Death of the Couch Potato's Wife: Cozy Christian Mysteries (Women Sleuth, Female Detective Suspense) (7 page)

I reached for it and attempted a handshake, but her grip felt so limp that it gave me the shivers. I pulled back and rubbed my hand on my jeans. Awkward silence chirped between us.

I cleared my throat. Charming. Persuasive. Credible. Get with it, Laura! “So, today’s the big day, huh? Moving’s no fun. I just moved here myself nine months ago. Finally I won’t be the new kid on the block.”

A man paced into the room behind her, a phone glued to his ear. From where I stood, he looked like Marlon Brando from
The Godfather
days. He stopped at the base of the stairs and grunted. “I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

What did that mean? An offer who couldn’t refuse? Was it just me or were there threatening undertones to that statement?

He snapped his cell phone shut and walked toward us. A warm smile spread over his face. “And who do we have here?”

“Our new neighbor, Lori.”

“Laura.”

The man raised his head slowly, his gaze never leaving me. “Good to meet you, Lauren. I’m Steele. We look forward to getting to know you.”

New York accent. Definitely a New York accent. The rumor around town had been that they were from Virginia.

“Long trip here today?” I asked Gia.

She shrugged, looking at a chip on her nails. She had the detachment of someone who’d lived in the city. Could this woman be my new best friend?

There was a small problem. I realized, right then, that I didn’t miss the detachedness of urban dwellers. “I got here a few days ago,” she said. “Steele just got here today.”

A few days ago. That meant she arrived just in time for—

“I saw the police down the street the other day. There something I should know about this neighborhood?” Gia’s thin eyebrows arched together, and she turned her attention from her fingertips.

“It’s usually pretty dull.”

“Then what happened at that house?” She pointed at the Flynns’. Suddenly, I had her full attention.

I tried to think of a way to word it nicely, without the murder sounding so evil. How could I say it with cushion, though? Murder was murder. There was nothing nice about it.

“I met the man who lives there. What was his name?” Gia tapped her pointy-toe shoe against the tiled entryway. “Larry? Gary?”

My insides went ice cold. “Jerry?”

She snapped her fingers, a near miracle for someone with nails her length. “That’s it. I met Jerry. He seems like a nice enough man.”

“When did you say you got here?”

“Five or six days ago.”

Five or six days ago. When Jerry was supposed to be out of town.

Chapter 9

My phone chirped when I stepped back into my house. Icicles were already running through my veins after Gia’s announcement. And that video of me had been filmed from inside Jerry’s house. He was quickly moving up on my list of suspects.

Psycho, stupid, tech savvy. Check, check, and, based on all of the commercials he’d been in, Jerry had to have some kind of knowledge of cameras, right? So, check.

I needed to talk to Kent. Needed to tell him what was going on. Who else could I trust? Babe? I loved her, but she had a tendency to blab things all over town.

I slammed the front door shut behind me, warding away the cold. It didn’t work. My phone chirped again, so I reached into my back pocket. I didn’t recognize the number, but I put it to my ear and answered anyway.

Static crackled on the other line. “Hello?”

Finally, a tinny, masculine voice came through the line. “How about we get away for the weekend? Maybe that will help you forget.”

“Really?” a woman said in the background. “You can get away from your job for that long?”

I straightened, my pulse suddenly pounding. Why did the voice sound familiar? The conversation seem like a rerun? Had someone butt dialed me?

“Let me think this through. I can’t do it this weekend,” the man said. “I don’t have anyone to fill in for me.”

“Can’t people take their prescriptions up to Indy just for this weekend?”

I sucked in a breath. This was a real conversation. A conversation Kent and I had just a couple of days ago right here in my living room. Despite my horror, I couldn’t stop listening.

“I’m trying to establish people’s trust, Laura. You know how skeptical the locals feel about outsiders. People thought when I bought their local pharmacy that I’d never succeed with my big city values. I have to prove to them that I’m trustworthy and dependable. How about next weekend instead?”

“That’s the bake sale at church that I promised to help out with.”

“There’s always the weekend after that. We have the rest of our lives, sweetheart.”

“Of course.”

“Honey—”

“Really, it’s okay. I told you I would support you in this new chapter of our lives, and I am. I just didn’t say I would have fun while doing so.”

“I couldn’t ask for a better wife.”

I wasn’t sure what was stronger—my fear over hearing this conversation, or my despair over my marriage.

Another voice came on the line, this one modulated by electronics. “See, I told you I was listening, Laura Berry. I have eyes and ears everywhere. Spill any beans and you die. Same goes for your husband.”

The line went dead.

The phone dropped from my hand and hit the floor, scattering into pieces. How had someone taped that conversation? There had to be a bug in this house.

Cold chills raced up my spine. I’d thought I was being paranoid. But I wasn’t being paranoid at all.

Knocking sounded in my backyard again.

Babe. Trying to get something out of the shed. I was not in the mood for this right now. Didn’t I just tell her that there was a killer on the loose and that she had to be more careful?

I stormed toward the back door, ready to remind her—in a loving, respectful way, of course.

As soon as I reached the door, a huge ball of flames rock eted toward the sky.

