Dirty Tricks: A Kate Lawrence Mystery (14 page)

“She’s supposed to drive back
tomorrow evening, which is fine,” May told her, “but I have a feeling she might
start back a little early, depending on what’s going on with Bob. I love her
dearly, but you know what they say about houseguests and fish. We’re having a
great time, but Judy’s smart enough to know when to leave.”

“I need to get a move on, too.” I
signaled our waitress for a check. “I want to spend a few hours with Armando
and get him properly packed before he has to leave for some corporate retreat
thing in Southbury after work tomorrow. Poor thing, he’s really bummed about
it.” I purposely omitted any reference to the pending acquisition of
TeleCom
by
OmniFutures
as I put a
ten-dollar bill on the table and bid my partners goodbye. As I left the diner,
I scanned the parking lot, but Judy was nowhere to be seen.

Eleven

I spent the rest of Sunday helping
Armando with his laundry and packing, then making him paella for dinner. After
we spent a few hours with Gracie in front of the fireplace, we departed from
our normal sleeping arrangements and shared my bedroom for the night.

By the time we were both showered
and dressed on Monday morning, I felt I had done my best to send him off to his
corporate ordeal in reasonably good spirits. Mine, however, were flagging.
Staff team-building, my
arse
, I thought with deep
skepticism, but I hid my misgivings behind a smile as I waved goodbye. I might
not know precisely what the hidden agenda was for the
TeleCom
face-to-face with
OmniFutures
’ managers, but I knew
there was one.

Worse, my gentlemanly Colombian,
who didn’t have an unethical bone in his body, probably didn’t even suspect
that he might well be a casualty of whatever plot was afoot. I seethed with
equal parts of defensiveness and frustration on his behalf, but in truth, not
all of my worrying was for him. My future was at stake here, too.

In this edgy state of mind I let
myself into the Law Barn at a few minutes after nine. Monday was May’s weekly
teleconference with her editors,
webmistress
and
cover designer, but that didn’t usually happen until early afternoon in order
to accommodate “the West Coast crew,” as she called them, so I was surprised to
hear raised voices emanating from her office at this hour.

“It’s not run-of-the-mill
vandalism any more. This is just plain dangerous. What if there had been a
fire, and you’d both been trapped inside, Auntie May? We have to put a stop to
it.”

I was surprised to hear Margo’s
voice, since it was her scheduled day at Vista View, and the anger coloring it
was something I’d rarely heard in all the years I’d known her.

“What’s got you riled up? And good
morning to you all,” I added as I came to stand in the doorway of May’s office,
although from May’s haggard demeanor and Margo’s scowl, it looked like anything
but a good one.
Strutter
perched on the back windowsill,
grimly silent. “Could somebody fill me in here?”

“Someone besides me, please,” May
implored. “I’m too tired to talk.”

I looked from Margo to
Strutter
, who decided to take the lead.

“May’s friend Judy decided to take
off early this morning; but when she went to bring her suitcase out to her car,
which was parked in the street in front of May’s yard, she couldn’t get out of
the house. The inside door opened, but the storm door wouldn’t budge. They
tried the back door, and the same thing happened. Then they tried to get out
through the connecting door to the garage. No dice.”

“The prankster strikes again,” I
surmised, going over to give May a quick hug. “Margo’s right, this is a nasty
one. How did you manage to get out of the house, through a window?”

Margo picked up the story. “That
was a possibility, but not
bein
’ a helpless ninny,
Auntie May figured out how to remove the screen insert from the bottom of the
front storm door, and Judy literally crawled out of the house after
shovin
’ her bag through. Luckily, it fit.” She directed a
pleading look at her aunt. “I really think it’s time to get John involved,” she
told her, apparently not for the first time. “What good is
havin
’
a good-
lookin
’ police officer in the family if you
won’t let him put the fear of the law into this malicious little stinker?” she
added with forced levity.

“I’m not so sure we’re dealing
with a kid,”
Strutter
put in thoughtfully
.“Bats through an open window, maybe.
Pumpkins piled in the
driveway, sure. But deliberately sealing shut the exits to a woman’s home, a
lady who’s known to live alone? That sounds like an adult nut case to me.”

