All Murders Final! (20 page)

Chapter 36

Part of me had known it all along, but I still felt dirty, invaded, exposed. Calling the police about a missing photo album seemed ridiculous. But with all that had been going on, not calling the police seemed stupid. I peeked out my curtains, the ones I now closed as soon as it got dark out. Awesome's car was outside, so I called Stella.

“Could Awesome come up here for a minute?” I asked.

“He's just leaving, but I'll send him up.”

I tried to tamp down my nerves by pacing around the apartment as I waited. Finally, there was a knock on my door. When I opened it, Awesome leaned against the jamb, looking very pleased with himself. It didn't take me long to wipe that expression off his face as I told him about the missing photo album and sweater, and my theory that the robber was the guy who'd been stalking me. He nodded while I talked and seemed to be listening intently.

“Did you call it in?”

“No. I'm telling you. It seems silly to file a report over a missing photo album and sweater. It could be nothing. But, on the other hand, saying nothing seemed foolish.”

“I think we'd better file a report. This guy's done what? Photographed you, threatened you, slashed your tires, possibly killed for you? I'll drop by the station on my way home. Add this to the list.”

I guessed all the fears I'd confided to Stella had been passed on to Awesome. To hear him say it and take it so seriously scared the bejesus out of me.

“Are you going to be okay? Want me to get Stella up here?”

I shrugged, not wanting to admit anything.

Awesome turned to go.

“Wait,” I said. “Stella isn't as tough as she looks. Be good to her, or let her be.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Yes, ma'am.”

If he were a cowboy, I would have expected him to tip his hat as I left. He seemed nice enough, but I still wasn't sure he was good enough for Stella.

After Awesome left I went back over to the box of Pez, glad to have this task to distract me. I took each dispenser out, shook it, and looked inside. One rattled, and a little thrill went through me. I popped it open, and an old pink Pez candy fell out.
How disappointing.
I didn't know what I'd been hoping to find, but it wasn't an old piece of candy. I grouped the dispensers in small groups, snapped some photos, and relisted them on the garage sale site. Before long people started sending me private messages about the different Pez lots. A couple of the oldest ones sold right away. I told the buyers I'd meet them tomorrow at DiNapoli's. No more strangers coming to my house if I could help it.

I answered questions about the other Pez lots and ended up selling all but one within an hour and a half of posting them. Who knew Pez were so popular? While I was at it, I did a bit of cleanup on the site. Then I noticed a message from the admin of the Concord site. At first we'd just talked online, but as time progressed, we had ended up meeting for coffee occasionally.

Have you had any problems with threats lately?
she typed.

So my theory about a burglary ring, Juanita, and my site might be valid, after all. My site now had more than three thousand members. I had members who I knew were cops and cops' wives, so there didn't seem to be any reason for them to have fake accounts.

I typed
bump
under my cleaning ad, which made it go to the top of the listings. I'd give it one more try. This time I added the phrase
No job too small
. That sounded more desperate. My best-case scenario was that someone would contact me and ask me to join their burglary ring, would confess to killing Juanita and Margaret, and would apologize for stalking me. In the fantasy playing in my head, they'd reimburse me for the tire and the labor, too. But I gave up daydreaming, and I realized the most likely thing to happen was that someone would hire me, I'd leave them with a nice clean house, and I'd just be one worn-out, tired girl when I was finished.

Thirty minutes later someone sent me a note, wanting to buy the last lot of Pez and asking if I could deliver it to their house tomorrow. Before saying yes, I checked the person's profile. The woman appeared to be real. She lived in Bedford and had elementary-age kids, from the looks of her photos. The woman told me one of her kids was sick and her husband, who was in the coast guard, was out of town. She also wrote that she knew Laura through the Spouses' Club on base. After I verified that with a quick text to Laura, I told the woman I'd drop the Pez lot off in the early afternoon.

A couple of people sent messages asking about my cleaning service, but no one made an actual cleaning appointment. That was disappointing.

* * *

On Sunday afternoon, after meeting people at DiNapoli's to sell the Pez, I pulled up to the Bedford woman's house. It was surrounded by woods and backed up to conservancy lands. Isolated. I could see a couple of neighbors' houses off in the distance since the trees were bare. Thankfully, this house didn't have the long driveway Margaret's did, and the house was visible from the road. However, it sat on a cul-de-sac, so there was no traffic passing by. I sat, hands gripping the steering wheel, half tempted to drive off. But if I was going to live in Ellington, I couldn't freak out every time I saw a few trees, because there were lots of trees in this area.

