“Mrs. Newcomber retrieves her cat. The cat gets sick. Mrs. Newcomber takes the animal to her vet. The vet diagnoses the illness as a result of eating deer meat,” said Hadcho.
“Now Mrs. Newcomber is really angry with Mrs. Lever. She shows up on the woman’s doorstep. They fight. Mrs. Lever wins the fight—” Detweiler continued.
“With a little help from a baseball bat,” I added.
“Mr. Ernest might have heard the commotion. He shows up in time to see what Mrs. Lever has done,” said Robbie.
“She reminds him that he’s the one who gave her the deer meat,” Detweiler said. “Therefore, he’s also to blame. He helps Mrs. Lever hoist Mrs. Newcomber’s body into the freezer. While they’re working together, she lets it slip that she’s having a scrapbook party at her house.”
“He’s fed up with her messy place, and now he has reason to worry that she’ll tell one of her new friends what she’s storing in her freezer.” I turned away from the computer and faced the guys.
“He can’t let that happen,” Detweiler said. “He knows she’s taking Tofranil.”
“Because when her car was on the blink, he took her around to do her errands,” I said. “That’s when he noticed her prescription.”
“He gives her an extra dose of her meds.” Robbie squinted as he thought this through. “Our creep helps her to bed, but before he vacates the property he flips the switch in her fuse box and turns off her A/C. With all the reports of people dropping like flies, he figures she’ll drift quietly away. When her body is discovered, there’ll be nothing to link him and the frozen corpse-sicle in her freezer. He’ll be off the hook for hunting deer out of season, and he’s done the neighborhood a service by making it possible for Mrs. Lever’s dump to be replaced with a McMansion or two. In fact, he probably sees himself as an all-around humanitarian. He takes care of the local deer population problem, feeds cats that would otherwise have starved to death, and when it all gets to be too much for him, he cleans up the problem by letting the world see Marla Lever’s ugly mess.”
I turned back to study the computer monitor. “There’s a way to see whether we’re wrong or not. I found bags of frozen meat in Marla’s freezer. Mert took them home and put them in her trash. Stuff in the Dumpster won’t get dumped until we’re done, and she didn’t want the mess to draw more flies. But her trash pickup isn’t until tomorrow. If you want, I can call her and see if she’ll snag a bag for you. It’ll probably stink to high heavens.”
I dialed her number. Robbie checked with Mert to make sure the trash hadn’t gone out. Then he sent a squad car to pick up a bag of the ground meat. “Be sure to take a Styrofoam cooler and some Vicks. Ms. Chambers says that mess already smells terrible.”
“Dinner is ready,” said Linnea in a formal voice. “Miss Sheila expects all of you to get washed up and join her in the dining room. She’s serving my special meatloaf. I made it just for all you gentlemen.”
51
Meatloaf would have been my last choice if you’d handed me a menu. Dead last. In fact, I would rather have gone hungry. A glance at Robbie, Hadcho, and Detweiler confirmed a similar reaction.
The men made lame attempts at dodging the invitation, but in the end, we all sat down at Sheila’s beautifully appointed table. My daughter said grace. Linnea proudly served us…meatloaf.
Despite how good the dish smelled, I couldn’t help but compare it with the bags of venison we’d been discussing earlier. My mind played a slideshow, starring pictures of protozoa and parasites. Ugh, ugh, and double ugh. Fortunately, when the platter came my way, I was able to take a pass by saying, “I’m watching my weight.”
Under her breath, Sheila muttered, “About time.”
The guys, however, couldn’t get out of eating the main dish so easily. Detweiler once confided in me that typically he managed to push aside any ugly thoughts gathered in the course of a day’s business. However, tonight, that strategy didn’t work. The Internet search I’d conducted was too fresh in all of our minds. I watched curiously as each of the guys found a different way to cope with the problem: Robbie slathered his thick slice of meatloaf in ketchup. Detweiler gulped his quickly. Hadcho scooted his around his plate.
Meanwhile, I filled up on salad, veggies, and dessert.