“What were the doors sealed with?”
I asked, curious to know how it was done.

May answered this time, her voice
husky with emotion, lack of sleep or both. “As best I could tell, the storm
doors were glued shut with some super strength epoxy. I’m always careful to
lock all the inside doors and throw the deadbolts, but I never secure the storm
doors. Whoever did this opened them enough to smear globs of
stickum
all along the edges,
then
shut them and walked away. They had more than enough time to dry.”

“What about the connecting door to
the garage?” I persisted. “How did that get sealed? It doesn’t have a storm
door, and how could somebody get into the garage anyway with the outside door
down?”

“Yes, that was a bit more
complicated,” May agreed. “My tormentor popped out a pane of glass in the
window in the back wall of the garage, reached in to unlatch it and pulled
himself in over the sill. Then he smeared glue all over strips of wide duct
tape, applied them to the outside of the connecting door and left the way he
came, through the window. Not terribly imaginative, but effective.” Her tone
was listless. “I called Tommy after Judy left, and he drove right over and got
me out. He’s the one who figured out all of this. It’s an awful mess. It will
take him all day to get the storm doors functional, and the connecting door
will have to be sanded and repainted. I wonder if it’s even worth
it?
”

My partners and I exchanged
alarmed glances.

“Auntie May, what do you mean? Of
course, you need to be able to get in and out of your lovely new house,” Margo
almost wailed. “This is just some kids who think they’re clever. Let me get
John on it, and he’ll get them sorted out right quick.”

Strutter
returned to her original theme. “I’m still not convinced this is the work of
kids. For one thing, the timing coincides with the submission period you just
had for Romantic Nights. From what you’ve told us, you’ve turned down manuscripts
from a whole bunch of folks who don’t deal with rejection well. Were any of
them from around here? These days there are crackpots behind every bush.”

May
laughed
for the first time that morning. “I’ve given that a lot of thought, but it
simply doesn’t make sense. There are far easier ways to exact vengeance.”

“Such as?”
I asked.

May shrugged. “I’m an author as
well as a publisher, remember, and all published authors are wide open to
having our work trashed on review websites. There’s not a thing in the world we
can do about it.”

I didn’t get it and said so. “What
do you mean?”

She smiled kindly at me. “I’m sure
such a thing would never occur to you, but as I’ve said before, hell hath no
fury like a writer scorned, and what easier way to get even with another writer
than to post a
godawful
, nitpicky review of one of my
titles on one or more of the major review websites?”

“Doesn’t that make them look
awfully petty and mean spirited, doing something like that just because you
rejected their manuscripts?”

“
Darlin
’,
I know that’s why they’re doing it, but the other three or four million people
who are scanning through reviews at any given time don’t know it. They just
think somebody thought my book was terrible and posted a review saying so.
Besides, reviewers don’t have to post their opinions under their real names.
These websites conveniently offer them the option of hiding behind aliases.”

“Wow, have you ever taken one of
these cowards to task, posted a rebuttal or something like that?”

“Just once, and believe me, I
never will again. The worst thing you can do is engage publicly with a weasel
who’s already riled up. Every other scavenger hiding in the underbrush will
rise up in a snarling pack to defend one of their own. I had to take down my
post just to stop the backlash.”

“But that’s so unfair!
 
What about the website managers? Couldn’t you
explain the circumstances to them and ask them to delete the unflattering post
about your book?”

“Tried that,
too.
Their position is, it’s a free country, and people can say whatever
they damn well choose as long as they aren’t profane. Injustice is perfectly
fine, but heaven forbid you use a cussword while you’re inflicting it.” Her
grin was wry.

“All while hiding behind fake
names,” I murmured.
 
Then a thought
struck me. “If these people aren’t using their real names, how do you know who
they are?”

May sipped at her coffee and
grimaced when she found it cold. “Fortunately, there have been only a few, and
their snarky comments are totally outweighed by the positive reviews of my
books. But you’d be amazed at how consistent writers are in their bad habits.
They aren’t any more careful about spelling or grammar, for example, and they
use some of the same phrases and expressions that they used in their cover
letters to me. They also usually neglect to black out their state and town,”
she laughed, “which does make it easier for me to pinpoint them.”

