“Mrs. Kravitz?” She frowned.
“You know, the nosy neighbor from the sixties TV show, Bewitched ?” The frown stayed put. “Don’t you ever watch TV Land? Darren? Samantha? Witchcraft?”
“Of course, I know who Mrs. Kravitz is. My sister is addicted to old TV comedies.” She followed him to the kitchen and put the pie on the counter. “We can’t call the cat Mrs. Kravitz. What kind of name is that for a cat?”
He grinned and opened the cabinet for plates. “Remember how Mrs. Kravitz always spied on Samantha, hoping to catch her doing her witchcraft? Since I moved in, I’ve had this feeling of being watched. This led me to deduce that, because I have no snoopy neighbors, it has to be the cat.”
Her pretty eyes darted away, confirming his suspicions. She was his Mrs. Kravitz. But would she confess if pushed? Or would she let him blame the poor innocent cat?
“I agree. It has to be the cat.” A blush stained her cheeks. “Did you know that two actresses played Mrs. Kravitz?”
Yep, let the cat take the rap and deflect his attention. He began to see a pattern here. When she was nervous she blurted out random facts.
“You’re right.” The fact that she was a terrible liar gave him hope that eventually she’d admit to spying. Feeling mischievous, he decided to play into the moment and mess with her and maybe learn a few things about Summer O’Keefe.
First, he flexed his pecs under his form-fitting t-shirt to see if her interest was personal. Her lips parted and she stared. Yep, she was interested and trying hard not to be. Good. He casually flexed his arms and made the lower edge of his tattoos dance. She twitched and turned away.
After putting her off her game he hit her with a mental kick, “I think it’s possible that my grandfather has an old cat scratching post in the basement behind the power tools.” He stepped around behind her and said softly in her ear, “Would you like to help me look for it?”
If she thought he was a killer, the basement should send her fleeing. Since she was attracted to him and fighting the feeling, this combination should stop any further interest. He didn’t need a woman in his life, and certainly not one from next door. Close proximity made for uncomfortable moments post-breakup.
Worse, he was far too interested in her. If she stayed in her own yard with her own toys, she’d help them both.
True to his prediction, she tensed. “I really can’t stay. I just wanted to drop off the pie. See you.”
And she was out the door before he could offer her ice cream with the dessert.
Chuckling, he walked over to shut the door. It must have taken all of her courage to come over. To offer her a visit to the basement where he’d offed and dismembered his victims was more than she could take.
It was time to up the game and seal off the line between their yards. He wandered off to the spare bedroom and scanned all the critter faces. In daylight, the collection was just a sad mix of pretty awful artifacts. At night, the eyes followed him everywhere.
He chose a pair of red squirrels he affectionately called Bill and Ted that were particularly ratty. He wrapped them in garbage bags with enough recycled newspaper to resemble a lumpy torso. After adding a stack of old magazines to weigh it down, he was finished. With a full moon, Summer should have quite a view of his antics. Expelling his best diabolical laugh, he settled down at his computer for some distraction while he waited for the clock to strike midnight.
Chapter 8
Summer stepped away from the window when her computer pinged. Since she’d been investigating Jason, she hadn’t been online much. Although she loved hunting criminals on the Web, she’d discovered why Taryn and Jess had fun with personal investigations. Of course, had Jason been one-toothed and unbathed, investigating him wouldn’t be nearly as entertaining.
Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the name on her screen. She eagerly dropped into her chair. He’d contacted her off-site. This was against the rules, but sometimes rules were meant to be bent. Right?
PoeFan7: Are you there Hotsummernites?
Hotsummernites: I’m here.
PoeFan7: I’ve missed you.
Smiling, she reached for her keyboard. Poe was just the person to distract her from thinking about her dreamy neighbor and his creepy old basement.
Hotsummernites: I bet you say that to all women under eighty.
PoeFan7: Nope. Just you.
