Mom Zone Mysteries 02 Staying Home Is a Killer (25 page)

“Stop!” Abby gripped my arm. I hit the brakes. The Cherokee fishtailed and I forced myself to pump the brakes as a black streak darted from the steps at the kitchen door toward the headlights. I felt the Cherokee hit a patch of slush, the brakes caught, and we stopped with one headlight in the snowbank and the rest of the Cherokee blocking the street. I hopped out and Rex wiggled, flinging snow as he leaped over the snowbank.

“Down!” I said. “Down!” Rex promptly sat down on my boots, a mass of wiggling fur and lolling pink tongue. I was so glad to see him, I let him lick me on the face a few times. “Okay, enough. Abby, would you take him inside while I get the Cherokee out of the street?”

A few minutes later I pulled off my gloves in the kitchen and ran my hands over every inch of Rex. “There’s not a scratch on him.” From the trail of blood in the snow when he disappeared, I’d thought we might need to take him to the vet.

Abby came back from locking the kitchen door that I’d left open in my hurry to get inside and checked Rex for wounds. “This was on the step beside the rail.” She plunked a bottle of ketchup down on the table.

I sat down heavily on the nearest chair. “Do you think that means someone put ketchup on the snow so I’d think he was hurt?” Rex kept his brown gaze fixed on mine as he sat at my knees, tail swishing back and forth.

“I don’t know, but the door was open,” Abby said.

“What?” I stood up and went to the door that opened from our kitchen to the yard.

“I mean the door was closed, but it wasn’t locked.”

“I think I locked it. I always do. But maybe I forgot…” Rex had followed me to the door, his tail lazily swishing back and forth. “Rex, check the house.” I hoped my tone was as commanding as Mitch’s when he said the same sentence. Rex stilled, ears perked. “Check the house,” I repeated and he was off, running the circuit through each room and closet that Mitch had taught him. Less than a minute later he bounded up the stairs from the basement garage, his tail beating the air, ready for a treat.

I gave him a dog bone and lavished praise, and then Abby and I completed our own tour of the house. Everything looked fine, but I felt drained, so I collapsed on the ottoman and Rex plopped down at my feet. Abby came back from the kitchen. “Door’s locked now. I double-checked. And it doesn’t look like it was forced open.”

“Good. I’m pretty sure I locked it, but…Rex, what have you got?” I picked up a tiny oval black bead that Rex was pawing away from the edge of our oriental rug. I rolled it around in my hand. “This looks like the beading on Elaina’s gloves.”

“Who?”

I looked around the living room, but didn’t see any more beads. I belatedly realized Abby had asked me a question. “What?”

“Who’s Elaina?”

I leaned closer to the bookcase. “I met her at the party tonight. These books—look, they’re pushed too far back. I think Elaina got in here somehow—either she broke in or I accidentally left the door unlocked—and she looked through my bookcase.

Abby spoke slowly like she was humoring one of her students. “Okay, why did she have your dog? And why would she leave Rex outside if she was in here?”

“I don’t know.”

The phone rang and I went to answer it. I expected Jeff’s or possibly Mitch’s voice, but didn’t recognize this muffled one. “Nice dog. Great watchdog. He likes beer, in case you didn’t know.”

“What? You took my dog?” The tone was conversational and I thought maybe someone had called the wrong number, or that I’d picked up in the middle of someone else’s phone conversation.

“Yeah. I had the pooch.”

I pressed the phone harder to my ear. The words were indistinct. It sounded like they were filtering through a thick barrier. It eliminated voice nuances. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, but I suspected a man. “But.” There was a puff of breath, a sigh? I couldn’t tell. “I’m getting tired of this little game. I want the book.” The dial tone buzzed in my ear.

I punched in star-six-nine and received the same recording about the number being unavailable. I wanted to scream, “What book? What are you talking about?” Instead, I repeated the conversation to Abby as Rex gulped from the fresh bowl of water, sloshing water over the floorboards.

“I need a recorder,” I said and repeated the man’s words for Abby. I had an urge to throw the phone across the room, but I fought it down. Even though Livvy wasn’t here I could hear my voice scolding her for throwing a fit. Having a kid does help me curb some of my baser instincts—sometimes. “I hate this. I’m angry and scared at the same time. And so confused. I wish this would all go away.” I settled for slamming the phone into its holder and pacing across the kitchen.

