Stay At Home Dead (24 page)

Authors: Jeffrey Allen

BOOK: Stay At Home Dead

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Team Turkey was in last place.

It was a week later, and Julianne and I were standing off to the side of the expansive green field, watching the preschool Olympics. Team Turkey was having trouble in the Duck, Duck, Goose event, the hopscotch event, and the fifteen-yard dashes. It appeared that Carly’s class had not put in much training time.

But all that really mattered was that their shirts were by far the coolest out there.

All in all, things were back to normal for me in Rose Petal.

“Sharon Ann wouldn’t even say hello to me,” Julianne said, a sly grin beneath her sunglasses. “I waved at her, and she pretended not to see me.”

“Maybe she didn’t see you.”

“I was maybe four feet from her.”

“Oh.”

The normalcy included Sharon Ann acting like nothing had ever happened and Deborah keeping a good distance away from me. It irritated me that Deborah had used her friendship with Sharon Ann to attempt to railroad me out of my Room Dad job, but in the end, there’d been no harm done.

Julianne let out an ear-piercing whistle as Carly took her turn in the fifteen-yard dash. Carly’s arms and legs flailed as she made her way toward the finish line.

“Shayna’s lawsuit was officially dismissed this morning,” Julianne said as she clapped for our daughter. “And the TRO was withdrawn yesterday.”

I hadn’t seen Billy or Shayna since I’d seen Shayna at Land O’ Rugs, and I hoped it would stay that way. I didn’t need either of them in my life.

“I’d imagine Billy is eyeing that Hamlin kid’s dad now,” she continued. “If he owns that rug store, he may have some assets that might be of interest in a wrongful death suit.”

Reggie Hamlin had pled not guilty to Benny Barnes’s murder at his arraignment. The judge had denied bail, so he was spending his days and nights behind bars.

“Lovely,” I said, shading my eyes from the sun. “I truly could not care less.”

“And did I hear that voice mail right?” Julianne asked, peering over her glasses at me. “From Victor?”

I laughed. “Yes, you did.”

Victor wanted to employ me. He said I’d done a good enough job as an investigator and he wanted to bring me on as a part-time contractor.

“I told him I’d think about it.”

“You what?”

“I told him I’d think about it,” I repeated, watching Carly roll around on the grass with one of her friends, her laugh drifting across the field. “After the summer camp deal.”

I’d called Jimmy Landry and told him we were on for the football camps. He’d already sent me a bunch of paperwork I had to look over, and we were working on a schedule. Most importantly, when he’d offered free swim lessons for Carly as part of the deal, Julianne gave her approval.

“Yeah, well, I’m not so sure I like that one,” Julianne said, turning back to the field.

“Let’s worry about it when it’s time to worry about it.”

In truth, I wasn’t sure I wanted to work as a part-time investigator. But I was intrigued by the idea. Maybe I was getting a little bored at home or maybe I was just looking for something to keep me occupied while I was at school or maybe I was just flattered that Victor asked. I wasn’t looking to jump into it, but it was kind of fun to think about.

So things were back to normal.

“You’ve had a rough couple of weeks,” Julianne said, slipping her arm around my waist.

“Nothing that left any permanent damage.”

“I know, but still. So I thought you needed a gift.”

“A gift?”

Carly ambled over to us, her ponytail falling out of the rubber band and her cheeks flushed bright pink.

“Did you guys see me run?” she asked, out of breath.

“We did,” I said. “You were awesome.”

“I know,” she said, nodding, as if her awesomeness just came so easily to her. She looked at Julianne. “How come you aren’t at work, Mama?”

“Because I came to watch you,” Julianne said. “That okay?”

“Sure, yeah,” she said, raising her little eyebrows. “Okay, I have to go now.” She pivoted and ran back to her Team Turkey teammates.

“She’s hilarious,” Julianne said.

“She is.” I put my arm around my wife’s shoulders. “So. You were talking about a gift. For me.”

“I was,” she said. “Bet you can’t guess what it is.”

“Trip to Bermuda?”

“Wrong.”

“Season tickets to the Cowboys?”

“Wrong.”

“My own pet llama?”

“Close.” She squeezed her arm around my waist. “How about another kid?”

Whoa. “Another kid?”

“Yeah.”

“So you wanna go home right now and get the process started?” I asked. “Like we did the other day?”

She pulled the sunglasses from her face and looked up at me. “Let’s not even go home. Just drop right here and get started.”

Excitement percolated inside me. “Really?”

She laughed. “No, not right this second. But I’m ready. She needs a little sister or brother. And you need more kids to shepherd. We both do.” Her smile softened. “I’m just ready.”

We’d always planned on having at least two kids, maybe three. We wanted a few years in between each so that we could enjoy the different stages of each child without stealing from the others. But I hadn’t given much thought to whether we were at that point yet. I was still enjoying Carly, and it seemed like just yesterday we were bringing her home from the hospital.

“Cowboys tickets would be cheaper,” I said.

She arched an eyebrow at me. “True. But Cowboys tickets don’t enable you to have your way with me when we start trying to make a baby. Like tonight.”

“Excellent point,” I said, smiling at her.

