Deadly Neighbors (6 page)

Chapter Ten

“Do you know what could’ve happened had you gone inside Sharon’s house and been caught by her?” Bruce’s face reddened. “I would’ve had to arrest you. I ought to anyway
just to get you off the streets. You’re a menace.”

I pretended to study my fingernails.
“Technically, I haven’t been served yet so I didn’t violate anything.”

“You, Marsha
Steele, have a smart mouth!”

I choked down words better left unsaid. “Do you think I wouldn’t have chosen being arrested over finding her body?”

“You have no respect for the law.”

Maybe it’s the person enforcing the law I didn’t care for. “You have no compassion for a dead person!” By this time, Bruce and I faced each other over
his desk, both on our feet, faces inches away from the other, and my hand was curled around a glass paperweight.

“I dare you to hit me.” Bruce smirked. “Assault a police officer.
See what I do.”

With a shuddering breath, I whirled, tossed the paperweight on the floor, and marched out of his office.

A while later, I lay staring at the ceiling, a bundle of nerves. The cuckoo clock downstairs sang out two o’clock. I groaned. Experience told me that no matter how much sleep we missed, Mom would still expect us to arrive on time to church. I didn’t think the need to search for a possible witness, or murderer, would trump Sunday morning service. I closed my eyes and prayed for sleep.

The alarm blared country music at seven. I reached for the snooze button then remembered I’d moved the clock out of reach. Sometimes, my desire for efficiency drove me nuts.

Mom belted out Amazing Grace while passing my room, banged on the door, and stomped down the stairs. Her own form of an alarm clock. I tossed the blankets aside, groaned, and crawled from bed.

A shower helped marginally
, leaving me with wet hair and still gritty eyes. I stuffed my hair into a ponytail and slapped on some mascara. On my way to the kitchen, I passed my daughter who grunted in response to my “morning.” If we were going to continue our night time spying, we’d have to squeeze in a nap somewhere.

Mom had three plates of pancakes on the table and poured a thick layer of syrup on her stack. “About time, you two. You got thirty minutes to eat and get presentable.” She squinted at me. “You
in particular need more time, but I can’t give you any. Eat up.”

I put a hand to my hair
, which stuck up in all directions. I hadn’t done a very good job of pulling it back. No one at church would care. I’d sit in the back and slip out as quickly as possible.

I scarfed down breakfast like
I didn’t know when my next meal would be then dashed upstairs to throw on a sundress. The only time anyone would catch me, alive at least, in anything remotely feminine was church. When I die, they can bury me in my overalls. The more faded and tattered the better.

Flip
-flops in hand, I sprinted down the stairs, grabbed my Bible from the table by the front door, then raced my daughter to ride shotgun. She beat me. Way too early in the morning to play games.

“It’s a glorious day, don’t you think?” Mom asked
. The only conversation during the twenty minute drive to the nearest non-denominational church, River Valley Community. The one we’d called our church home for as long as I could remember. I popped open one eye and gazed out the car window.

“Lovely.” I closed my eye. Then straightened in my seat and tried smoothing the wrinkles from my dress.

Duane swaggered toward us, dimples winking, teeth flashing, and looking way too good for this small town. He helped Mom from the car then turned to me.

“When did you start going to church?” I declined his offer, choosing to stick with my hands off attitude.

“About five years ago.” He placed a hand against the small of my back. His warmth could’ve melted the sun. “Want to hear about it?”

“No.”
I stepped forward so he couldn’t touch me. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Yeah, here.” He opened the door so I could proceed first.

My eyes hadn’t adjusted to the change
of indoor light before Stephanie rushed me. “Thank the Lord! Marsha, we’re in a dilemma. The Sunday school teacher for the two-year-olds didn’t show. Would you be a peach and cover for her?” Stephanie gazed at me. “What’s wrong with your hair?”

Could
the teacher have been Sharon by any chance? “I, uh. . .” Don’t do toddlers.

“We both will,” Duane offered.

Great. The man was crazy. “You probably aren’t even fingerprinted.” I whipped around to face him.