My shed was on fire.

Chapter 10

Three hours later, fire and police personnel had cleared off my property after the flames had been extinguished. The source of the fire had been an old propane tank. Chief Romeo seemed to believe the blaze was accidental, but I had other theories.

I’d called Kent earlier as the fire crew was on the scene, and he’d asked if I needed him at home. I said no, though part of me wanted to scream, “Yes! Yes, of course I need you at home!”

At the moment, I stood in the middle of my living room, the silence frightening.

How had someone recorded my conversation with Kent?

My gaze roamed over the couch, the stylish recliners, and the end tables. There was a bug somewhere in the house. I had to find it. Now.

I could have told Chief Romeo about it, only the person who planted the device might have heard me and done something else terrible and awful to my family. He—or she—might have decided to start with blowing up our shed and then move on to blowing up our house.

I tiptoed to my computer, berating myself for sneaking around my own house. That’s how it felt when your privacy had been invaded, though. I was an outsider in my own home.

After sitting down at the computer, I quickly did an Internet search for “how to find listening devices.” Pages of results popped up.

Information assimilated, I rummaged around in my laundry room until I found an old radio. Then I flipped the switch to “on” and walked into my living room, to the area where Kent and I’d had our conversation.

The articles I’d read said my radio would start to squeal when it got close to the bug. The Bangles sang “Walk Like an Egyptian” as I skulked around my house, occasionally feeling the need to break out into the sand dance.

The radio remained the same around my couch, my chairs, the breakfast bar. Where would someone plant a listening device? I’d seen pictures of a few online, and I knew they were so small they could fit nearly anywhere.

As I passed an end table, the radio squealed. I paused and stepped closer. The squeals and static became louder.

I set the radio on the ground. My throat went dry as I picked up a picture of me and Kent. I turned it over and searched the back of the frame. My fingers brushed something underneath the stand, neatly camouflaged by the black cardboard leg that propped it up.

I held up the small plastic device, no bigger than a quarter.

Who in the world in Boring had access to technology like this? Who’d been able to sneak into my home and plant it when I wasn’t around? What kind of person had set up shop in the Flynns’ house so they could videotape me?

Chills raced across my skin.

I had no idea.

But I was going to find out.

When I stepped into the Pronto Café thirty minutes later, all of the chatter zapped into silence. People stared at me, their food frozen halfway into their mouths.

I knew what they were saying before I’d interrupted their gossip.

That city slicker. Left the tank for her gas grill open and when the light bulb in the shed mysteriously sparked, the whole place went up in the flames.

If I was to voice my concern that someone had purposefully set my shed on fire, I’d only sound paranoid. Instead, I ignored everyone—but only because I wanted to keep my “connection and credibility” legit—and I stomped over to the corner booth where I could listen to life take place all around me. I hadn’t ordered their specialty, green eggs and ham. No, I was in the mood for a half-pound burger, loaded with bacon, cheese and mayo. Oh, and I wanted fries with plenty of salt on them. I wouldn’t dip them in ketchup—that condiment seemed too much like a vegetable. I wanted ranch dressing. Just for kicks, I ordered a full-strength, highly-caffeinated, liquid-sugar soda.

After I’d found the bugging device, I’d dropped it down the garbage disposal, my stomach tight with anxiety as I’d listened to the plastic crack and shred as my sink digested it. At that point, I’d given up any thoughts of cooking dinner and come here to the café.

It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like Kent would make it home in time to eat together. No doubt this would be another long day at the pharmacy, as well as another long day of me feeling disconnected and utterly alone, not to exaggerate or anything. I mean, what kind of husband didn’t come home when something on his property was ablaze? I knew Kent thought I was self- sufficient, but really?
Really?

Did he not know that someone had bugged our home? That someone had sent me a threatening note? Okay. I guess he didn’t know. But still—shouldn’t he be able to read my mind?

I savored each bite of my meal as I watched the TV perched high in the corner. Dr. Phil giving marriage advice. Maybe I’d learn something.

I never thought I’d be one to need marriage advice. Never. Kent and I both came from stable homes. We had good educations and had dated a respectable two years before marrying. What did we have to worry about? Obviously, I should have listened more in our premarriage counseling courses. Certainly you weren’t supposed to feel so disconnected in a good marriage.

I tuned Dr. Phil out. Thinking about my marriage was getting me nowhere except deeper into my tense ball of stress.

Beside me, Emma Jean chatted—rather loudly, I might add—with the owner of Pronto, Barbara Ann, about the way the town used to be. Two golfers sat on the other side of me, and they might as well have been speaking a different language. Two men three seats over talked about the upcoming Ginseng Festival here in Boring.

My ears perked when someone in a booth behind me mentioned Candace. I took a sip of my soda and leaned back, trying to eavesdrop. Yes, my mother taught me manners. I just chose to forget them for the time being.

A female voice said, “Everyone knows that Jerry’s a no- good cheater.”

“But that doesn’t make him a killer.”

“Who do you think did it, then?”

“Maybe it was—”

“Fancy seeing you here, chickaroonie!”