By the time I’d savored the last morsel of Linnea’s awesome strawberry shortcake, my eyes were so heavy that I could barely keep them open. I don’t remember how I excused myself, but I must have, because I slept face-down on the duvet cover on the bed in the guest bedroom.
I awoke with a start, checked my face in the mirror over the dresser, confirmed the presence of railroad track seams running from north to south, and groaned out loud, thinking of my responsibilities. But there was no help for it. I needed to go downstairs and check that Gracie and Martin had gotten their food. The wonderfully comfy bed called my name, but I exercised maximum self-discipline and walked past it to the bedroom door. The sounds of adult voices drifting up from the first floor assured me that other grown-ups were awake. Surely Robbie or Sheila would know if my pets had been fed.
By the time I set foot on the last riser, I had to use the bathroom. Rounding the corner, I headed for the powder room off of Sheila’s kitchen. Since I was in a hurry, I slammed right into Detweiler.
“Sorry,” I mumbled as I tried to back away. The chance meeting discombobulated me. Being half-awake didn’t help.
He grabbed my shoulders to steady me. “Hey, you just wake up?” His voice was low and husky.
I brought my eyes up slowly to his. “I fell asleep, but then I realized that Gracie and Martin—”
“They’ve been fed. Anya and Sheila took care of them. Robbie, Stan, and I have been going over the witness statements.”
He didn’t remove his hands from my shoulders. The warmth of them spread in a tingling rush, as if a million volts of static electricity powered through them.
“I’m glad you’re staying here.” His breath tickled my face.
“Why?”
“I’m worried,” he said, in a near whisper. “The thought of you disappearing…”
“Like poor Trudy.” I turned my face up to his.
“Right.” He lowered his face ever so slightly and used the back of his hand to brush a clump of my curls away. His green eyes searched mine. “If anything happened to you…”
“You’d care?” I leaned in, closer, until our bodies touched.
“Of course I would.” His hands slid down my arms, moving to encircle my waist. I watched as he swallowed, rapidly, and I felt his body responding to mine. How long had I gone without affection? Without touching or being touched? Numbing myself physically because I didn’t want to experience the longing, this longing, this yearning to be closer than close?
He brushed his lips against mine. I stood on my tiptoes and answered his kiss with a deeper, hungrier kiss of my own, wishing that I could draw him in —
“Ahem.” Sheila had come up behind us.
Detweiler and I jumped apart. Over Sheila’s shoulder, I could see Anya’s eyes, big and round and blue, staring at me.
What have I done?
52
While Anya stared at me, Detweiler pivoted on his heel and took off down the narrow hall that led past Sheila’s laundry room. He was headed for the back door. I wished I could follow along behind, but Anya blocked my way.
Nice. He’d left me to face the music, my mother-in-law, and my kid.
“Did you feed Gracie and Martin?” I had managed in a bit of a squeak.
“Yes.” Anya’s gaze was level and cold.
“Good. Did he, uh, do —”
“We took care of everything, Mom. Everything.”
“Anya has been incredibly responsible,” said Sheila. The underlying unsaid message was: You haven’t.
“I’m going back to bed.” I was too tired, too woozy, and too confused to deal with this.
“Sweet dreams.” My daughter’s voice dripped with sarcasm as I climbed the stairs.<
br />
I crawled under the covers. Sleep came in fits and starts. I’d doze, wake up, touch my mouth, and wonder, “Did I dream that?” Then I’d remember Sheila’s startled expression, and the angry look my daughter had worn as she stepped around her grandmother so she could see me better. Even though we’d sprung apart, the guilty expressions on our faces confirmed Detweiler and I had been doing something. With that unerring sixth sense kids have, Anya knew whatever it was had been rated M for Mature Audiences.
My face burned with embarrassment. I chugged all the water in the bedside carafe, but my mouth was still dry.
What have I done? I kept asking myself the same question over and over.
Moving restlessly in Sheila’s guest bed, I threw back the covers and stared at my waist. He had wrapped his arms around my middle. He’d told me that he cared. I mattered to him. He worried about me.