“This morning.” He held up his right hand, still sporting black ink on his fingers.
“The results won’t be back for a while, but I’m clean. Plus, the coordinator is desperate. It doesn’t hurt that I’m a teacher.”

Before I knew it, I found myself swarmed by at least ten screeching knee biters. A headache threatened, prickling behind my eyes.

Duane rubbed his hands together. “This will be fun.” He crooked his arms and immediately two boys latched on and he carried them across the room. The girls screamed to be next.

Yeah, fun. I plopped into the nearest rocking chair. On a nearby table sat a colorful book about Adam and Eve. I sighed, picked it up,
and called the children to form a semi-circle around me. After fifteen minutes and several requests to be quiet, I was able to start reading. To my amazement, twenty pairs of eyes in cherubic faces stared at me, quiet, and unmoving, for the most part.

This wouldn’t be too bad. I could do this. Maybe I related better to older kids, but this might be fun.

As soon as I closed the book, screaming resumed, with Duane in the middle. He crumpled to a multi-colored carpet that looked like Walt Disney threw up on it and disappeared beneath a swarm of chubby arms and legs. Well, fine. If they were mauling him, I’d be safe, right?

“I gotta go potty.” A grubby hand tugged on my skirt.

“Can’t you go by yourself?”

“I’m little.” A
rosy lip pouted. Tears welled. I grabbed the girl’s hand before wailing started and led her to the room that held a child-size toilet and sink. Business completed, I headed back, relieved to see Duane had the other children seated with cookies and Kool Aid. I glanced at my watch. Fifteen minutes, and I’d be free.

We lined the children in front of the sink and busied ourselves wiping sticky fingers and smudged faces. Several of them started the potty dance and another line formed. When we finished, I collapsed into a rocking chair.

“That was a blast,” Duane said, handing the last child to his parents. “I think I’m going to volunteer for this class once my fingerprints are cleared.”

“You go right ahead.” I grabbed my purse and scooted through the door.

“You didn’t enjoy yourself?”

“I like the older kids. Ones that can talk
and go potty by themselves.”

He followed me to the courtyard. “Don’t you want more kids someday?”

“I’m thirty-four. Time is slipping away.” I stood on tiptoes, trying to find my mother and daughter.

“I’ve got a remedy for that.” He laughed.

“Don’t be crude.” I swung my purse at him, catching him in the stomach, cutting his laugh off into a wheeze. The man’s a complete oaf.

He pursed his lips at me,
smacked them a couple of times in an imitation kiss and despite myself, I giggled. This was the Duane I fell in love. . .Good grief. I needed to change the subject immediately.

“Marsha!” Mom waved gaily from her group of “red hat” ladies. “Going to lunch. See you at home.”

“Mom.” Lindsey appeared at my elbow and cast a sputtering Duane a curious glance. “I’m hanging out with Kelly. I’ll be home in time for dinner, okay?”

“Okay.” I bit my lip, watching her skip away. Trying to hide behind a pillar was the boy she’d followed from the Dairy Queen.
A shock of dark hair fell in his eyes. He needed a haircut. Lindsey gave him a nod and continued toward the parking lot.

Duane straightened. “Kelly, huh? Odd name for a boy.
Especially since that isn’t his name.”

“You noticed
him too.”

He nodded. “Name’s Billy Butler. He’s on my football team. I haven’t met him yet, just his parents. He’s supposed to be quite the quarterback. He wants to go to some football skills camp this summer, but his parents don’t have the money.”

“Seems everyone I meet needs money for something. Melvin the gardener is trying to start his own landscape business. Stephanie Jackson is saving to adopt a girl from South America. Kyle Anderson wants an addition on his house, Marilyn the dog walker wants to go to Hollywood.” Me, I just wanted a life. I turned to Duane. “What do you want?”

He didn’t hesitate. Instead, he speared me with those incredible eyes and said, “You.”

Chapter Eleven

Lord, catch me. I never should have left the question open like that. It’s completely my fault. This feeling of drowning. Duane didn’t even ask if I wanted to go to lunch with him. He took me by the arm and led me to the parking lot.

“Where’s your truck? I can’t ride a motorcycle in a dress.”

