by Linda Hanna
By the time her shopping was done, Cora was exhausted and couldn’t wait to get home to put the new BrewMeister Mach 1 to the test. She turned into the driveway, pushed the garage door opener, and pulled the Lincoln into their two-car garage.
The overhead door closed with a bump. With the cumbersome BrewMeister box balanced on one hip, Cora juggled the two grocery bags and headed for the door to the house. She clenched her purse strap between her teeth to free one hand, but before she could get the key in the lock, the door eased inward. Cora hesitated. Had she left it unlocked when she went back to get her keys?
She barely processed the thought when a dark blur shot through the open door with a wild shriek. Cora screamed and dropped the BrewMeister box. She slapped her free hand over her pounding heart. Smudge, Dr. Sam’s cat, hid behind storage tubs in the corner and refused to leave his hideaway.
****
Cora moved the stack of mail aside and put her packages on the kitchen counter. Something crunched beneath her shoe. “Where’d this dirt come from?” She bent down to look closer, and followed the gritty trail across the kitchen. With her hands on her hips, she released a disgusted sigh. “Those are footprints. Edward Bruce Timms, you tracked the whole back nine into the house.”
Her irritation grew as she put the groceries away. With a huff, she stomped to the broom closet for the hand vac. Why didn’t Ed clean up after himself? Where was he, anyway?
Cora quickly maneuvered the vacuum across the Spanish tile, and managed to suck up most of the dried mud. Then, it dawned on her—the prints were too small to be Ed’s. Maybe he wasn’t to blame. A cold shiver ran down her spine. Who, besides Smudge, could’ve been in the house while she was gone?
Wendell had a key. Surely he wouldn’t sleuth for those leftover clues without permission.
The telephone interrupted her thoughts. She put the hand vac aside and answered it. “Hello?”
“Cor-rah!” the demanding voice growled. A shiver ran down her spine. “Did you pick up milk at Dalton’s? I noticed you were out.”
She panicked as reality sunk in. Her stalker had been in the house. She started to hang up, but then, remembered that Officer Davis said to pay attention to background noises. Cora listened intently. The loud bark of the neighbor’s dog interrupted her concentration. She took the cordless phone into the living room where it was quieter.
The ragged voice brought her out of her thoughts. “Naughty, naughty Cor-rah has been to the Pegasi Café again.”
She reached for a nearby scratch pad. “What? Where did I go?”
“The Pegasi Café, as if you didn’t know, you trollop.”
“No-o-o, I’ve never even heard of that place.” She quickly scribbled down the name of the restaurant. Wait, did he just call her a trollop?
“Can’t fool me. I followed you.”
The hair on the back of her neck stood at attention. Her first priority was to prove this was no phantom stalker, and no one could do this but her. She had to concentrate on background noises, any clue to his location was all-important. Her back straightened. She could do this.
It was time to stop being the victim. Cora rolled her eyes. Easier said than done.
She jumped when Tinkle-Belle yapped outside the window. Why didn’t Letitia shut her dog up? Cora fought to keep her mind on track.
Since the man’s location proved vague, Cora decided to hone in on his identity. Maybe if she asked real nice, he’d throw her a bone. She cleared her throat. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve been having a terrible time with my memory.” Did that sound convincing? “Now, where did you say we knew each other? Was it school?”
“Nice try,” he quipped. “Aren’t you tired of playing games, yet?”
“What do you mean?” Cora listened for something distinctive in his voice. No accent.
No lisp. No speech impediment of any kind. This bozo wasn’t helping her at all. She had to keep him talking.
“Really living in the lap of luxury, aren’t you, Cor-rah?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“Oh no? It became my business when you came into your vast fortune. We both know where you got it.”
“And where might that be?” she asked with pen poised.
“Art, of course.”
“Art? Is that what this is all about? Art?” She scribbled the word down and looked around the room at their modest collection. “We might’ve invested in a few paintings and some small sculptures over the years, but no big-ticket items like you’re suggesting.”
He swore. “I’ve about had it with this stupid act! You know what I mean.” The sound of psychopathic rage filled his voice. “I didn’t serve that dime to get cheated by you. You have six hours left. Get me the envelope, or Ed gets hurt.”
