Citizen Insane (A Barbara Marr Murder Mystery #2) (14 page)

Knowing there were at least a few minutes until the food arrived, I decided to see if I could patch things up with Callie. I knocked on her door.

“Come in.”

I turned the knob, pleased that it wasn’t locked. She was sitting on her bed, propped up with pillows, reading a book.

“Whatcha reading?” I asked bouncy and fun, hoping she’d play along. She didn’t. She gave me a cursory grimace and went back to her book. I peeked at the cover. “Romeo and Juliet. My favorite Shakespeare play.”

“It’s stupid.”

Aha. Progress. At least she was responding. She wasn’t looking at me, but words were exchanged. I was relieved that she didn’t direct me to jump off a bridge or visit the home of eternal damnation.

“You should watch the movie version with Leonardo DiCaprio. Three minutes in and you’re ready to stab them yourselves.”

That got me a sneer, but no conversation. So much for progress.

I kept trying. “Has the wireless internet been working okay for you up here?” Callie’s recent birthday present was her own laptop computer, but we had been having some trouble with the wireless router.

“Yup.”

“Well, that’s good right?”

She snapped the book closed so fast that I jumped. “I have to start a history paper now. Could you leave, please?”

I really didn’t want to leave. I wanted to patch things up. But she was punishing me, which was understandable. After a brief pause, I decided to let her punish away. I would wait for the right time to make things better between us. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll call you down when dinner is ready.”

“What are we having?”

“I ordered Chinese.”

She grunted, which I had learned is teen-age speak for “It figures—you’re such a loser.”

I was about ready to close the door behind me when she said something faintly, but with biting sarcasm. “Thanks for asking, by the way.”

“Asking what?”

“My point exactly. Close the door please.”

Oh boy. Had I read her signals wrong? Should I have stayed and pressed for more information? Was I about to join Joan Crawford in the League of Despicable Mothers?

“Callie—”

“Close the door.”

Reluctantly, I did as she said, but stood outside of her room wondering what I had or hadn’t done. I briefly considered going back in to confront the issue head on, but thought better of it. It would probably only make things worse.

As I headed back down the hall to go downstairs, Bethany called from her own room. “It’s Brandon.”

She sat at her desk, glasses on her pretty little face, pen in hand looking very much the smart, hard worker that she was. This one would run the country some day, I was convinced. First female president.

“What about Brandon?” I asked as I stood outside her door. But as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I slapped my forehead and groaned. “Oh no!” I lowered my voice. “Did he ask her out?”

“I think so. She was talking to Daddy about it. I couldn’t hear everything because the door was closed, but she was giggling.”

Callie? Giggling? He must have asked her out. I took a deep breath and lamented my selfish stupidity. Not only was I the worst mother in the world, but I had also missed out on a very important maternal experience. This just wouldn’t do.

“Thanks, Sweetie,” I said. “Is your homework almost done?”

She nodded.

“Okay, well dinner should be here soon. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

Skulking downstairs, I tried to get a grip on the events unfolding. I was obsessing and my family was suffering the consequence. So what if Bunny was crazy? Did she try to kill Michelle Alexander? Not my problem. I was a mother first. Time to forget about the whole ordeal and take care of my own life and my own family. The police could find the shooter themselves. It was their job, after all, not mine. And Howard did tell me to leave it alone. I decided to listen to him. This time at least.

I kept money in a coffee can on our kitchen counter for emergency order-out meals. I was pulling out a twenty when I heard a tapping at my back door. No one ever tapped at my back sliding glass door. People always used our front or side door. This was more than odd. Goose pimples sprouted on my forearms.

Cautiously, I peeked around the cupboard to catch a glimpse—hoping it was friend, not foe. I wasn’t pleased.

Not a bit.

My visitor was Bunny Bergen.

Chapter Twelve

UNFORTUNATELY, THERE IS NO CLEAR etiquette for handling a wigged-out psycho killer who stops by for a visit. Especially when she’s a mother in your neighborhood who seems to be preoccupied with ruining your life. I’d pulled my head back behind the cupboard, but it was silly to hope that she hadn’t seen me. If I had seen her, reason would dictate that she had seen me too. She knew I was home.

Damn!

While I contemplated escape options, Bunny tapped again—louder this time. I was tempted to ignore her altogether and hope she just went away. This would be rude, but then again, so was plugging another mother full of bullets, so we would be even.

Tap, tap, tap
.

Man, she wasn’t giving up.

“Mommy, what’s that noise?” Amber had wandered in and walked right past me before I could stop her. “Oh! It’s Mrs. Bergen!” She’d blown my cover and I couldn’t move fast enough to stop her. “Mommy, why aren’t you letting Mrs. Bergen in?” She opened the sliding glass door.

That’s what I get for teaching my kids good manners.

“I’m sorry, Bunny, I didn’t hear you. Come in.” I pushed the door open farther as if I really wanted her to enter my home. “Amber, Sweetie, would you go upstairs and, um, take a bath?”

“But isn’t dinner going to be here soon?”

“Yes, but you really need a bath and it’s getting late. Go upstairs.”

“But—”

“Amber, NOW!” My shout was fast and sharp. Poor Amber looked hurt and a little scared. I felt terrible, but I needed her out of the way.

Bunny stepped inside and closed the door behind her. A paisley purse was slung over one shoulder and she clutched a small, brown suitcase. I would have been more worried if she didn’t look so pathetic standing there all droopy-eyed like a lost basset hound.