I kept my doors locked, my engine running, and took a very good look around. No one was lurking in the woods, smoking. As a precaution, I grabbed my phone from my purse and held it as I climbed out. I opened the back of the Suburban to grab the Pez. Some of my cleaning supplies had fallen out of the large galvanized metal bucket, so I started shoving them back in.

An arm circled my waist from behind. A hand covered my mouth, choking off my scream.

Chapter 37

I dropped my phone as someone tried to lift me, but all those meals at DiNapoli's had added five pounds, and lifting didn't work. So my attacker began dragging me backward. I lunged for the bucket and just caught it with my fingers. I got a better grip and swung it with every bit of adrenaline-fueled strength I had. A howl of pain behind me told me I'd connected with something. The arm dropped from my waist; and the hand, from my mouth.

Before I could turn to face my attacker, I was shoved violently. My lower abdomen slammed into the tailgate, doubling me over. I lay for a few precious seconds half in, half out of the Suburban. The bristles of the carpet scraped against my face as I gasped for air. I drew my legs in and rolled onto my back, ready to strike out.

I lifted my head, propped myself up on my elbows, but no one was there. My breath came out in short pants from fear or injury.... I wasn't sure which. I scooted farther into the Suburban and slammed the back end closed. I dug in my pocket for my keys and locked myself in. I clasped my knees to my chest and sat there shaking. I needed my phone, which I could see in the dirt near the driveway. After triple checking, I darted out, grabbed the phone, and leaped back in the Suburban. This time behind the wheel. I leaned on the horn as I dialed 911. No one came out of the house.

* * *

When I got home several hours later, I took a shower, examined the bruise right below my belly button, and climbed into bed. Since the crime had occurred in Bedford, I hadn't known any of the police officers and hadn't bothered telling them about my relationship to CJ, Margaret, or Juanita. All I'd wanted to do was go home. The owner of the house had been contacted. She was off with her kids in Florida and swore she hadn't bought any Pez. The police had decided someone had hacked her account.

I curled into a ball under my comforter. Why had someone tried to grab me? Was it my stalker or someone who thought I was nosing around in the cleaning-business burglary circle? I might not ever know. For the very first time since my split with CJ, I wondered if maybe I should move back to California. There I'd be far away from my stalker, Seth, and CJ and could untangle my personal life at my own pace, without feeling pressured by anyone. I could start a garage sale business out in Pacific Grove and, with the mild climate, could easily run sales all year long.

Next, I pictured selling everything I owned here except for a few personal items. I loved this little apartment, with its bird's-eye view of the town square. I'd adjusted nicely in the past year to the sounds of the church bells chiming and the sirens from the fire station just up the block.
Ugh.
Moving back to Pacific Grove would mean moving back in with my parents, back into a room with a twin bed and posters of New Kids on the Block still decorating the walls. That area was even more expensive than here. There was no way I could afford a place of my own.

Who could be doing this to me? CJ I could rule out immediately. No matter what had happened or was happening between us, I knew deep, deep down he'd never scare or hurt me. Seth didn't seem a likely candidate, either, no matter who said he was too good to be true. He was a decent man, even if he was hanging out with Mike Titone. James—he made me pause; he'd changed, and Stella thought he had a thing for me. I had always accused Stella of being a bad judge of men, but maybe I was, too.

What if it wasn't a man? Who disliked me so much? Frieda? It just didn't seem to add up, although she had definitely had issues with Margaret and Juanita. Hennessy might have resented me, but we'd made our peace. What about Nichole? She definitely wanted Seth, but was she so disturbed she'd try to scare me out of town?

Those thoughts drove me out of bed. I ate a bowl of cereal. Then I started contacting people to set up spring garage sales. The stalker wasn't going to drive me away.

* * *

It was almost five when my phone rang.

“I have some shoes you might be interested in,” Hennessy said.

“You do? Louboutins?” My heart beat a little faster. It was ridiculous getting this excited about a pair of designer shoes.

“Yes.”

“You must be ready to close. Do you want me to come tomorrow?”

“No. It's fine. You can come by now.”