I was amazed at the cheer with
which she delivered this news. “Then what do you do about it?”

“Suck it up and deal, that’s what
I do. It comes with the territory. So you see why I find it difficult to
imagine a spurned writer
sneakin
’ around my
neighborhood with a pocketful of bats and Super Glue or a trunk full of
pumpkins.”

“What we need is a plan,” said
Emma firmly, startling us all, and we turned around to stare at her. We’d been
so engrossed in May’s latest drama that we’d been unaware of her arrival. She
stood behind me in the door to May’s office. “Hi, Momma,” she said as I whirled
around, giving me a quick smile that held the hint of an apology.

My surprise must have been
evident. Emma was the last person I expected to see, especially after she’d
been dodging my phone calls all weekend. There followed a flurry of hi’s and
hugs from Margo and
Strutter
, followed by the
appropriate introduction to May.

“There’s no question she’s yours,
is there, Kate?” she commented. “Just look at those light brown eyes flecked
with green, and the color of her hair. I’ve heard a lot about you, Emma. These
women seem to think you have it all, good looks and a fine brain, which I could
use about now.
 
I assume you’ve heard
about my little problem over on Wheeler Road. So what do you suggest?”

She leaned back in her chair and
folded her arms across her chest, calmly awaiting a proposal from my daughter.
Truthfully, we all were. Over the years we’d shared work space in the Law Barn,
we had all come to rely on Emma’s sharp analytical mind and on-the-money
instincts. Chances were she’d have some useful insights here, too. I realized I
was holding my breath and exhaled through my nose, willing myself to relax.

Emma leaned a haunch on May’s desk
and regarded the older woman thoughtfully. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the
consensus here seems to be harassment by neighborhood kids for reason or
reasons unknown. At first the pranks were fairly childish, but this latest one
has escalated from annoying to scary. How am I doing so far?”

May
nodded
solemnly.

“So now the question
is,
who’s really behind this, kids or someone else?” She got
to her feet to look out the back window. “If you ask me, I think it’s both.”

We looked at each other. “How
could that be?” asked
Strutter
.

Emma considered the possibilities.
“Well, you could have a couple of youngsters just messing around, followed by
an unrelated act of harassment by an adult, but that seems totally unlikely.
The incidents are too similar and too close together. So it could be one bunch
of
meanies
that includes kids and adults, like a
whole family that wants to get even with May for something, but what are the
odds? She doesn’t even know the families on Wheeler yet.”

She paused to make her point. “I’m
thinking you have some little kids who are acting on orders from older kids.
First they do something relatively harmless, like the bats and the pumpkins.
Then they move up to putting a potentially dangerous dog in May’s house, and
now they’ve graduated to the big time, effectively trapping May and her visitor
inside the house. That sounds like a ridiculous stunt for an adult, but a
couple of teenagers who are eager to make names for themselves as local
bad-asses, for whatever reason, might think it would be a hoot to get the
neighbor kids to help them do it. Speaking as one who’s not all that far
removed from my misspent adolescence, it’s plausible, believe me.”

Strutter
was the first to speak, perhaps because her son Charlie was a senior at
Wethersfield High School. “Sounds like a good theory, Emma. Maybe I should ask
Charlie who the current troublemakers are at school.”

Margo and I nodded agreement, but
May still looked doubtful. “I’m following your logic, but the big question in
my mind is still why? Why me? I’ve done absolutely nothing to deserve this.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Emma
agreed without hesitation. “It’s the apparent randomness of the harassment that
leads me to think this is the work of teenagers. There probably isn’t a reason.
They’re picking on you because you’re there, and they think you’re an easy
target … older woman, lives alone, new to the area. What they don’t know
is
you’re part of our posse now, and we’ve got your back.”

May grinned at Emma with something
like her customary sass. “I like your style, Emma Lawrence. So
what’s next,
Strutter
talks
to her
son?”

“
Nahhh
,
I’ll do it,” Emma volunteered. “I’ll call him or text him around lunchtime.
What’s his cell number,
Strutter
?”