Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 01 - Murder by the Old Maine Stream (7 page)

The place was dust-bunny heaven. I wondered whether the cat spent any time under here. I couldn’t see too well. Could there be dangerous cat hairs lurking?

Something smelled sour.

When my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I made out a bowl in front of me. Something awful was in that bowl, something worse than dust bunnies or menacing cat hairs, something that might have been milk a long time ago. I slid the bowl to the side, out of nose range.

I heard footsteps on the oak stairs, heard Percy whistling a song I couldn’t identify, not some mushy love song, but something hot and heavy, almost menacing.

I lifted the bed skirt a tiny bit and peeked out. I watched his black leather shoes march into the master bedroom. I dropped the bed skirt quickly. I felt nauseous. My head started to ache. And, of course, I still had to pee. I hadn’t gone to the bathroom since before I had that cup of coffee at Hot Heads Heaven hours ago. Dear God, how long would he take? Did he and Marla do ‘quickies?’

More shoe noises. I chanced a peek. A pair of black patent leather stilettos with ankle straps clicked on by. Queen Marla had arrived.

The session from hell began.

I wished I were in a position to take photos, but I couldn’t chance it. I had the camera in my tote.

“You’re very naughty,” Percy said in an unctuous voice that sent a chill through me. “Coming this late? When I hired you as my maid I warned you not to be late, didn’t I?” His accent had morphed from Maine-ish to German-ish, or I was hearing things? It was hard to tell under this bed.

“Yes, sir,” came a high-pitched, meek voice.

He was walking around, each step smacking the floor loud enough to make me think Gestapo boots. Had he changed his shoes? I wished I could see. I risked another peek, lifting the bed skirt higher this time. He was walking around her. Inspecting her? He had a riding crop in his hand. I saw the bottom of it rap his boots. When his toes turned my way, I dropped the bed shirt. I heard sharp raps against leather. I think it was leather. I couldn’t tell for sure. I could only imagine. And under this dark bed, my imagination took wing.

“At least your uniform is properly ironed.”

I didn’t have to see her to know she was in costume. I wished I could get my hands up to cover my ears, but the space was too confining to cover them comfortably for any length of time. Lifting the bed skirt was challenge enough.

I also wished I could get to a bathroom. If I could just cross my legs …

Time moved at a snail’s pace. So much for the wish for a quickie. Marla was laughing one minute, bouncing on the bed the next, oofing and aahing and such. What was he doing to her? The pictures running through my head rivaled things I’d seen on the Playboy Channel. Not that I’m a big fan, but every now and again …

Then it began, the familiar symptoms that I had come to dread, the ones that signaled the presence of cat. My eyes began to tear. And itch. I had to rub them. I just had to. Despite the cramped position, I managed to get my hands near my face. Good thing, because I felt a sneeze coming, trying to work its way up and out.

While my hands were nearby, I held one over my mouth and nose and gave forth with an almost silent, but spitty, a-choo. In reflex my forehead struck the floor, and my arm upended the sour milk bowl.

“Ow.”

No time to wallow in self-pity. Another sneeze was waiting in the wings, a slow moving one, the absolute worst kind. Think pressure on magma, building, building. Think volcano. I wished I could force it and get it over with, but no.

Ah … . aah … .aaah …

It wouldn’t come. The blockbuster sneeze was gathering force for eruption.

What came was the damn cat, in person, nosing around, rubbing up against my leg. I tried to push him away. No such luck. He thought I was playing with him. I now had both hands guarding my nose. No way was I going to pull them away from nose detail and risk the escape of a loud sneeze. Some of my sneezes are sound-barrier-breakers, not cute, not genteel. I used to wish I had a cute and delicate girlie sneeze. I still wished that.

Body sounds from the other room got more interesting, but I was too busy trying to control my own body to imagine what Percy and Marla were doing.