“We’d better call the police. They can trace those calls and find out who’s been in here.”

“I guess they could, but I don’t want a lot of contact with the police right now, okay? I’m avoiding them, you know?” I placed the bead in the basket where I put our mail.

I realized my hands were shaking and shoved them into my pockets. “That person snatched Rex right out of our backyard!”

His ears perked up at his name and he trotted over to my side, sloshing his wet muzzle across my leg. I pulled my hands out of my pockets and rubbed his back. A wave of fury washed over me, driving out my fear. “They’re playing with me. Toying with me. Letting me know they have the power to get to me, to get Livvy. And what book are they talking about?”

“I don’t know. Did Penny ever mention a book?”

Rex collapsed onto his back so I could rub his tummy. “Not that I can think of.” My hands had stopped shaking, but now I felt wobbly. I thought of the long night that stretched out in front of me. “This is crazy. I’m not going to sit here and be scared. Actually, I can’t do much about the scared part, but I can’t sit here.” I rubbed Rex’s tummy a few times and then called him to his kennel. “You go have a nice rest. I’ve got a house to break into.”

Chapter Twenty-three

“C
ome on, let’s go check out Penny’s house. Mabel said Will is still out of town.”

“I don’t know,” Abby said. “Maybe we should just call the police and let them handle it.”

“Abby, you were all for this at Pablo’s.”

“I know. All right, but shouldn’t we at least change clothes?”

“What?” Trust Abby to bring fashion into the equation. “We need to look like burglars from a sitcom? You’re always the first person I call if I have a fashion emergency, but I think we’re fine,” I said, looking over her black turtleneck and jeans and my dark blue sweatshirt and jeans.

“Will Jeff be okay with Livvy for a few more minutes?” I asked suddenly, checking my watch. “Oh, we’ve only been gone forty-five minutes.” In addition to having great food, Pablo’s also had speedy service.

“They should be fine. They were going to decorate sugar cookies and then I gave him a
Blue’s Clues
video.”

“Well, we’re fine, then.” Livvy’s favorite thing in the world was to dribble sprinkles on cookies. She’d be happy for hours, but I didn’t want to see what Jeff and Abby’s kitchen floor would look like when Livvy was finished. Her aim wasn’t that good.

I grabbed two flashlights and headed for the door. “Don’t forget your gloves.”

“This is creepy,” Abby said as I eased the front door shut and flicked the flashlight around Will and Penny’s living room. The stark white walls seemed to magnify the light. I quickly pointed the beam down to the floor.

“No, it’s not. It’s just a quiet, dark house,” I said and stepped through the living room, setting off mini-shrieks from the floorboards.

“It
is
creepy. Penny died here.” Abby still stood by the door. “Where? Where did she die?”

“In the bathroom. Abby!” I said sharply. “Let’s do this and get it over with.”

“Right,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll check in here.” Abby crossed the living room with the floorboards protesting at her every step.

I scanned the kitchen. A sticky bowl and glass sat in the sink. The unfinished crossword puzzle on grid paper still hung on the refrigerator. I returned to the hallway, then headed to the bedroom. The bedroom’s one nightstand contained a phone book, a blank notepad, a few pens, paperback romances, and some crossword puzzle books. With my thick gloved hands I opened the crossword puzzle books clumsily and saw both the squared-off letters of Will’s handwriting and Penny’s rounded style. Nothing under the bed. Their small closet had Will’s green flight suits on one side and Penny’s stark wardrobe on the other side. In the dim light of the flashlight, her clothes looked especially drab, with their muddy colors and drooping lines hanging off wire hangers.

In the bath, I opened the cabinet and looked through thin towels, a tiny supply of makeup that consisted mostly of mascara, and dried-out tubes of lip gloss. Will’s shaving cream and razor sat on the edge of the sink inside a brown rust stain. He probably hadn’t cleaned anything since she died.

I entered the bedroom they used as a study and went to the desk. I sat down and tucked the light in the crevice of my neck between my ear and my shoulder, like I did with the phone. With only miniblinds on the windows, I didn’t think it would be a good idea to turn on lights.

I flicked through the magazines and books, looked under the blotter, and opened each drawer. I was getting a serious crick in my neck.