“It’s not just a motorcycle.” Duane crossed his arms. “It’s a Harley. A V-Rod VRSCAW. Custom metallic
silver paint. I bought her yesterday. Isn’t she sweet?”

I still didn’t know how I was supposed to ride in a dress. I knew I should’ve worn my overalls. Or jeans. The bike
was
pretty. But exactly how excited did he want me to act? What would people think when I rode up to Wanda’s Cafe on the back of his bike with my arms around his waist? My face heated. They’ll think we’re an item. That’s what. “I can’t ride with you.”

“Why not? Sit on your dress. The diner isn’t that far. Fifteen minutes. It’ll be the ride of your life.” He grinned. “All you
’ve got to do is hold on to me.”

Yeah, that’s a great idea.
Wrap my arms around you and lay my head on your back.
Probably wouldn’t change people’s opinion a bit. I grinned. “Why not?” Since we were headed to the diner, I could eavesdrop on conversations around us and search for a clue to Sharon’s murderer.

“Great!” Duane handed me a helmet and swung his leg over the bike. I followed suit and tucked my skirt tightly under me, wrapped my arms around a very firm waistline, turned my head, then closed my eyes.

Being close to the man in front of me without any strings attached, along with the fragrant summer air whizzing past us, made me almost regret my vow not to get emotionally attached to Duane Steele. Not again. Only fools go back to the origin of pain. But he sure did smell nice. A musky, woodsy cologne. I took a deep breath.

Cars honked as they whizzed past us.
A couple of local yocals hooted out the window. Mom’s Cadillac cruised alongside us. Mom waved and pointed. I waved back, my face hurting from the stretch of my grin.

“Your dress is flapping behind you!” She pointed again. “You’re wearing purple panties!”

Oh! My face burned like acid lay across my skin. Duane’s back vibrated with his laugh. Struggling to hold on with one hand, I fought to stuff my dress back under me.

Not soon enough,
we pulled beside the giant cow advertising the diner and Duane put the kickstand down. I removed the helmet, thankful I’d braided my hair before taking care of the children. At least I wouldn’t look like a cave woman. I glanced at my skirt. Gracious! The stupid dress had escaped again and slid to an entirely inappropriate length up my legs. How many town residents had I flashed? My mother’s warning of always wearing clean underwear rose to mind. For such a time as this, she would say. I smoothed the fabric before Duane could see and say something embarrassing.

His mouth twitched when he offered his arm, making me suspect the man was up to no good. Before I could ask what he smirked about, he ushered me inside the diner to a corner booth. Too cozy for me, but I pacified myself with the fact that Kyle Anderson and Melvin Brown occupied the booth next to us. I
slid into the seat backing theirs so I could snoop undetected.

A bouncy teenage girl handed us our menus. I lifted mine to cover my face and slouched in my seat.

Duane reached across the table and pulled down my shield. “What are you doing? Embarrassed about the exhibition show you gave? My side mirrors reflected a lot, you know. I almost wrecked us a couple of times.” He winked.

“Shhh.”
My face burned. Good grief. Did the man ever quit? “You should have told me, not taken advantage of the situation. Now, hush.”

“Are you s
pying?” He whispered. “Or hiding from me?”

“Yes
to both. Now be
quiet
.” I hid again behind the laminated list of food items.

“The contractors are really breathing down my neck.
Karen did a real number on me by cleaning out my checking account.” Anderson’s voice lowered. I suspected so he wouldn’t be heard by the other patrons, but his words reached my ears easily enough.

“And I’ve almost got enough for that high-fangled lawnmower,” Melvin answered. “If I could get a few more accounts, I’d have enough. I’ve got a plan, though.”

“To come up with more money?”

“Yep. Sure thing.
Easy. All I gotta do is—“

The waitress skipped back to the table to take mine and Duane’s order
. Her hyper, cheery voice drowned out the words from the other table. I scowled. “I’ll have a cheese burger, fries, and a cherry diet coke.”

Duane ordered the same then leaned back in the booth. “I might as well have come to lunch by myself.”

“Sorry.” I folded my arms on the table and tried to keep one ear tuned to the men behind me. “But an awful lot of people seem to be searching for money around here. Now Sharon’s dead. I think they’re related. Somebody wants money bad enough to kill for it.” I glanced over my shoulder to make sure my soft words weren’t overheard.