Warming, she twisted the chair back and forth. Without real names or faces, Poe could be anyone. He could be a married plumber from Topeka, a lifeguard from LA, or the guy who tuned up her car at Larry’s Oil Change. The only criteria for passing through the gateway into this exclusive club was that you had to prove you could find two wanted felons and promise to sign an online waiver that you wouldn’t try to hack fellow members for personal info.
Tonight she chose a lifeguard for Poe. Mentally morphing him into a Baywatch hottie, she was sure he wasn’t calling to ask her on a cyber date, so she kept to business.
Hotsummernites: Any new solves?
PoeFan7: One, but why don’t we talk about you?
Okay, maybe this was a cyber date. Her nerves tingled. Although she knew it was wrong to encourage him to contact her off-site for personal reasons, she could not help wanting to flirt a little. What would it hurt?
Hotsummernites: Tsk. Tsk. No personal questions.
PoeFan7: You won’t even tell me what you’re wearing?
She looked down at her jeans and pink blouse. Her toes were painted the same shade as her top. It harkened back to her pageant days and was the only thing from those years that she’d kept. She did like color coordination.
Hotsummernites: I’m wearing pink nail polish.
Smiling, she left the rest unsaid. Let his imagination go wild. He didn’t disappoint.
PoeFan7: You’re killing me!
The clock chimed midnight. If Jason planned to bury body parts, she should set up watch. Besides, why follow up the comment when leaving him hanging was more fun?
Lord, she hoped he wasn’t married!
Hotsummernites: I have to go. My six kids need tucking in.
PoeFan7: Wait!
She signed off. A quick glance outside confirmed Jason hadn’t wandered outside while she was occupied so she hurried downstairs to retrieve the camera that Taryn had pressed into her hand before she left work. Even though the thing had more bells and whistles than a Texas Labor Day parade float, she figured it couldn’t be too hard to get a couple of decent photos.
Movement caught her attention a few minutes later. Jason exited his back door wearing his grim reaper hoodie. She grabbed for the camera lens cap, certain she’d get good shots for evidence in his murder case.
How wrong she was! Summer panicked when she couldn’t get the cap off. Jason turned back inside the house. She jerked a twisted the darn cap, while unable to look away from the action next door. He bent to reach for something.
Similar to a vulture trying to drag an oversized and dead armadillo off the road, she watched Jason strain to haul what had to be a torso out the back door, thump it down the three steps to the yard, and pull it out to the garden. Once there, he straightened and did several extreme back stretches.
Retrieving the shovel, he measured out a rectangular shape with his boots and commenced digging the biggest hole yet.
Good grief! He was a killer!
Finally, the lens cap popped off and clattered to the floor. Summer braced the camera in the windowsill to counterbalance her shaking hands. It turned out that trying to focus the darn thing without reading the instructions first was her downfall. The best picture was a blurred shot of the porch light. Meanwhile, he was up to his knees in the hole!
Darn, the man worked fast! Clearly he’d become skilled at his job. Did he leave a path of corpses wherever he went? What city was he from? She should find out!
Freaked at that point, she decided enough was enough and ran for the phone to dial 911. She didn’t care how cute he was. He needed to be in jail.
/> After telling the dispatcher a brief summary of her story, and earning a long pause from the woman as if she was deciding if the call was a prank, she promised to send a patrol car to Jason’s house. If there was a serial killer running around Ann Arbor, the dispatcher obviously wasn’t taking any chances.
“Thank you,” Summer said and clicked off. Going back to her post, she nudged up the window and waited for the sound of sirens. And waited. Jason finished the grave with a hand span measurements of both the bag and the hole, dumped the torso in with a grunt, shoveled and stomped the dirt down, and returned to the house, whistling.
Her stomach sank. He was getting away!
It took a full fifteen minutes before a siren-free patrol car drove up to the house, another eighteen for the officer to go inside and speak to Jason, followed by the thirty seconds that he took to exit the house and drive off.
“What the heck?” The officer didn’t even go into the backyard! There were fresh graves all over the place!