“How’s it going?” a voice whispered near my ear. I shrieked and dropped the light.

“Sorry,” Abby apologized. “I haven’t found anything.”

I patted around and found the flashlight. “Nothing exciting here, yet.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

“Okay, but check the closet first while I look through here.” I moved over to the chair and examined the books on antiquities.

“I don’t see anything,” Abby said and shut the door. “Not that I know what I’m looking for anyway.”

“I know.” I picked up a thin volume with dust along the edge. It didn’t have a title imprinted on it. I fanned through the pages and realized it was a journal with blank, lined pages. Penny had dated her entries, but they were spotty, only every few weeks. I had a spiral-bound journal like this that I used to jot down ideas for my organizing clients. A few entries of Penny’s were mundane: grocery lists, notes to wash the car on Tuesday, Ladies’ Day Discount. An occasional phone number. I flipped to the last page with a handwritten entry.
Monday,
I read and my heartbeat picked up.
Meeting, Mansion
. After a few blank lines, a sentence noted
Ellie’s—this afternoon.
Then about halfway down the page,
You lie like a
___. I read the entry off to Abby.

“How did the police miss this?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe they didn’t look inside everything? They thought it was a book, not a journal? Its spine looks like a book and it blends in with all the other books. I didn’t notice it either the first time I looked around. Anyway, who cares? What does that fill-in-the-blank mean?”

“Dog?” Abby guessed as she edged to the door.

“Or rug. I wonder if it was part of their puzzle game. Did you see their notes on the fridge?” I asked.

I scanned the earlier entries. “Nothing else like it. And besides, how interesting is
dog
or
rug
as a word in a crossword puzzle? Would Penny even need a note to remember that?”

“No, but she wrote it on the day she died, after her meeting with Bedford and after she’d talked to me at the squad. It’s all we’ve got. They don’t have a dog. Let’s check the rugs.”

“Okay, but let’s get it done and get out of here.”

I slipped the journal into the pocket of my coat. It stuck out at an odd angle, but I ignored it and shoved the chair off the plastic grid and the oriental rug covering the hardwood floors. I moved the plastic; we each grabbed a side and pulled it back, like we were peeling away a label. Only a few dust motes floated in the shaft of light from the flashlight.

“I’ll check the runner in the hall,” Abby said as we lowered the rug back.

I shoved the chair back and headed to the living room. We struggled with each rug in the house. Will, like lots of military folks who deployed to the Middle East and Southwest Asia, had brought home several carpets.

“That’s it,” I said as we replaced the dining room table over the last intricately patterned brown, cream, and gold rug. “What else could she mean?”

“The bath mat?” Abby asked, questioning. “That’s kind of a rug.”

We headed into the tiny room and flicked back the plain mat in front of the tub. “Nothing. Maybe it had nothing to do with rugs, but it was about a liar,” Abby said, rubbing her dusty glove over her forehead and leaving a dark streak.

“Well, I know she wasn’t talking about me. Maybe Bedford?”

A metallic groan sounded through the house and then a small series of clicks.

I sucked in a deep breath and my heart pounded into high gear. “Someone’s unlocking the door.” I hurried to the bathroom door, then nearly tripped on Abby as I backpedaled.

“He’s back,” I hissed. I could see through the dining room into the kitchen where Will had parked his rolling suitcase and was flicking through the mail in the harsh light of the overhead kitchen lights.

“Let’s run for the door,” Abby whispered and nodded in the direction of the front door.

“No, he’ll see us. The window.” I pushed her back into the bathroom and pointed to the small window with beveled glass. It was already open an eighth of an inch, probably for air circulation since this house was older, and like our house, didn’t have an exhaust fan in the bathroom.

“God. I hope my hips fit through there,” Abby said and pushed the window open wider.

Me too. I heard the refrigerator door sigh open and then closed. “Is there a screen?” I whispered.

“No.”

Next came the faint tinny sound of a can popping open. Trust Will to need a beer the minute he walked in the door. I cupped my hands and Abby stepped up. The sole of her boot bit into my palms. She shimmied through the window and her boots disappeared with a whoosh. As I braced one foot on the rim of the tub and grabbed the windowsill, I heard a muffled thud and a few choice words from outside.