Killer Cousins (3 page)

We looked out the back door, where people still milled. The detective who questioned us was searching behind bushes near the porch.

“Detective Renwick,” Stevie said, “did y’all find anything?”

“Nothing definite yet.”

We went through the hall toward the front door. This time I paid more attention since I wasn’t following police. The old house held a mainly comfortable feel. It sported earth tones with an oak floor and walls painted an unusual shade blending yellows with the green of spring leaves. Her living room held sofas and chairs in midnight blue and black, yet felt airy because of lots of glass. The extra large windows, set of stemmed glassware on a glass serving tray, and artwork in shapeless watery colors added to the spacious feel.

“Pretty room,” I mentioned as we walked out.

“It’s my career area,” she said. I looked at her curiously. She explained, “Feng Shui.”

I nodded. I’d heard of the ancient Chinese art of arranging people’s homes to enhance their lives. If that’s what she’d done, good for her.

Stevie crossed her porch, and I again noted the round crystal hanging on a red string about eight inches from the porch’s ceiling. Probably more Feng Shui beliefs. She took off down the steps and reached the sidewalk ahead of me. The sidewalk sloped in front of the house next door. “That’s where April lives,” she said as we walked near. The unassuming brick house resembled Stevie’s—tan brick with green shutters and a front porch. April lived at the corner with a tall wooden fence behind it like Stevie’s. Because they resided on the side of a rocky mountain, there were no neighbors in back, only a wide section of grass and then a road winding up the incline.

“How could April see who was on the street back there?” I asked.

“The land slopes so much, we can see most of it from our back porches.”

We rounded the corner, and I admired the view of lush mountains. Intruding on the scene’s quiet, Stevie kept snapping her fingers. She huffed while she walked. Yes, it was definitely time for her to give up the smokes.

“Weird car,” she said when we reached my PT Cruiser that I’d parked on the grass next to the road behind her house. We eyed the police units still parked near, their yellow tape crossing her gate. We looked away.

“That’s the beauty of renting from a new car lot. You get so many choices,” I said, admiring my Cruiser’s brown side panels. I noted the grass was cut back here, much different from the tall grass I’d discovered in my cousin’s yard.

I popped the doors and the hatchback. “We’re here,” I told Minnie, removing her from the cup holder in front.

Stevie yanked up my suitcase and satchel.

“This is my sidekick.” I proudly held out my little cactus. Minnie’s triangular green stem stood straight again, one of my major achievements. And all of the poufs on her pink head appeared healthy. “She was grafted to look this nice.”

Stevie’s eyebrows wrinkled as she skimmed me and my plant. I tried to take my luggage, but she kept a firm grip, maybe needing to keep her hands busy. We backtracked along the sidewalk without speaking. I listened for cops’ voices, but instead heard April.

“Cherish!” she yelled. “Get back in here! I can’t come out there now.”

“Aw,” the child griped. Their door slammed, probably Cherish going back in.

“April seems especially protective,” I said. “Their yard is fenced, but she won’t let the girl play out there without her.”

“An unexplained death just took place next door,” Stevie snapped.

“But April was watching every person that passed behind their fence even before she knew about the body.”

The hard set of Stevie’s jaw let me know I shouldn’t ask more. The pang of nicotine withdrawal was probably striking.

In her house Stevie brought my luggage down the hall. I set Minnie on a countertop near the kitchen window. “You’ll get some sunshine here. Don’t be bothered by all the strange stuff. You can look at the pretty colors and glittering objects.”

Minnie seemed to lean toward me, and if it were possible for a cactus to grin, I was certain she did. I’d learned that talking to plants was a good thing.

Stevie reappeared. “You’re all set in the guest bedroom.”

I hoped that wasn’t the one with the candles and altar. “So now we’ll go and look for a killer?”

“Right after I straighten up in here.” She set the used mugs in the sink and tossed April’s empty cans and the newspaper in the trash. “Oh, this looked interesting,” she said, retrieving the paper. “A Cajun restaurant opened. Maybe we can check it out later.”

I replied with a noncommittal grin. Stevie didn’t know anything about its owner. I knew so much about Gil. His deep-throated laughter. And hunky body.

Heat rushed through me.