At least twice during the night, I got up and paced the guest room. By the time that the sun came up, brightening all the hidden corners of the room, I felt like I’d run a marathon. (That’s never going to happen, but I can imagine it.) I didn’t want to climb back into bed and surrender to sleep, to a place where I couldn’t control my thoughts. Instead, even though it was early, I decided to get ready for work.
My mother-in-law, the Martha Stewart devotee, had thoughtfully cleared two dresser drawers for me and a space in this particular closet. Linnea, who thought Martha was a make-work joke, had washed and folded clothes I’d left behind. Rummaging through the neatly stacked items, I found an outfit I could wear to the store. I also found something suitable to wear to Marla’s, if need be. I wondered what Mert would learn after she talked to Ali Timmons. Ali seemed like the sort of person who would withhold Mert’s money as retribution if the police showed too much interest in her husband or brother. I hoped Mert had been paid up front.
I sighed. Mert was a good businesswoman. She’d probably gotten half up front.
I hoped so.
I didn’t expect to see Sheila in the kitchen. I had figured that the noises down here had come from Robbie. But no such luck. I rounded the bottom of the stairs and saw her back, rigid as always, despite the fact she was wearing a bathrobe.
“Morning, Sheila.”
“Morning.” She started the coffee maker and depressed the lever on her toaster, but she didn’t turn to face me. “Is there something I can make for you?”
This was good manners talking. She can’t cook a lick. At least, not as far as I know.
“Thanks. I’ll take care of myself. By the way, if I haven’t thanked you for your hospitality, please forgive me. You’ve been wonderful.”
“It helps to have Robbie around, doesn’t it? He’s usually in such a good mood.” She shoved one hand into the pocket of her robe. A waft of her expensive perfume came my way. As usual, she smelled terrific.
“He’s always been incredibly nice to me, and to Anya, of course.”
The conversation sputtered to a halt. I suspected that she was waiting for me to say more, but I clamped my lips together in anticipation of spilling the beans. Their relationship was their business, not mine.
“Have you given any thought to getting married again?” Sheila poured herself a cup of coffee.
The question came out of the blue. Momentarily, I floundered for an answer.
“Not really.”
“You’re very young to stay single.”
“You are, too.”
“I guess. Robbie and I have been friends for decades.”
“He’s a good man.”
“Yes, he is. I can’t imagine being the wife of a law enforcement officer. I’m not sure that our relationship will go any further.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I kept my mouth shut.
“That brings me to the point I want to make.” Still she didn’t face me. I knew something was coming. I steeled myself for it. I didn’t help her though. I didn’t say a word. I simply waited.
“Chad Detweiler is obviously quite taken with you.”
“That was a surprise to me, too. I mean, sort of. Caught me off guard. Did Anya say something?”
“As a matter of fact she did. She asked me if it was wrong for a married man to be kissing a woman other than his wife.”
A punch to the gut. Her words hit me and hurt me and left me gasping for air. Even as I struggled, Sheila stayed as she was, refusing to face me.
“What did you tell her?” My voice came out in a squeak.
“I told her that it wasn’t a good idea, but I went on to say that a mutual attraction can be very hard to resist.” Quietly, she stirred her coffee.
“Oh.”
“Especially when the two people like and respect each other, as you two obviously do.” She added a bit more skim milk to her cup. I noticed her hand was shaking slightly. Standing here behind her, it was easy to see how it trembled.
“Anya asked me if a kiss was adultery, and I said that it wasn’t, but again, it wasn’t a step in the right direction.”
“Thank you.” I meant it sincerely. Sheila could have thrown me under the bus. I deserved it, kind of.
As I watched, she slowly rotated to face me. Her eyes had turned the color of frozen blueberries.
“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Anya.” Sheila’s tone sliced through all the baloney. “Don’t make me regret it.”
53
“You look like twenty miles of bad road, Sunshine. Rough night?” Dodie greeted me as I walked into the storeroom.
Great, I thought, just what the world needs. Another amateur stand-up comedian.