She returned my smile, and my eyes drifted toward the field. I liked that she was ready. I liked that she wanted more. And I liked that she wanted another child with me.

But was I ready for Baby Number Two?

I was watching the kids out on the field but was seeing dirty diapers, long nights, and crying jags. The crying jags were mine.

“So. What do you think?” she asked, leaning against me.

I was thinking a lot of things, but one thing in particular.

So much for normal.

Keep reading for a special sneak preview of the next Deuce Winters mystery, available in October 2012!

“The King of Soccer is missing,” Julianne said into my ear.

I was standing on the sideline, sweating, concentrating on the swarm of tiny girls chasing after a soccer ball. As the head coach of my daughter’s soccer team, The Mighty, Fightin’, Tiny Mermaids, it was my sworn duty to scream myself silly on Saturday afternoons, hoping they might play a little soccer rather than chase butterflies and roll around in the grass. As usual, I was failing.

I gave my wife a quick glance. “What?”

“The King of Soccer is missing,” she repeated.

Before I could respond, Carly sprinted toward me from the center of the field, ponytails and tiny cleats flying all around her.

“Daddy,” she said, huffing and puffing. “How am I doing?”

I held my hand out for a high five. “Awesome, dude.”

She nodded as if she already knew. “Good. Hey, are we almost done?”

“About ten more minutes.”

She thought about that for a moment, shrugged, and said, “Oh. Okay.” Then she turned and sprinted back to the mass of girls surrounding the ball.

Except for the ones holding hands and skipping around the mass of girls surrounding the ball.

I took a deep breath, swallowed the urge to yell something soccer-ish, and turned back to Julianne. “What?”

She was attempting to smother a smile and failing. “Sorry. Didn’t meant to interrupt the strategy session, Coach.”

“Whatever.”

She put her hand on my arm. “I was trying to warn you. MoisesCarles is missing.”

MoisesCarles, aka The King of Soccer, was the president of the Rose Petal Youth Soccer Association. He oversaw approximately two hundred teams, close to two thousand kids, five hundred volunteers, and about a billion obnoxious parents.

He was also a bit of a jerk.

“Missing?”

“Hasn’t been seen in three days, and Belinda wants to talk to you about it.”

I shifted my attention back to the game. Carly broke free from the pack with the ball and loped toward the open goal. My heart jumped, and I moved down the sideline with her. “Go! Keep going!”

Several of the girls trailed behind her, laughing and giggling, not terribly concerned that they were about to be scored upon.

Carly approached the goal, settled the ball in front of herself, shuffled her feet, and took a mighty swing at the ball.

It glanced off the side of her foot and rolled wide of the goal and over the touchline.

My heart sank, and the gaggle of parents behind me in the bleachers groaned.

Carly turned in my direction, grinned, and gave me a thumbs-up. I smiled back at her through the pain and returned the thumbs-up.

She sprinted back toward her teammates.

Maybe we needed to practice a little more.

I walked back up the sideline to Julianne. “Why does she want to talk to me about it?”

“I think it has to do with you being a superb private eye and all,” Julianne said.

“I’m not a private eye.”

“Those fancy cards you and Victor hand out beg to differ, Coach.”

After successfully proving my innocence in the murder of an old high school rival, I’d reluctantly joined forces with Victor Anthony Doolittle in his investigation business. On a very, very, very limited basis. We were still trying to figure out if we could coexist, and the jury was still deliberating.

I frowned. “What does
missing
mean? Like he’s not here today?”

Julianne shrugged. “Dunno. But you can ask her yourself.” She tilted her chin in the direction of the sideline. “She’s coming your way, Coach.” She kissed me on the cheek. “And don’t forget. We have a date tonight.”

“A date?” I asked.

“Well, a date sounds classier than using you for sex,” she said, slipping her sunglasses over her eyes. “But call it what you like. Coach.” She gave a small wave and walked away.

I started to say something about being objectified—and how I was in favor of it—but Belinda Stansf ield’s gargantuan body ate up the space Julianne had just vacated.

“Deuce,” Belinda said in between huffs and puffs. “Need your help.”

Her crimson cheeks were drenched in sweat, and her gray T-shirt was ringed with perspiration. Actually, it appeared as if all 350 pounds of Belinda were ringed in perspiration.

She ran a meaty hand over her wet forehead and smoothed her coarse brown hair away from her face. She took another huff—or maybe it was a puff—and set her hands on her expansive hips.

“Middle of a game here, Belinda,” I said, moving my gaze back to the field, which I found far more pleasant. “Can’t it wait?”

“No can do, Deuce,” she said. “This is serious business.”

Carly tackled one of the opposing girls, literally threw her arms around her and took her to the grass. They dissolved into a pile of laughter as the ball squirted by them.

“Um, so is this, Belinda.”

“Oh, please, honey,” she said, shading her eyes from the sun. “These little girls care more about what’s in the cooler after the game than the score. And these parents don’t know a goal from a goose. You are a babysitter with a whistle. Get over yourself.”

Couldn’t have put it better myself.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Mo’s done and gone and disappeared.”

“Like, from the fields?”