Frustrated, she called Taryn and explained the situation on a few rushed sentences, ending with, “So he’s getting away with murder and the police don’t care!”
Taryn yawned and Rick’s mumbled voice came through the phone. “It’s Summer.” Taryn said. “She has a murderer living next door,” she explained briefly to Rick.
“Tell her to stay on her own side of the fence. She has a decent chance of escape if he has to launch himself over while holding a knife,” Rick replied. A rustle of sheets sounded like he rolled over to go back to sleep.
A prickle ran down Summer’s spine. “I called for advice, not to be mocked. I’m seriously concerned about this. If you won’t help, then go back to sleep.”
“Summer, wait!” Taryn said before Summer hung up. “I’m sorry. Rick’s sorry. Please tell me what happened in detail.”
Though still annoyed, Summer complied. She did need advice and who else could she call? Her friend was a crack investigator. The story spilled out.
“How can I find out what’s happening over there if I can’t even get the cops to poke around,” she said at the end. “I know the likelihood of him offing people is small, but if he’s not a killer, why all the secrecy and what’s in those holes?”
“Good question. Did you get pictures?”
Summer wanted to kick the camera into the fireplace. “I couldn’t figure out the focus and the night lighting feature. I couldn’t use my phone either. The screen light would have given me away. I got nothing.”
Taryn went silent for a minute. “My advice would be to keep watching and to use the cat like you said. But, be careful. Make sure you text me or Jess when you go over there and text when you leave. Also, take a can of pepper spray, just in case.”
Summer had those same thoughts but liked the addition of texting and pepper spray. A face full of Mace would fell anyone. Well, except Alvin but that was another story.
“See, I knew you’d give me good advice,” Summer said, her annoyance fading. “This is why I stay in cyber space. I’m not a very good field PI.”
“At least you’re trying,” Taryn said firmly. “Given a few more weeks, you’ll be ready to take down cheating spouses and dog nappers.” Her voice muffled. Then she scolded something about Rick keeping his hands to himself and came back. “Maybe you’ll even solve Irving’s hate-mail case.”
Taryn was referencing a couple of recent cases. “I think I’ll leave that to you and Jess. You know I’m not suited for interviewing witnesses and chasing car thieves.”
“You’re more badass than you think, honey. Don’t give up.”
They said goodnight and Summer stared at her phone. She’d had self-defense and weapons training but no one, including her, ever called her a badass before. This brought a smile. Did badasses wear pink capris and drive pastel-blue convertibles?
Well, this one did!
She stood and went to the window. The Nealys’ porch light was out and there was no sign of Jason. She scanned the half-windows of his basement and the lights were out there, too.
Even body choppers had to sleep sometime. “I will find out what you’re up to, Jason Parker, or die trying.”
* * *
While Summer was embracing her inner warrior, Jason was lying naked on his bed, staring at the ceiling, and grinning. Summer had called the cops on him. Apparently she did have a limit to how much suspicious nightly activity she could take without breaking. A large torso was it. And he’d played to his audience.
He glanced over toward her house through a thin space between the curtains. “She’s something.” The woman was a kook, but damn cute.
Imagining her rolled up below the window with her cell clutched in her hand, waiting for a swat team to storm his house, he knew she was disappointed with the outcome: one officer, no lights, and no siren. And no arrest.
The grin turned into a chuckle. She had more grit than he’d thought. Beneath that curvy package was an inner Mrs. Kravitz. In fact, it was Summer that he’d named the cat after, not the fictional TV character.
Of course, he’d never tell her that.
He admitted to being surprised when Officer Grady showed up at his door. He wasn’t surprised to find out that he was suspected of chopping up a body. At least that suspicion was confirmed. Thankfully, Grady was a fan, and after signing a book to Grady’s wife, while explaining the critter thing and showing off the collection, he and the officer shared a laugh about nosey neighbors. Poor Grady lived next door to his snoopy mother-in-law. At least Summer was not an unpleasant relative.