Nope, if Gil was around town, I definitely needed to avoid him.

“Let’s go look for a killer, if there was one,” I said, concerned about the man who had died. That was also the major way to avoid temptation. Catch the bad guy or gal, then hop on the next jet to Acapulco, where I was headed before I detoured to see about Stevie.

“Of course, he could have died of natural causes.” She put away condensed milk and a canister marked
Sugar.
No wonder her coffee tasted so good. And no wonder she’d puffed up so much. So would I if I kept drinking coffee she fixed. I wasn’t trim now and feared that adding many more pounds might make me resemble a box that a stove came in.

Stevie washed the mugs. I zapped a damp towel across the table and stove, noting a mirror on the rear of the stove and facing the kitchen. “There.” I set my towel beside hers. “Now we can go.”

She grabbed a dry towel, dried the surfaces, and put everything away.

All of this was her usual practice? Or aftereffects from having no nicotine since last night?

Out on the back porch, we sat on cushioned rockers. Police still inspected the gate and parts of the yard. They looked at us. I nodded at them, then stared at the section of sloping road visible beyond the fence. The dead man was gone. I was shaky inside.

“See if anyone out there looks like a killer,” Stevie said, her fingernails going
click-click-click
against her chair arm.

Our position gave us a limited view of the road. I stood to see out there better.

A couple of cars and trucks passed. Birds screeched. A boy laughed. Brakes hissed on a heavy vehicle, then it accelerated. “Sounds like a garbage truck,” I said. “But it seems late for garbage pickup.”

“Maybe their truck broke down.”

“Maybe.” I listened to the repeated hiss and pickup with forward motion. A school bus might make similar noise, but it seemed way too late for one to be dropping off kids. “But,” I said, “what if it’s late because the people on it stopped to kill someone before getting garbage?”

Stevie stared at me. Took quivery breaths. Turned away.

“Right,” I said. “A garbage truck would be the perfect body-disposal vehicle, so why would people on it want to drop the body off in your yard?”

She shuddered. “You are so weird.”

“
I’m
weird?”

People in her yard stared at me.

I huffed a little and decided to let it go. “Who knows about all the people we see often, maybe those who pass our houses every day?” I asked Stevie more pleasantly. “Some of them walk or run. Vehicles drive around us all the time, and we hardly pay attention.”

Blunt fingernails increased their annoying clatter.

“And,” I said, turning to see the white truck braking and men from it picking up trash down the road, “we don’t care who comes in our yards presumably to check our meters or make deliveries. But because people inspect our meters or deliver to our houses, does that mean we can trust them? That they aren’t killers?”

“Nobody guarantees it.”

“And even if someone wears a uniform or drives a labeled vehicle, that person isn’t necessarily a representative of the place. Or the people we shop from could be killers.”

“Grmm.” Stevie’s throat sound was an agreement, mulling, or desire for a cigarette.

Detective Renwick approached. “We’re leaving for now. We’d like that police tape to stay up until our investigation is finished.”

“Can you tell us anything now?” I asked.

“Not yet. Let us know if you think of anything else.” Renwick followed the other officers out the gate. Their cars started and drove off. All grew quiet.

I crossed my arms. Stevie crossed hers. I felt my elastic waistband to make sure my cell phone was still hooked to my slacks under my shirt, in case I needed it. We watched for suspicious-looking people.

Few cars passed. Two white-headed women the same height ambled alongside the road. A large man in a black cap and gray jogging clothes strolled past. He stared at Stevie’s fence and then us. He gave a whistle, and a brown Lab ran close to him.

The pulse in my head beat stronger. I slid my eyes toward Stevie. She stared grim faced at the road with what seemed unfocused vision. Of course, with her luminescent eyes, who could tell? Did she know that man who’d walked past? Or was she worrying about the dead one? Had that Lab come into this yard—maybe with his owner? Had my fingers lain in that Lab’s poop?

I smelled my hand, glad not to find lingering poop odor.

Shivers accompanied the bumps sprouting across my arms. The evening deepened shadows in trees surrounding us. Stevie appeared in a trance. She sat rock still except for her tapping fingertips.

“Did you think of anything?” I asked her.

“No. But it’s almost time for my meeting. We need to get dinner.”