“Like, from Rose Petal?”

Tara Little started crying and ran past me to her parents. We were now down a Fightin’ Mermaid.

“Since when?”

“Today’s Saturday,” she said, swiping again at the sweat covering her face. “Last anyone saw him was Wednesday.”

“Maybe he went on vacation,” I said.

“Nope.”

“Maybe he’s taking a long nap.”

“Deuce. I am not kidding.”

The pimple-faced referee blew his whistle, and the girls ran faster than they’d run the entire game. They sprinted past me to the bleachers, where a cooler full of drinks and something made entirely of sugar awaited them. Serious soccer players, these little girls.

I took a deep breath, tired from yelling and baking in the sun, adjusted the visor on my head. “Okay. So he’s missing.”

She nodded, oceans of sweat cascading down her chubby face. “And there’s something else you should know.”

I watched the girls, red-faced and exhausted, sitting next to each other on the metal bleachers, sucking down juice boxes, munching on cookies, and swinging their legs back and forth.

There were worse ways to spend a Saturday.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Seventy-three thousand bucks,” Belinda said.

“What? What are you talking about?”

She shifted her enormous body from one tree stump of a leg to the other.

“Mo’s missing,” Belinda said. “And he took seventy-three thousand dollars with him.”

“All of the summer and fall registration fees,” Belinda said. “Gone.”

The girls were now chasing one another, the parents were chatting, and Belinda and I were sitting on the bottom of the bleachers.

“How is that possible?” I asked. “He just walked away with that much in cash?”

“The bank accounts are empty,” she said. “They were full on Tuesday. Before he disappeared.”

“Could be a coincidence.”

“And I could be a ballerina,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “It ain’t a coincidence, Deuce.”

No, it probably wasn’t a coincidence. She was right about that.

“Don’t you guys have some sort of control in place for that kind of thing?” I asked. “I mean, with the accounts. Multiple signatures or something like that?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Last year, when Mo was reelected, he demanded full oversight. The board didn’t like it, but he said he’d walk without it. So they gave it to him.”

“Why did he want it?”

“No clue.”

I spied Carly attaching herself to Julianne’s leg. She was crying. Carly, not Julianne. Crying had become common after soccer games, the result of too much sugar and some physical exertion. It was less about being upset with something and more about it being time just to get on home.

“I want to hire you, Deuce,” she said. “We want to hire you. The board. To find him and the money. You and that little dwarf, or whatever he is.”

A smile formed on my lips. I wished Victor was there to hear her description of him.

“I’ll need to talk to Victor,” I told her. “The little dwarf. To make sure he’s okay with it.”

“You two got so much work you’re turning away business?”

As a matter of fact, we did. Or rather, Victor did. Since our initial escapade, people had been seeking us out left and right. My agreement with Victor allowed me the flexibility to work only when I wanted to. Fortunately, he’d been more than capable of handling most of the work and I’d been left alone to play Mr. Mom to Carly.

“No,” I said, attempting to be diplomatic. “But we don’t take anything on unless both of us agree.”

She thought about that for a moment, then nodded.

Then her stomach growled.

“There’s one other thing,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“We can’t pay you.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “That’s gonna be a problem, Belinda. The little dwarf likes money. He tends to not work without it.”

“I mean, we can’t pay you up front,” she clarified. “Everything we got, he took. You find him and the money, we’ll pay you whatever we owe you.”

I knew Victor was going to have a coronary over that.

“I’ll talk to Victor and see what I can do,” I said, standing.

She pushed her girth up off the bleachers, wobbled for a minute, then steadied herself. She wiped a massive hand across her wet brow.

“Well, I hope you can do something, Deuce,” she said, a sour expression settling on her face. “Because that money? That’s all we got. It doesn’t come back, soccer don’t come back.”

“Really?”

“We are totally fee driven. Nothing in reserve. So unless you wanna foot the bill for uniforms and trophies and field space and insurance, and who the heck knows what else, we need that money.”

I glanced over at the remaining girls. Carly had detached herself from Julianne and was now playing some bastardized version of tag. They weren’t good at soccer, but I regularly espoused the virtues of team sports at a young age. They weren’t winning games, but I believed they were getting something out of playing.

“Why would he take the money, Belinda?” I asked.

“I got no idea,” she said, shaking her head. “I really don’t, Deuce. But we gotta have the money back. Now him?” She waved a hand in the air. “I couldn’t care less whether that weasel comes back.”

“Weasel?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t know him all that well, do you?”

I shrugged. I knew him from around town and from soccer meetings. A little pompous, but other than that, I didn’t think much at all about him.

“No,” I admitted. “I guess not.”

“Weasel,” she said. “Pure weasel.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because that’s the way the good Lord made him,” she said, frowning. “Or Satan. Whichever.”

“So you aren’t surprised he took the money, then?” I asked.

“I’m a little surprised,” she said. “Because I didn’t think even he’d pull something like this. But you know what’s more surprising?”

I looked past her. Julianne now had Carly in her arms and was waving at me. I was ready to go home and be objectified.

“Uh, no. What’s more surprising?”

She hiked up her ill-f itting shorts and looked me dead in the eye.