Neither did Summer peek into his windows at all hours. Yet, anyway. After the 911 call, he wouldn’t put anything past her. She was more convinced than ever that he was a psycho.
A loud yowl brought him upright. A second yowl took him to his feet. It sounded like someone was killing the cat.
Padding bare-assed to the laundry room, he pushed open the door. Mrs. Kravitz hit him in the shin and waddled past him as fast as her distended belly over skinny legs could take her. In seconds, she vanished into the bowels of the house, without a single thank you for freeing her. Clearly she’d had enough of confinement.
He smiled after her. “Was it something I said?”
Chapter 9
“It looks like I’ll be in Minneapolis for the next two days,” Jason I said as he watched Summer toss cat treats under the couch. Ever since her waddle to freedom, Mrs. Kravitz was in full house exploration. He barely saw her except when she darted from one room to another, or came out for food.
“For business?” Summer said and got on her hands and knees for a better view under the couch. “Or pleasure?”
He got a PG-rated view down the V of her t-shirt. Her bra was yellow with a tiny daisy between the cups. Would her panties match? His mouth went dry.
“Business.” Clearing his throat and dragging his eyes from her cleavage, he asked, “Would you mind watching the place for me? I’d hate to be burglarized while I’m gone. I keep some valuable machetes and other sharp tools in the basement that I’d hate to lose.”
Tension stiffed her body. He bit back a grin. Two days had passed since the police visit and she hadn’t brought it up. If she knew that he knew she’d called 911, guilt didn’t show on her face. She’d shown up early this morning bearing cat treats and a sunny disposition.
“Of course,” he continued, “Mrs. Kravitz needs watching. The vet did say she’s close to popping.”
He joined her on the floor. The cat stared out with big greenish-yellow eyes. She wasn’t quite ready to sleep on his bed, but she also hadn’t growled at him since bath night. He considered her change in attitude an accomplishment.
“I can watch the house and the cat.” She smiled when Mrs. Kravitz reached out a paw to scoop in a cat treat. “Yes. Good girl. Eat it. These treats are good for your babies.”
The cat ate one and then a second one. “She likes you,” Jason said. And he liked Summer, too, despite her overactive imagination. She was an unusual woman, but in a
n interesting way; like a Texas tumbleweed rolling through his life on the whirl of a warm summer breeze.
“I assume she was a pet and not feral. Otherwise she’d be clawing off our faces,” she said. Her butt was in the air as she reached under the couch to pet the cat. Her cream-colored capris shaped her ass into the top of an upside down heart. He was getting very turned on.
“Like a kitty Michael Myers,” he replied and adjusted to hide his growing bulge. Referencing the Halloween movie, he watched Summer twitch. It was truly diabolical to tease her. He’d thought she’d break days ago, yet here she was, with a can of pepper spray in her cleavage, or at least that’s what he suspected was the small black thing nestled between her breasts. The woman was ready to lay him out if he tried to wrestle her into the basement.
Hell, if she didn’t come clean by Monday, he’d tell her the truth before she called the FBI or CIA on him.
Due to her antics, he still considered her slightly stalker-ish, but she was growing on him. If she turned out reasonably normal, they might become friends.
“Business doesn’t sound fun.” She sat back on her heels. “What is it you do exactly?”
Since he didn’t know her well, he decided not to spill his NY Times bestseller status or the fact that he was the author of the Mick Malone books. He liked his peace and quiet. “I work for a publisher. I travel quite a bit for my job.” Mostly for book signings and speaking engagements.
“Really? Internationally, too?”
“Sometimes.”
A cloud passed over her face. Why?
He let it pass. Figuring out the inner workings of her mind could take forever. If ever. Women were complicated, and Summer more so. She was a fascinating puzzle.
“I should get ready for my trip. The flight leaves at eight.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out his keychain. He removed one key. “Here’s the house key. You know where the cat food is. If you have any questions, you have my cell.”
She pushed to her feet. “When will you be back?”
“Late Sunday night.”
The Sweetheart Game Page 6