We went in and she fixed more coffee, thrusting condensed milk and sugar into her mug. “Want some?”

I shook my head. “Maybe it was just his time to die.”

Her intense look gave me the heebie-jeebies. She leaned against the counter, her angry eyes taking in Minnie beside her wide hand. I imagined Stevie dropping that hand on my plant. She could mash Minnie with no problem.

“I hope you don’t mind if I leave my cactus there,” I said, shifting closer.

“Don’t mind at all.” Stevie filled a cup with water and dumped it on Minnie.

“Oh no. A cactus doesn’t need much water.” I grabbed Minnie’s pot and moved it farther from the sink. “I watered her too much at first but then learned better.”

Stevie didn’t seem impressed by my knowledge. “We need to eat.” She swigged her coffee and washed everything before I could get in a good blink. I wasn’t going to dry only those things, but she did, and then set them in place. “You want leftovers, or to go and try that new place?”

New chills skittered through me. Leftover whatever Stevie’s fridge held—or mouthwatering cuisine at the place that might also hold Gil Thurman?

Uh-uh, nada,
I told my sexual yearnings. I tried to summon enthusiasm. “Leftovers would be great.”

Stevie heated casseroles in the microwave.

Her creamed spinach tasted especially good. So did the lasagna and garlic bread.

“This is all wonderful,” I said, finally setting down my fork, “but I think my clothes just shrank three sizes.”

She heaped another spoonful of lasagna onto her plate and grabbed more bread, her eyes fluttering downward like someone who might be embarrassed. “I’ve gotten bigger since you last saw me.” Her gaze met mine. “But it’s because I have to take medicine. For my arthritis.” She raised a slightly bent finger.

“Medicine can be heck,” I said, but couldn’t help thinking of the gazillion fat grams in this meal and all of her mugs of coffee.

She brought out pralines for dessert—pralines! I had to eat one and a half while she gobbled three between washing dishes. I dried things, and she put them away. “Don’t you ever use your dishwasher?” I asked, tiring of this housework I always carefully avoided. “Or maybe we could stop somewhere, and I’ll pick up lovely throw-away dishes. They’re my favorites.”

“Let’s go to my meeting. I need support.”

We rode in her Jeep Cherokee. She zipped through skinny dark roads that snaked down the mountainside, making me glad she was driving. “I’m so proud of you for quitting smoking,” I said.

Her lips pressed together. Veins in her neck protruded. Her knuckles whitened while her hands tightened on the wheel. She passed a truck, barely squeezing through the curve, then the headlights of a larger truck came toward us. I held my breath. She veered toward the shoulder, the mountainside plunging beside us.

Not soon enough we were on level ground. I started to breathe normally when she nosed into a spot near a half dozen other cars. A pole lamp lit this small patch of concrete nestled between trees near what looked like a small park.

“This is it.” Stevie shoved out of her car.

We walked on a path between trees made visible only by a couple of lamps. A few men and women walked ahead of us into a small redbrick building. Our shoes clicked on the sidewalk, making some in the group turn toward us.

“Oh, Stevie,” the shortest woman said, “do you know what happened today to one of our Quitters’ members?”

“What?” Stevie asked, as we reached her near the door.

The short woman may have been in her early forties. Her face appeared pale, her figure shapely. “Somebody found him dead in a person’s yard.”

My heart leaped into my throat. My head swiveled toward Stevie.

She had lied to the police and to me. She
did
know the dead man.

Chapter 3

We swept into the dark building with Stevie’s group. Lights flickered on.

“You see what happens?” the second woman ahead of us said. She was large with brassy red hair and too-snug stretchy jeans, and spoke to no one in particular. “You quit smoking to improve your health—and something else kills you.”

“Exactly,” the shapely woman said. She and most of the others dropped to folding chairs arranged in a semicircle. Their gazes slid to me and away from me. I sat beside Stevie on the single empty metal chair.

“So you’d just as soon keep smoking. Is that it?” This from the man who’d let us in. Probably mid-fifties. Lanky with pink cheeks and thin midnight black hair that looked dyed, he stood in front of the group. “If a smoker dies from another cause, does that give you an excuse to keep lighting up?”