“I'll be over in a few.” I hurried into the bathroom, brushed my hair and teeth, swiped on eye shadow, and added a coat of mascara. Hennessy was always so well groomed, and I didn't want to look like a slob when I saw her. I changed into a V-necked sweater and clean jeans. After making sure my socks didn't have holes, I shoved my feet into boots, grabbed my keys, threw on a coat, and headed out.

Fifteen minutes later I stood in front of Hennessy. The floral scent of her store seemed even worse than last time, but she'd done some cleaning and organizing, so the place looked better. “Thanks for staying open for me.”

“No problem. Here they are.”

Hennessy handed me black pumps. The heels were a little worn, and the backs had a couple of scuff marks, but both things were easily fixable. I flipped them over, and there were those beautiful red soles. I squealed, which wasn't exactly good if I wanted to try to negotiate a better price. But Hennessy had stayed open for me and had held these for me, so I wasn't going to ask for a better price, anyway.

“Try them on.” Hennessy pointed to a leopard-print chair that was in the shape of a high-heeled shoe.

I took off my coat and tossed it on the back of the chair. I sat and slipped off my boots. My cameo necklace swung out before settling back against my chest when I sat up. I felt a bit like Cinderella. She could have her glass slippers and her prince. I was going to buy these with my own hard-earned money. I slipped the first one on. It fit like it was made for me. The left one was a little tighter, which almost always happened when I tried on shoes. I stood and took a tentative step.
Perfect.

“There's a mirror back there, if you want to get a better look.”

I passed a section of chairs, a wall of books, and shelves of purses, chanting, “Don't look. Don't look.” Even though my left baby toe was a little squished, it wasn't bad enough not to buy the shoes. Sometimes looking good involved a tiny bit of pain, and they'd probably stretch to fit me, anyway. They were leather, after all. I turned my feet this way and that in front of the mirror. I walked away from it, looking over my shoulder so I could catch that glimpse of red.
Vanity, thy name is woman—at least for this moment.

I sashayed back to Hennessy in my best impression of a runway model. She laughed.

“How much do you want for them?” I was afraid I couldn't afford them even secondhand.

“Fifty.”

“
Fifty
? That's not enough.”

Hennessy smiled. “You're not a very good negotiator. How do you make any money?”

“Fifty, it is. How can I ever thank you?”

“I guess you'll owe me one.”

My stomach dropped.

“I'm kidding. I'm not Margaret.”

I handed over the fifty dollars, and Hennessy wrapped each shoe in pink tissue paper. “I'm sorry I don't have the original box or packaging.”

“It's fine.”

Hennessy started to hand me the bag she'd put the shoes in but stopped halfway and stared at my chest. “Are you Ryan Jones's girlfriend? I thought you were seeing Seth Anderson?”

Living in a small town could be wicked complicated, as Stella would say. “No. Ryan's a nice guy, but we barely know each other. Why would you think that?”

Hennessy pointed at my chest. “That cameo. Ryan bought it from me and said he was going to give it to his girlfriend.”

“It must just look similar. Cameos are pretty common.”

“No. I'm sure that's the same one. Is it engraved on the back? The one Ryan bought from me had the words
My love
engraved on it.”

It felt like all the blood in my body had drained down to my toes. “It must be some kind of mix-up. CJ sent this to me.” He had, hadn't he? Ryan wouldn't know I loved cameos.

Hennessy handed me the shoes. “You must be right. My mistake.” She said it in a voice filled with doubt, and the crinkles around her eyes showed her concern. Hennessy started to say something else, but three women walked in just then.

“Hi. Okay if we look around? We know you are about to close,” the shortest one said.

An unhappy look flashed over Hennessy's face, and she glanced at me. I knew how she felt. Who wanted to stay open when it was closing time? Then she pasted on a smile. “Of course,” she said.

On the way out I stopped in front of a case full of jewelry. Maybe Hennessy had lots of cameos and was just confused. I stared down, scanning the contents until my eyes zeroed in on a ring in a box. It was my wedding ring. The deep blue box had
MONTEREY JEWELERS
written on it in silver.
Don't react, and get out of here
, I yelled at myself.

“Did something catch your eye?” Hennessy called from the register.

“No. Thanks.” I waved without turning toward her. If she saw my face, she'd know something was terribly wrong.