I jumped and splashed soda all over my blouse. I gasped and grabbed a napkin as the icy liquid chilled my skin. “Babe!”

“Thought you saw me come in. Sorry ’bout that.” She slid onto the seat across from me and ordered some hot chocolate. “Cold day out there.”

“Even colder now,” I muttered, still wiping at my wet shirt. She didn’t seem to hear me or notice the spill. Maybe it was the sunglasses she was wearing—stylishly oversized and so dark I’m surprised she recognized me.

“Heard about your shed. Freaky.”

“Freaky,” I repeated. And it was. How much could I tell Babe? Could I tell her about the threats? The phone call? The letter? No, I decided. The fewer people who knew, the better.

Babe reapplied her pink lipstick under the guidance of the mirror on her powder compress. “Shouldn’t you be at home cooking for Kent?”

I scowled, and threw my napkin on the counter. “He’s working late.”

She lowered the mirror and peered at me. “Doing that a lot lately, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Could be worse. He could be lazy like Jerry.”

I nodded. “Point taken.” I ignored the chilly liquid splattered across the front of my shirt and turned toward my friend. “Babe, I just met my new neighbors—”

“Are they nice? Italian, I hear. I bet she makes a mean meatball.”

“Yes, but that’s beside the point. The woman—Gia is her name—she said that she saw Jerry after she arrived in Boring. She moved here four or five days ago—when Jerry was supposed to be out of town.”

“Now that’s juicy news.”

“Should I go to the police with it?”

“Probably. They’ll figure things out. I hope.”

I raised an eyebrow. I hope. My thoughts exactly. Just how reliable were the police here in Boring, Indiana? I’d bet they spent more time playing Halo than they did solving real crimes. They had the bellies to prove it.

Babe eyed my meal.

“I always took you as more of a salad type of girl,” Babe said.

“I’m splurging.” So were my hips, but no need to mention that.

I glanced over my shoulder quickly, trying to get a glimpse of who had been mentioning Jerry a moment ago. Of course, who in town hadn’t been mentioning Jerry lately? I spotted a lady from church and her sister sipping milkshakes. I couldn’t remember their names, but they seemed nice enough. Their voices were low now, and I couldn’t make out a thing they said.

“Everything okay?” Babe snitched one of my fries.

I shrugged. “I suppose. After I eat this heart attack on a plate, I guess I’ll make my way over to the police station. I’ll see what they say about Jerry. Maybe they have an update.”

“Take that, scum bag!”

Okay, so it wasn’t the combat video game Halo. It was video game Mortal Combat. But there Chief Romeo and Officer Maloney were, sitting in a back office at the police station with controllers in their hands. They didn’t even hear me come in.

I cleared my throat and set my purse on the front desk with a loud thump. Both men jumped, dropping their remotes, and tripped over themselves to get to the front. Officer Maloney’s face flushed. I had to give him credit for at least looking embarrassed. I supposed if they couldn’t catch the real bad guys, maybe it made them feel better to catch fake, video game ones.

“Well, hello Mrs. Berry. What brings you in?” Romeo tucked his shirt into his pants as he approached me at the desk. Beyond him I could see an empty jail cell—a jail cell where a killer should be right now. Candace may not have been well liked, but she deserved justice. Everyone did.

I glanced at the TV screen as it flicked to black. “How’s the investigation going? I’m surprised you’re not still at my house after the shed exploded.”

Chief Romeo laughed, but it sounded fake, especially when his chuckles died in a fit of coughing. “Now, aren’t you a concerned citizen? Despite what people around here say about you city slickers, you really do care, don’t you?” He cleared his throat again. “I’ve done everything I can pertaining to your shed. Now it’s the fire chief’s job.”

I stared at him, pondering my reaction. Finally, I nodded and said, “So, about the investigation into Candace’s death?”

His smile disappeared. “We’re following up on every lead. Have some strong suspects.”

I glanced at the blank TV screen. “I can see.”

He finished tucking his shirt in, and I noticed sweat beads appear on his forehead. “What can I help you with?”

I shared my discovery. Romeo nodded and jotted down notes on his desk calendar. The cops in Chicago would have never stood for this. When I’d been attacked, it had taken them less than 24 hours to track down the man who’d held a knife to my throat in the alleyway beside my apartment building.

Don’t get me wrong—I don’t think all small-town police departments are inept. Just this one. I’d do a better job than they did. And I just might end up proving that fact.

“We’ll look into it, ma’am.”

I stared at Romeo for a moment, trying to find some measure of confidence. Nothing. I couldn’t even fake a look of trust. Should I tell him about the phone call? The threatening note? No, I decided. It wouldn’t do any good.

I nodded. “I’ll be going then.”

I climbed back into my 4Runner and locked the doors—a killer was on the loose, after all. It could be anyone in this sleepy little town. I soaked in Boring in all of its glory as I drove back home. The town had its charm, that’s for sure. Main Street was lit with lanterns and the sidewalks were cobblestone. Little benches were placed every so often to add to the ambiance. Just past downtown was the General Store, and across the street from that the high school, where we had our Homeowners’ Association meetings. Old houses, original to the town, scattered behind those buildings on neat little streets.