could pull off a sequined number like that. But I was a little too distracted to offered detailed opinions. “Nice,” I said brusquely, hoping she’d choose the dress and move on out.

  “Not too pink?” she asked, craning her neck to see the reflection of her posterior.

  Rosetta poked her head out a little further and gave the woman’s dress a look. “That’s more of a salmon, no?”

  “So, not too pink?” the woman asked again.

  “Not too pink,” I snapped. “Just the right kind of pink. Salmon. The best kind of pink. Now, please let us talk. We have business.”

  The woman’s eyes bulged and her head swiveled. “Excu-use me,” she said with an indignant tone. “You have business. A person tries to be friendly...” She locked eyes with Rosetta who remained partially hidden behind her own curtain. “Are you the Rosetta she was calling for?” the woman asked her.

  “Si. I mean, yes. I like the dress. It glows magnificently against your beautiful chocolate skin.”

  “Well, thank you, Rosetta. I’m Jane.” The woman extended her hand. “You’re so much nicer than your friend here.”

  Rosetta shook her head. “She is not my friend.”

  Jane arched an eyebrow. “Why are you talking to her then? I wouldn’t talk to her.” She spun around again, took another look at her reflection then hollered, “Takeesha! Takeesha! Where are you? I need you to see this dress!”

  I rolled my eyes and bit my lip, wondering where in the world Howard had gone. He’d be helpful about now. “Rosetta,” I said, “Why did your cousin say you were still in Brazil?”

  “I wouldn’t answer her questions,” Jane sniffed. “Plead the fifth, Rosetta, plead the fifth.”

  A phone chirped. It wasn’t mine, I’d handed it off to Vikki.

  Jane reached into her dressing cubicle. “That must be Takeesha.” She stared at her phone, reading a text. “Where in the world did that girl—” She interrupted herself with an ear-piercing shriek. “Kanye! Oh my God! Kanye’s outside the store! Kanye!”

  Howard’s absence was explained. He was probably stalled by a mob of screaming fans outside the store.

  Jane and the salmon sequined dress disappeared in a flash. I never thought I’d be so grateful for Kanye West.

  “Did you want to see Kanye?” Rosetta asked hopefully.

  I shook my head. “Your cousin,” I repeated. “Why did he say you were still in Brazil?”

  She hesitated. “Did he?” She tripped over her words. “I, uh...he, I mean I... I forgot to tell him I had returned?”

  “No.”

  She stared at me for a long time. The wheels were turning, but I suspected from her silence, that she was going to give up the charade. “Are the police coming?” she asked finally.

  I felt like someone had punched me in the gut. Was I really standing in front of sweet Mr. Chang’s killer? This small, bumbling woman?

  “Did you do it?” I asked her. “Did you kill Mr. Chang?”

  “I loved him.”

  “We all loved him.”

  “I really loved him. For many years my heart ached for him. I quit the restaurant thinking he didn’t profess his love to me because he was my boss. But he still did not admit his love, so I asked him to marry me.” A teardrop rolled down her cheek. “I thought he was playing hard to get, you know?”

  “He was gay.”

  “See, I did not know this until I proposed.” She sunk onto the bench in the changing room, defeated. She shook her head. “Why are all of the good ones gay?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  For weeks afterward, I found myself wondering how Rosetta’s yearning naiveté could so easily turn to murderous rage. Vikki predicted correctly, that like Delilah Cleveland, Rosetta would plead insanity. She told me, as the police escorted her away in handcuffs, “He was mine. Only mine.”

  As for the that six-hundred-million dollar jackpot, the winner finally came forward. Or should I say, winners: Mr. and Mrs. Perkins, my next-door neighbors. I thought she seemed awfully chipper the day I’d asked her for their A/C technician’s phone number. The day after the news broke, they split Rustic Woods forever and kept their destination a secret. I can’t say I blame them. That’s a load of money. Probably every friend, relative, and semi-acqu
aintance they ever had would come out looking for a piece of the pie. I hoped they bought a nice island somewhere—a big one with fruit trees and white sandy beaches—because, of course, that’s what I would have done.

  With the girls back from their vacation and summer nearly over, there were many things to do. Back to school clothes shopping, back to school supply shopping, back to school house organizing, and most importantly, nursing the duck, Vito Corleone, back to health.

  Hey, he saved my life. He needed a name.

  Puddles and Vito had resolved their issues early on after he came to live with us. The cats were still unsure. But I had faith they’d all learn to get along.

  One afternoon, just days before school started, I carved out some time to sort through old clothes for donation items. I flipped on the TV and scrolled through the listings looking for something good to watch while I worked. One of my favorite movies, Top Gun, was on, but it was nearly over. Scratch that. I kept scrolling, eventually finding Silverado. I smiled, remembering Moyle.

  My calls to the shelter had all been futile. He had not shown up again.

  Silverado had only just started so I selected it, if for no other reason than in tribute to the odd man who claimed to have been an extra in the film when he time traveled onto the set.

  The choice would keep me entertained while sorting duds.

  I was halfway through the massive t-shirt pile when my attention pulled to a figure in one of the saloon scenes. The focus was on Kevin Kline, but in one far corner, there stood a familiar figure.

  Throwing the t-shirt down, I scrambled for the remote. I rewound and started the scene again, pausing it, but too late. Frustrated, I rewound and started again. This time, when I paused, the familiar figure was frozen well enough for me to analyze his features. Because the scene was focused on Kevin Kline in the foreground, the man’s face was blurred, but the posture was...

  No. Could it be?

  A hat covered the head, but... was it just my wild imagination? Was that a hint of a curly afro underneath?

  I was about to rewind once again when my good sense stopped me. “You’re being silly, Barb,” I muttered. “Just plain silly.” Shaking it off, I clicked quickly to another channel.

  Delving back into the t-shirt pile, I kept an eye on a Happy Days episode, while telling myself to keep my head in the real world. There’s no such thing as time travel. It makes for good romantic films, and that’s it.

  But still, a teensy weensy part of me wondered...

  The end.

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  Other Books In This Series:

  Take the Monkeys and Run (#1)

  Citizen Insane (#2)

  Silenced by the Yams (#3)

  Saturday Night Cleaver (#4)

  Also By Karen:

  Keep Me Ghosted, A Sophie Rhodes Ghostly Romance

  Kiss Me Tate, Love in Rustic Woods

  Enjoy This Barbara Marr Short:

  It’s a Dunder-Bull Wife, A Barbara Marr Holiday Tale

  Bjorn! on the Fourth of July

  About The Author

  Karen Cantwell lives in the wild and crazy suburbs of Northern Virginia. She has no hobbies, she can’t cook or sew, she’s terrible at crossword puzzles, and she can kill a houseplant in a week without breaking a sweat. Luckily, Karen can string a few words together and has a knack for making people laugh, so she chose to write humorous mysteries for a living. The Barbara Marr Murder Mystery, Take the Monkeys and Run, was her first novel, and she’s thankful that people enjoyed it enough to warrant writing more.