“Envelope? Wait a minute. I thought we were talking about art.” Her mind swirled in confusion and stymied her concentration. Cora ripped another filled page from her small note pad and quickly scrawled his last statement. Her voice quivered as she warned, “I’ll call the police.”
“And tell them what? Looks like we’re at a stalemate. This is serious. You can’t go running to the cops again because you’re in it up to your eyeballs, and you know it.”
She quickly wrote—”eyeballs.” It suddenly dawned on her.
Tinkle-Belle’s constant barking not only came through her window, but she also heard it on the phone.
The caller was outside.
The menacing voice on the phone spewed death threats. Cora jumped when the doorknob rattled. Breathless, she fled into the shadows of the hallway as the door opened and closed. She flattened herself against the wall.
“Are ya here, Sugar? I brung ya a plate of fried chicken.”
Cora’s mind reeled at the sound of Dahlia’s familiar twang. Her hand shook as she covered the receiver and offered it to her friend. “Listen,” she whispered.
With her bracelet jingling, Dahlia set the plate down. She grabbed the phone and put it to her ear. “Oh, Cora. Nobody’s there, Sugar.”
Humiliation burned Cora’s cheeks.
“I’m as sorry as can be.” Dahlia’s expression grew serious as she shrugged her shoulders. “But just have yourself a listen.”
She took the phone, unable to look directly at Dahlia. “I don’t understand. He had to be close, I heard Tinkle-Belle on the phone. Did you see anyone?”
“No. That scoundrel prob’ly saw me an’ it scared him off.” Dahlia cackled. “I tend to do that to men, don’t ya know?” She put her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t you use your cell phone? Ya shoulda called 9-1-1 while he was on your landline.”
“My land what? Oh, never mind.” Crestfallen, Cora released a long sigh. She desperately wanted someone to hear the man’s voice. Her gaze gravitated hopelessly to her friend. “It doesn’t matter, now.”
“Well, it matters to me! Wendell Floyd an’ Jack was talkin’ about your problem at breakfast. Ya know, I believe them calls are for real. What all did he say this time?”
“Let me sit down first. I’m shaking inside and out.” She slumped into her recliner and fumbled with her notes. “I wrote some of it down like the cop said. Oops!” Papers fluttered around her feet. “I’m so nervous, I’m dropping everything.” Cora leaned over to pick them up, laid them on her lap, and studied her hastily scrawled chicken scratches.
“Here’s one ya missed.” Dahlia said. “It says six hours. What’s that mean?”
Tears pooled in Cora’s eyes. “When he called last night, he gave me twenty-four hours to find the envelope, or he’d get Ed. Today, he reminded me there were only six hours left.”
“I’ll tell Wendell Floyd to get his squirrel gun ready an’ he can be watchin’ out for Ed. If he sees anything strange, he’ll give the police a jingle.”
Cora grimaced. She could just see the headlines now. “Golf Pro Mortally Wounded With Squirrel Gun.” She looked up. “Tinkle-Belle’s been yapping all morning. I wish Letitia would let her in.�
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“An’ that crazy dog’s been scratchin’ at her garage door, too,” Dahlia said. “Letitia must’ve cleaned out her fridge again. She always puts all that smelly stuff in the garage way before trash day.” She leaned forward. “Now, what’s on the rest of them notes?”
“Well, they’re out of sequence now. I remember he mentioned something about swerving on a dime. What on earth does that mean?”
Dahlia threw her head back and let out a hardy laugh. “I think ya mean servin’ a dime. That’s prison talk. A dime is a ten-year sentence. A nickel is five-years an’ so on. He must be an ex-con.” She smiled mischievously. “Just how many do ya know?”
“Ex-convicts? I don’t think I know any, Dahlly. How do you know all that stuff?”
“I learned a lot from Wendell Floyd. Ya know how my man likes to keep up with cop an’ prison lingo.”
Cora nodded. Uncertainty about her friend’s teasing response lingered. She looked down at her notes. “He said we were out of milk. That means he was in here, Dahlly. Inside our home. And he mentioned our art pieces, too.”
Dahlia frowned. “Who all has access to this place?”
