Citizen Insane (A Barbara Marr Murder Mystery #2) Page 9

  I asked the obvious question. “What’s that?”

  “Oh!” A shout came from behind us. “That’s mine!”

  We turned around to see Peggy standing on the other side of the barricade, smile pasted on her pale Irish-freckled face. “What’s going on?”

  “Is that your missing friend?” asked the cop.

  If an artist had been around to render a caricature sketch of me, I would have looked like Elmer Fudd with a sunburn and steam coming out of my ears.

  “Yes, sir,” answered Roz. “That’s our friend.”

  It didn’t take long for the Fairfax County law enforcement and rescue services to pack up and head out. Russell Crow the handsome fire fighter stopped by to make sure I was okay. That was nice.

  “I’m fine. Embarrassed, but fine,” I said.

  “Don’t worry,” he assured me. “We’ve seen crazier.”

  Colt felt he had to put his two cents worth in. “Just stick around this one. She raises the bar on the definition of crazy.”

  Inside the house, the two remaining police officers took down Peggy’s official story. I’m not sure whether it was required for their report, or whether they just needed a good laugh.

  Basically, it went like this—Peggy had decided to put a casserole in the oven for Michelle’s family. She forgot, as she often does, that her pilot was on the fritz and that she had to light it by hand. She had her writing class on her mind, so she was a little distracted. Just before she stepped out to check in on an elderly, house-ridden neighbor, she was struck with moment of literary genius. An idea popped into her head, but she had to run out the door fast because she needed to get back before the casserole was done. She grabbed the nearest thing she could find, a vial of fake blood from her son’s Halloween costume which had been lying in their kitchen all of these months. She dipped her finger in and wrote out the brilliant words, “Ease his pain,” then ran out to her neighbor’s. She figured she must have slammed the door, but it didn’t catch. That’s why it was open when I arrived.

  The most amazing part of that story was that none of us knew that Peggy was taking a writing class.

  “But Peggy,” I said. “That line has already been used.”

  “Where?”

  “Field of Dreams. You know, the movie with Kevin Costner. ‘If you build it, he will come’?”

  “I LOVE that movie.” A look of horror crossed her face. “I’m a plagiarist.”

  “I don’t think anyone will sue.”

  The two uniformed men scribbled a few more notes then left with grins on their faces. They probably figured that was the most fun they were going to have all day.

  “Well, I have some interesting news,” said Peggy after they left. “Just now, on my way back, I ran into the Alexander’s neighbor. She said that Michelle is still in the ICU in critical condition. And Lance Alexander is being held for suspicion of attempted murder.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “MY, THAT’S TERRIBLE NEWS.”

  EVERYBODY turned to see Waldo had joined our group.

  This guy was like a bad virus that wouldn’t die. “Waldo, I thought you were going for a walk.”

  “I have a route.” He pointed up the street. “I turn around at Black Cherry Tree Lane. I’m on my way home now.”

  Lucky us.

  “I have to say,” he continued, “that I just can’t imagine Lance Alexander doing such a thing. He loves her so deeply.” He shook his head as if feeling Lance’s pain. “Calls her his Pooh Bear.”

  “What did you say?”

  “She told me that was his nickname for her. Pooh Bear. Why?”

  “Nothing.”

  Colt’s eye narrowed. He didn’t care for Waldo. In fact I think he disliked him even more than I did. “Don’t you need to keep moving to make a walk worth the effort?”

  Waldo stared at Colt for a few silent seconds. “I’m detecting negative energy. I know some exercises to help relieve tension, or if that doesn’t work, I could prescribe an excellent anti-anxiety medication.”

  Colt didn’t respond, but I knew him. He was imagining a far more effective tension reliever—using Waldo as a punching bag.

  I thought Colt’s negative energy might have shut Waldo up, but it didn’t. “Anyway, I heard that Bunny Bergen and Michelle had a fight after the PTA meeting last night and Bunny threatened to kill Michelle. In my mind, that makes Bunny far more suspect than Lance.”