“You have quite an imagination, Mars Bar.
She fell and hit her head. No sign of foul play.”

I cringed. “I’m right
about this. You’ll see, and stop calling me that.”

“Marsha!” Stephanie stopped at our table with a stack of fluorescent pink papers clutched in one fist. “Here’s another flier about my yard sale. Don’t want you to forget. It would be great if you could donate something.”

“I live with my mother. I don’t have, or need, a lot.” I set the paper on the table. We definitely wouldn’t be contributing anything from the store.

“You must have something.” Her pasted on smile grew wider. “The women’s ministry committee
is actually talking about giving some of the proceeds toward the adoption of the little girl I want.” She giggled and glanced sideways at Duane. “And here I thought I’d have to go to Mexico and steal one. Saving money is so slow, you know. Bye bye.”

“Bye bye,” I mocked under my breath. What a fake.

Duane watched the exchange with one brow cocked. “Yikes. It appears you two can’t stand each other. Why not?”

I shrugged.
Men were so dense. “No particular reason. Personality conflict, I guess.” He didn’t need to know she’d hated me ever since I’d shoved her into the lake on the night of Senior prom. It’d been an accident, but the murky water stained the white dress she’d worn and destroyed her elaborate hair style. I couldn’t remember exactly what we’d fought about, but I had a sneaky suspicion it had been about the tiara I’d worn on my head and the boy whose arm I’d been hanging on. Even then, she’d had her eyes set on Duane. Now, married to the pharmacist of our quaint little town, she didn’t seem satisfied. Being unable to bear children because of a sterile husband, she might be looking somewhere else again.

Our food arrived, thankfully halting our conversation
, at least for the moment. Duane’s lips pulled back and his mouth opened over his burger. Ketchup smeared the corner of his mouth. I decided to focus on my food, instead of watching him. Not that staring at him was bad. Far from it. The man could grace the cover of any country magazine in the world. Put a suit on him, and I’d probably have a heart attack.

“So.” Duane set his burger on his plate. “Back to the question you asked me earlier.”

“Which one?” My hands shook as I lifted my lunch.

He smirked. His eyes smoldered. “About what I want. What’s your response to my answer?”

Sheer terror. I decided to play it cool. “I asked what you wanted out of life.”

“Uh-huh. And I answered.”

Taking a bite and chewing gave me a minute to compose myself. I should’ve known better than to come here with Duane. Being alone, even in a crowded diner, was not the wisest thing I’d ever done. The man had always been blunt, even when he dashed out of my life after my senior year. He hadn’t pulled any punches then, and he didn’t now. Told me he wanted more than this Podunk town. Interpretation—he wanted more than me, Marsha Callaway. Two weeks after that, I’d ran into his younger brother’s arms to be consoled, wed a few months later, then got impregnated. Thankfully, in that order.

“Look.” I wiped my mouth and folded my hands in my lap.
“You can’t leave for fifteen years, disappear for the last ten of them, and waltz right back into the heart of the girl you left behind. I am no longer that girl, Duane. I’m a widowed mother who moved back in with
her
mother.”

“You still do that eye-lid fluttering thing when you’re mad.”

“Don’t change the subject.” Tossing my napkin on the table, I stood and leaned closer, my lips inches from his ear. “I won’t deny that I still love you, Duane Steele. You know me too well. But I think it’s too late for—us. You killed me that night, and you’re still twisting the knife.” I straightened. “Either we work at being friends, or you hop back on your bike and ride into the sunset.”

Duane’s grin outshone the sun
, and I willed my heart to slow. “You still love me. Then, Mars Bar, it’s only a matter of time. You’ll see I’m serious. That I’m changed.”

“Puh-leese.
” Leave it to a man to only pick up on part of the conversation. “You’ve got an ego the size of that football field you’re so fond of.” I grabbed my purse. “Come on. I need a ride home.”

“So,” Melvin’s voice drifted back to me. “If you want in, just let me know.”

“Oh,” Kyle Anderson replied. “I definitely want in.”