Cora slowly counted on her fingers. “Well, you and Wendell.” She paused, and with an arched brow looked for her friend’s reaction. Nothing. “And of course, Lupe and Mateo, but they’ve always been as honest as the day is long.” She thought for a moment. “Then the complex office. They let us know when someone is coming to make sure it’s convenient. Besides, they don’t have the security code. I think that’s it.”
“Ya sure?”
“Oh, wait, there’s the new instructor at the golf course. Roger something. Back when I worked at the county treasurer’s office, Ed had an emergency one day. He gave the last instructor, George, the security code and his keys. Oh, Dahlia!”
Dahlia’s eyes popped. “Cora! Sugar! Do ya hear what you’re sayin’? Ed-fired-George. George-had-your-hubby’s-keys-an’-code.” Her earrings sparkled and swayed as she shook her head. “Now, it sure don’t take a genius to spot a goat in a flock of sheep. Ya’ll are too trustin’. That rascal could’ve made copies! Maybe we should call the cops again.”
“Absolutely not!” she said emphatically. “I don’t want them back here. They didn’t believe me last time. Phantom stalker, indeed. How could they help, anyway?”
“What do ya mean, phantom stalker?”
“The police have convinced Ed that I don’t have any cows in my herd.”
Dahlia cackled. “Ya don’t have what?”
“Cows in my herd. Oh, you know what I mean. You say it all the time.”
Dahlia’s forehead creased into a frown. “Ya mean one cow shy of a herd?”
“Yes. They all think I’m nuts.” Cora narrowed her eyes. “The young cop said I’m so lonely, I’m just imagining stalkers and prowlers to get attention.”
“Horsefeathers. I know ya better than that. What’s wrong with Ed, anyway? He knows ya better, too.”
“You’d think so.” Cora looked around the room, “It won’t help to call the police. They won’t believe there was an intruder. He’s long gone by now, and nothing seems to be out of place, no stolen items to report.”
“We got us a bona-fide crime, here. Someone broke into your home, maybe an ex-con. Don’t ya realize how risky it is to let him get away with it? He wants somethin’ from ya, so he’s not gonna stop ‘til he gets it. He’ll be back.”
“I know breaking and entering is a crime.” Cora threw up her hands. “Still, without evidence, they’re not going to believe me.”
Dahlia stood. “Maybe there’s some proof around the door.”
“When I got home from Dalton’s, the back door was ajar. It’s the second time this week. So nobody had to actually break in.” Cora sighed. “I don’t remember leaving it open, and I can’t believe Ed would.”
“Maybe Ed wasn’t the culprit.”
“Since you brought it up, do you think Wendell might’ve come in search of clues? He’s so determined to solve this case.”
Dahlia nodded. “Could be. He leaves more clues than he finds. Still, did ya take a close look at the door? It just mighta been jimmied.”
“I didn’t look. I was loaded down with groceries and stepped on crusty footprints. The phone rang and then you came.”
“Back the train up! Footprints? Ya never told me about that.”
“What’s to tell? After all that rain we had. Someone walked in with muddy shoes, it dried, and I haven’t had time to think beyond that.”
Dahlia sighed. “Why don’t we have us a look-see?”
They quickly headed down the hall.
Cora stopped short. “Oh, I didn’t put the vac away.”
“Wait a minute. Ya mean to tell me ya cleaned up the footprints? That was evidence.”
Cora’s mouth flew open as she contemplated the likelihood. “All I could think of was not tracking the dirt through the house.”
Dahlia looked heavenward in disbelief. “Cora, Sugar, how can a smart cookie like you be so rock-ribbed about catchin’ the stalker; yet so slow on the uptake in findin’ the partic’lers?”
“Everything happened at once.” Cora’s eyes began to puddle. “Smudge was in the house, and I blamed Ed for the dirt…and I feel so stupid, Dahlly.”
“Now, now, don’t fret so, Sugar. Bless your heart. You’re goin’ through a lot of craziness right now. Everybody’s got their limits. Are ya sure ya punched in your code when ya left?”
“I was in and out a couple times,” Cora rubbed her head. “Anything’s possible.”
“I’ll tell ya what, let’s go ahead check the door for jimmy marks just to be sure.”