“I’m sorry, Amber, I didn’t mean to yell. Tell you what—just go up to your room and . . . get all of your things ready for bath time, that way it will go faster. Do that now for me, okay? No arguments.”

“Okay,” she said, walking away and giving me a suspicious look.

Bunny hugged her suitcase tighter. “Barb, I didn’t know where to go or what to do. I’m afraid.”

“Why are you afraid?”

“It wasn’t me.”

Uh oh. “What do you mean?”

“Michelle—I didn’t try to kill her. Someone shot her before I got there.”

Double uh oh.

“Mom!” Callie’s voice screamed from upstairs. “Is the Chinese here yet?”

“Hang on!” I yelled back.

I felt like Michael Corleone in The Godfather III
. Just when I thought I was out . . . they pull me back in
. Not my favorite of the Godfather movies, but I understood the sentiment.

The synapses in my brain fired like a shock and awe campaign as I worked to resolve this newest predicament. Either I had a killer in my house or someone who had possibly witnessed an attempted killing. Regardless, the police had to be called. But first my kids needed to be fed and most importantly, kept safe. I decided to stow Bunny away until I could deal with her better.

“Bunny, follow me.” I was calm on the outside but quivering on the inside. “Let’s get you to a warm, safe place and we’ll talk in a few minutes, okay? I have a guest room where you can rest, is that okay?”

She nodded and I saw tears well up in her eyes. “You’re so nice, Barb.”

Man, I wish she hadn’t said that. I was about to send her to the Big House.

Up the stairs we went, Bunny clutching her suitcase like a toddler clutches a comfort blankie. I opened the guest room door and moved aside so she could go in. She spent a few seconds looking all lost-puppy again, staring around the room rather aimlessly, then she sat on the bed. She never let go of the suitcase.

“I’ll be back up in a couple of minutes. I have to feed the kids.” I used Roz’s comforting tones from the day before. It seemed to be working. Probably that whole more-bees-with-honey theory. “You’ll stay in here, right?”

She nodded again.

I closed the door, wishing I could lock her in there.

Then I made rounds to the girls’ rooms telling them to get their tooshies downstairs for dinner. There were some groans when they heard Hunan Rustic Woods hadn’t made the delivery yet, but they did what I asked, once I’d pointed out that they’d get the food faster if they were sitting at the table when it arrived.

We were all trampling down the stairs when the doorbell rang.

Hallelujah!

Callie opened the door and we were all relieved to see Mr. Chang, our favorite delivery man. He also owned Hunan Rustic Woods and evidently liked us so much that he sometimes delivered our orders personally. I ran for the money, and handed it over. “Thank you, Mr. Chang—you’re a life saver!”

“Any time, Missus Ma,” he said with a smile and a bow.

Bethany was already busy putting dishes and silverware out on the table while Amber and Callie opened the food cartons.

I had handled the hungry family. The police were next. I picked up the kitchen phone, but hesitated before dialing. Bunny’s claim that she’d found Michelle already shot echoed in my memory. What if she was telling the truth? She had to come for me for help.

On the other hand, I reasoned, even if she was innocent, I should call the police and let them deal with it. Let her tell them her story, right? I clicked the ‘talk’ button on my phone. The phone beeped back at me. Of course, the beep-back meant my phone wasn’t charged. We were always leaving it off the charging cradle.

“Mommy,” asked Amber with a mouth full of lo mein, “aren’t you going to eat?”

“Yes, honey,” I said, looking around for my cell phone. “I will in a minute.” I lifted a pile of school papers from the counter and peeked underneath. No cell. “I need to do something first.”

“You should take some up for Mrs. Bergen—she might be hungry, too.”

Again with the manners. I wanted to make that darn phone call and be done with it, but taking food to Bunny gave me a good reason to check on her. Who knew what she might be doing up there in my guest room?

“You’re right. She might be hungry. Good idea.” I rubbed her beautiful head of curls and scooped a few forkfuls of lo mein into a bowl, grabbed a fork, and ran upstairs. Halfway up, I remembered that my cell phone was in my jacket pocket. I had put it there after the fiasco at Peggy’s.

Putting on my I’m-not-afraid-you’re-a-killer smile, I opened the guest room door ready to hand Bunny her bowl of Chinese and pretend everything was just peachy keen, but stopped cold in my tracks when I saw her suitcase lying opened on the bed.

Actually, it wasn’t the suitcase that stopped me cold. It was the bloody gun inside.

Chapter Thirteen

NOW THE THING ABOUT WANTING to learn how to shoot a gun is that a certain amount of preparatory research is advisable. Colt had suggested it. And I had listened. That’s why I knew that the gun in Bunny Bergen’s suitcase was a Glock 21—the same model that had been used on Michelle Alexander.

If ever there was a time for jumping to conclusions, it was now.

The bowl of lo mein slipped from my hands and fell to the floor, crashing loudly and shattering into several pieces.

“Are you okay, Mom?” Bethany shouted.

“Fine! Just a little accident!” I answered. “Stay downstairs!”

I slammed the door shut and flipped the lock while Bunny dove to her knees and scooped up lo mein noodles. “I found it. It’s not mine, I swear, Barb.”

“Where?” My heart was thumping out of control and I started to feel a little dizzy. “Is this the one?”

“It was there when I found her.” Bunny stood up. Lo mein noodles dangled from her hands. “But I wasn’t thinking and I picked it up after. Now it has my fingerprints all over it—and Michelle’s blood.” Tears dripped onto the noodles. She attempted to dry her eyes with her shoulder. She couldn’t have looked more pitiful if she tried. And I was actually starting to feel sorry for her.