The sneeze finally broke loose, a rip-snorter, and I pressed both hands tighter to cover the noise. I almost blew up. My head smacked the floor again, a real hard wallop this time. I’d have a bump for sure. The cat approached to investigate. Damn cat.

I had to get out of this hellhole. I really had to get to a bathroom fast. This detective business was getting old. I decided to risk sneaking out before the happy couple was finished. I prayed they would be too busy to notice someone scuttling along on the floor. From the sounds they were making, I figured they were very busy. My one regret was that I couldn’t peek in. Not that I’m a voyeur or anything, but God, they were going at it.

Percy’s different from most folks around here. He’s … tougher. Can be ruthless.

Nick’s warning ran through my head as I squirmed to the side of the bed. The need to sneeze was working its way up again, and each sneeze increased my chances of discovery, along with the lumps on my forehead. I had to stop moving.

When the sneeze arrived, it was a winner, the champion of all sneezes, a hall of famer.

Aaa-choo!

Aaa-choo!

Thwack. Bang. Two more lumps for a grand total of four. Wonderful. How attractive, Nora.

Marla moaned in ecstasy. “Oh, Percy.” Her voice still had that phony, high-pitched quality. “There’s no one like you. No one, my love.”

“Marla, Marla, I can’t get enough of you.”

Well, I’d had enough of both of them. I rubbed my eyes again and shifted my leg in an attempt to get the cat to move. He did. Right next to my face. Soon I’d be a candidate for the Emergency Room.

I pushed my tote, then myself, out from under the bed, not an easy task with the cat positioned where he was.

I squeaked as the cat’s claw snagged my sweater, caught, penetrated, and scratched my shoulder. I went into a holding pattern until I was sure no one had heard. It gave me time to be thankful I had chosen to wear sneakers instead of leather-bottomed shoes or boots. True, they didn’t go with the outfit, but Mary Fran equals sneakers. Hadn’t I learned that years ago?

With great care, I inched toward the door on my belly, sweeping the floor with my cashmere sweater and good slacks. I wanted to go to the bathroom. No chance. I crossed my legs for a second, took a deep breath, then uncrossed them and slithered into the hall like a recruit in basic training crawling under barbed wire. The damn cat followed. Cats love me. Once, a long time ago before I found out I was allergic to cats, I loved them, too. Maybe they sensed that. It’s like I’m the Pied Piper of felines.

After I successfully passed the bedroom door, I stood, and tiptoed to the stairs.

I remembered to skip the creaky third step on the way down.

When I finally reached the car, I was a wreck. Gasping for breath, heart slamming like a jackhammer, I started the engine and took off like I was shot from a cannon. I almost clipped a pickup truck stopped at the end of the driveway, a newspaper guy delivering papers.

* * *

Title me Desperate Detective. I was lost. I recognized this little bridge ahead since I’d been over it three times already. I looked around. Woods, woods and more woods, and a little stream. Where was I? I wondered, wriggling in my seat, seriously in need of a bathroom, considering getting out and peeing by the side of the road. The way things were going today, I’d probably squat in a patch of poison ivy.

Groping for Mary Fran’s map on the passenger seat, I drove over the bridge and pulled to the side of the road. I hoped no one I knew would drive by and see me. I was a mess. My hair. My clothes. I smelled of dust and sour milk, and if I didn’t find a toilet soon …

It was five minutes to four. I had to be at the lawyer’s for the reading of the will in five minutes. That wasn’t going to happen. I hated being late.

From the X that was Mary Fran’s house, I ran my pinky along the chicken-scrawl route that led to Main Street in town. It veered to the right after the bridge. Well, I’d done that. Then a quick left. Yes, I’d gone left. Or was that left made by the smudge on the paper? Which way had I gone when I was coming? Right. No, left. No, maybe right was right.

I needed a GPS.