The two women went to the side door to examine the casing. A loud thump followed by a clatter of metal on metal startled them. They turned and followed the noise.
Dahlia stepped down into the garage. “What was that?”
“It sounded like Ed’s golf clubs fell over.” Cora’s voice lowered. “Oh Dahlly, someone’s out there.”
“Calm down, Sugar. Turn the light on an’ I’ll go check.”
Cora watched as her friend tiptoed away from her. A scream came from the same direction. “What is it, Dahlly? What’s wrong?”
Dahlia’s raucous laugh resonated off the walls. “Mystery solved. Doc’s crazy cat jumped out at me. You get outta there, Smudge.”
“That’s a relief.” Cora headed for the golf bag. “You get the cat, I’ll pick up the clubs.” When the clubs were gathered, Cora said, “Oh. I know how he got in. I closed the overhead and noticed the door to the house was ajar.”
“That’s right, we were gonna check for pry marks, weren’t we?” The duo went back to the door. “Naw, no marks at all.”
Cora’s eyes welled. “If only I hadn’t cleaned up those footprints.”
Dahlia patted her shoulder. “Forget about that. Ya have to move forward from where ya are. The stalker’s gonna slip up somewhere along the line, an’ then he’ll be bear bait.” She led Cora back to the kitchen where they sat at the counter. “Let’s give our minds a break an’ relax.”
Cora sighed. “Sounds good to me.”
Dahlia moved a box out of her way and noticed the label. “Hey, ya got yourself a BrewMeister. Let’s try it out.”
“OK, I’ll get the coffee. Would you wash the new carafe for me?”
The women got busy and ninety seconds later the aroma of coffee filled the kitchen. They’d finished half a pot before the scout cookies entered Cora’s mind. “You were right about the BrewMeister. The coffee’s delicious and I have something to go along with it.” She brought the Whippersnappers to the counter and hoped her friend would gorge herself. Cora deliberately omitted the story of her encounter with Brandi at Dalton’s. Would Dahlly still defend her if she knew about the escalating mental lapses? Why chance it?
Dahlia filled their cups for the third time. “Best get them scout cookies put away before I gobble ‘em all up. Ed would tan my hide.”
&
nbsp; “Oh, he can part with a few Whippersnappers.” Cora smiled. “He won’t miss them at all. Thanks for the tip on the BrewMeister.”
“You betcha. I only take cream o’ the crop sponsors.” Dahlia looked at her watch. “Listen, it’s three-thirty. Wish I could stay longer, but Wendell Floyd invited his buddy to eat with us, again. Those two have been burnin’ the midnight oil tryin’ to solve your mystery. They’ll get to the bottom of it soon. Ya just wait an’ see! Remember, ya can count on my prayers too.”
Cora hugged her friend and whispered. “Thank you, Dahlly.” She was consoled and gratified to know the three of them backed her.
****
Once her friend was gone, Cora looked down at the sparkling clean floor. Dahlly was right. The only possible evidence of her phantom stalker’s existence had been swept up. She sat at the counter and buried her face in her hands. How would the authorities ever be convinced without proof?
Her eyes caught sight of the morning mail still on the counter. She halfheartedly sorted through it. Big surprise. It was all for Ed. Why didn’t he take it to his office?
Cora rubbed her forehead and headed for Ed’s office with the mail. You just can’t depend on men. Whoa! With that thought in mind, could she depend on Wendell to keep Ed safe through the night? Squirrel gun indeed. A shiver ran down her spine. What else could she do? This would not be a peaceful night.
The phone rang.
Crud. Why hadn’t she turned the ringers off when Dahlia suggested it? She determined to take her friend’s advice after this call. The receiver felt heavy as she lifted it to her ear. Cora took a deep breath, and waited for him to make the first sound. She swallowed. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”
7
At breakfast the next morning, Cora yawned at least a dozen times, nibbled at her prune Danish and watched the steam curl from her husband’s freshly filled mug. Ed was oblivious to the chaos that hampered her sleep the night before. The normal night sounds were bad enough, but when police lights swirled on the bedroom wall, she nearly came unglued. Ed snored right through the cops questioning Wendell outside the bedroom window.