“You could say that.” I put Gracie and Petunia in the playpen. Martin had graduated to a large box where he could play and roll around. I set it on the floor near the dogs and grabbed their water dish to wash and refill it.
“Ready for another fun Friday night crop?”
The dog’s water dish fell right out of my hands. With everything that had been happening at Marla’s house, and in my personal life, I’d totally lost track of the days. Fortunately, my back was to Dodie. Otherwise, she’d have seen the look of pure panic on my face. To cover while I did a mental tap dance, I turned on the spigot and filled Gracie’s bowl. Great. I had, what? Four hours to think of a project? And to come up with supplies?
“Absolutely,” I said.
“Good, because we’ve got twenty people signed up.”
Twenty? I thought about running screaming out of the building. What on earth was I going to do?
“What’s happening with the food?” If she had that covered, I could cope with the make-and-take. Otherwise, I was toast. Burnt toast.
“My daughter told me she has it covered.” Dodie looked pleased that she could point with pride to Rebekkah’s efforts.
I resisted the urge to say, “Great, and I’m going to be featured in Vanity Fair this month with their list of the world’s best-dressed trendsetters.”
“Cool.”
It wasn’t cool. It wasn’t great. It was a crisis. And I had to deal with it.
The good news was that racing around, trying to come up with a last minute project, took every bit of my concentration.
I should have been thinking about what to say to my daughter, how to apologize for my lapse in judgment, and how to avoid Detective Chad Detweiler. But I didn’t have the opportunity to dwell on those weighty sentiments. I had to come up with a make-and-take project. Something thrifty. Something ultra-cool. Something we had the supplies for. Something that I could manage fast. I didn’t have the time to cut out dozens of small pieces or round up supplies.
In my panic, I moved from supply cabinet to boxes to display racks and back to my worktable. As I moved, the pressure inside me built to a crescendo. I can’t explain what happened next, except to say that the pressure got to me. Suddenly, I felt my throat tighten and tears popped out like I’d sprung a leak. I put my head down on the worktable and sobbed. Luckily for me, Dodie was watching one of her news shows on television. She didn’t even he
ar the racket I was making.
I went through about a million, zillion tissues, pulling them one right after another out of the box. “Detweiler,” I groaned. It just wasn’t fair! I loved him. I couldn’t help myself. He was the right guy for me. I’d known it for a long, long time. And he adored my kid. But he was off-limits. Totally out of the picture.
I could not risk my daughter’s approval by keeping him in my life. Because, just as sure as I knew my name, if he was around, I’d be tempted. Lord knows, I’m not much for temptation. I’d rather just give in quickly and take the consequences than to hold off and suffer.
“It’s not fair,” I whined as I mopped my eyes. The lack of sleep and the overwhelming sense of loss culminated in one last burst of tears before I started hiccupping. I yanked the very last tissue out of the box.
The box.
I stared at it.
Dodie always bought those small vanity-size boxes of tissues. They took up less of a footprint than the regular, rectangular shapes. In our recycling bin, we must have had thirty empty boxes.
We would flattened them out and let them pile up.
I turned the tissue box over and over in my hands. Re-imagined, it would make a wonderful small album. The oval aperture would be a perfect frame for an album title or photo. The size was big enough for standard photos. The weight of the cardstock would make it easy to manipulate.
“You need a Diet Dr Pepper?” asked Dodie.
“You read my mind,” I said.
“Whatever it is that’s bothering you, Sunshine, you’ll feel better about it when you’ve gotten more rest. Things always look their worst when you’re tired.” She scooted a cold aluminum can my way.
“Sheila called you.”
“Yes, she did.” My boss didn’t even have the good grace to look embarrassed.
“That’s not fair!”
“She was worried about you.”
“I bet.”
“She had good reason. You ran over her neighbor’s mailbox this morning,” said Dodie. “And you kept on going.”
Kiki Lowenstein Books 1-3 & Cara Mia Delgatto Books 1-3: The Perfect Series for Crafters, Pet Lovers, and Readers Who Like Upbeat Books! Page 64