An SUV with a red blinking light on top pulled along side of me. The flutter of my foolish heart was matched only by my rising panic. I needed a hat, or even better, a paper bag to cover my head. No, I needed not to be here. Instead of wildly trying to adjust my appearance, I took the high road and acted as if nothing was amiss.

“Parked to enjoy the wicked good view of Hunter’s Creek?” Nick asked.

I looked at him and smiled as if my hair stuck up this way every day. His expression was hard to read. And that was because he had no expression. He just stared. God, he was cute. Too bad I’d sworn off men for the rest of my natural life.

“I’m temporarily lost,” I said.

“As long as it’s only temporary.”

“Could you point me toward town?”

“You in trench-coat mode?”

“Have trench coat, will travel. I’ve just completed today’s mission.”

“One would think most detectives would have checked directions before going on assignment.”

“I got there.”

“I can see that.” His gaze traveled to my hair. “Rough time?”

“Not at all,” I said with a straight face.

“Did someone whack you in the forehead?”

I considered lying.

“No. I hit my head on the floor when I sneezed.”

He nodded as if he understood, but I recognized confusion when I saw it.

Just then the
Toreador March
sounded, I saw that my friend Lori in New York was calling, and I answered.

“Hi. I’ve been meaning to get back to you, but I’ve been busy. Sorry. Can’t talk now either.”

“You coming home today?” Lori asked.

I glanced at Nick who made no pretense of not listening. “Maybe tonight, Lori. Maybe not until tomorrow. Depends. But I have to—”

“On what’s in the will?”

“I’m …  involved here.”

“Uh-oh. Dare I ask in what?” Then she gasped. “Or is that the wrong question? Nora, have you met someone? This soon? I wouldn’t put it passed you. Guys are drawn to you. You have all the luck. I think—”

“No. Of course not.” I hesitated, unwilling to give Nick a clue about this conversation.

“Is someone else there?” she said finally.

“Yes.”

“Is he cute?”

I didn’t reply.

“I’m guessing it’s a he. Am I correct?”

I had to get off the phone. “You are.”

“About the cute part? Is that an affirmative?”

“Yes. Now, I gotta hang—”

“Damn. I knew it when I didn’t hear from you.”

“You are dead wrong, Lori. I’ve just been busy.”

“Doing?”

“Can I call you back?”

“You’d damn well better. I want to hear everything you’ve been up to in the hinterlands. But before you hang, you’d better give me a fax number or a computer address, somewhere I can send this résumé. Pronto.”

“Hold on.” I lowered the phone. “Do you have a fax at your office?”

“Ay-uh. Fax machines, computers, indoor plumbing. All the latest. We’re very modern.”

I grinned at him. “Could I have someone fax me something there?”

He didn’t answer, just reached for something below window level, then leaned over and passed me a card. “Number’s on here. Can’t guarantee it’ll be kept private.”

“Doesn’t have to be. It’s only my résumé. Thanks for this.” I gave Lori the number.

I could see from Nick’s expression that he had a lot of questions, none of which I wanted to answer, so before he could ask, I said, “Can you point me in the right direction?”

I needed to cross my legs. Hard to do behind the wheel.

“You spied on Percy?” he asked.

It was now four o’clock. I was late for the reading of the will, the official reason I’d given everyone for coming to Silver Stream in the first place. I’d never told them it had to do with losing my job and my fiancé in the same week.

“I had a key so I wasn’t breaking and entering, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“You refuse to take my advice on this.”

“I’m doing a favor for Mary Fran.”

He grunted.

“Directions?” I asked, pressing my legs together. God, I had to find a bathroom, fast.

SEVEN

As soon as I reached Hot Heads Heaven, I raced for the ladies’ room like a wild woman, not bothering to acknowledge Mary Fran or any of the other women, some of whom might have been frightened by my appearance.

“Nora? You all right?” Mary Fran called as she ran after me.

“Yes. Be out in a minute.”

“You look awful,” she informed me from the other side of the door. “Are you sure you’re all right?”