  I looked at Roz and Roz looked at Peggy. Peggy was scraping at something on her shirt.

  How did Waldo know about the fight? We were the only three around. Then I remembered the other car.

  “Did you tell the police this story?” Roz was talking slowly and cautiously.

  “Well,” Waldo cleared his throat. “No. Technically, my words would be hearsay, since I didn’t personally observe the argument. Probably not my place to approach the police.”

  I squinted at Waldo long and hard. What was he up to? I wondered if his “source” had mentioned that we were there when the Bunny and Michelle ruckus went down. If so, was he hinting that we should come forward?

  Peggy must have finally been paying attention, because she piped up. “But, wait a minute—”

  Roz cut her off at that pass. “Peggy, you need to get that casserole actually COOKING, don’t you? Come on, I’ll help.” She moved Peggy toward her house and I could see there was some whispering going on.

  Looking at my watch gave me a good reason to cut the conversation short. “Hey!” I yelled to them, “I have to get back to the house, Callie will be home any minute and I don’t think she has her key.”

  Colt and I left faster than two convicts on a prison break, leaving Waldo all alone on the sidewalk.

  Two minutes later we were in my house and I was standing in the front of the refrigerator trying to decide between a cold iced tea or a cold glass of wine. Colt grabbed an apple from my fruit bowl. Taking a milk carton from the top shelf, I abandoned the idea of tea or wine in lieu of good ol’ fashioned Oreos and milk. The best way to drown my sorrows.

  Colt munched while I savored the milk-soaked cookies. In between bites, I pried for information. “Howard’s car is still out front. Have you seen him at all?”

  He chewed, but didn’t respond.

  “Hello? Are you ignoring me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, you’re ignoring me?”

  “No, I’m not ignoring you. Yes, I’ve seen him. Barely in passing.”

  “Why wouldn’t he at least come by for his car?”

  “I have no idea. Can we talk about something else?”

  “Why did you stop by?”

  “Because you ran over a woman last night and I thought you might still be a little shaken up. Just checking in because I care. Should I leave?”

  “No, no.” I rubbed his arm. “I’m glad you’re here and I’m glad you care.” He played around with the apple, which was nearly all core now. I’d eaten five Oreos already and was trying to decide if I should really have another. “I need your advice.”

  “I feel very important. Ask away.” He got up and threw the apple core into my trash can, then sat down and dug into the Oreos. I broke down and took another as well.

  “We think Bunny Bergen shot Michelle Alexander.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Who is “we” and why do “we” think this?”

  “Roz, Peggy and I. We saw them fighting after the PTA meeting—”

  “You mean that really happened?”

  I nodded.

  “How did Weldon—”

  “Waldo.”

  “How did he hear about it?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Did anyone else see it?”

  “There was another car there that took off afterwards.”

  “Did you recognize the car? Any idea who was in it?”

  “No. What are you thinking?”

  “Just wondering. Go on.”

  “So anyway, Bunny accused Michelle of talking about her b
ehind her back and said ‘I’ll kill you.’” I drew finger quotes for emphasis, “if she did it again.”

  Colt grabbed another Oreo, but didn’t say anything for a minute. “Do you really think she’d kill someone? People say things like that without thinking.”

  I washed down the cookie with the last of my milk and took a minute to let it settle. “She’s been acting funny. Not ha-ha funny, but tooty-fruity funny, and today she showed up here in the middle of the storm and the lightning flashed and her face looked like something from a slasher movie and then she took her two boys out of school early.”

  “You’re starting to sound like your friend Peggy.”

  The front door swooshed open and the house reverberated with the sounds of Callie entering the premises. That is to say the classic thumping of her backpack hitting the foyer floor and the ever popular slamming of the door so hard that the walls shook. Beautiful she was; graceful she was not. “Mom! I’m home.” By the sound of her voice, she was in a good mood. When she came into the kitchen and saw Colt sitting with me, her mood and her feet made a u-turn. She walked out without a word.

  “Callie, do you want a snack, sweetie? We have Oreos!”

  “Not hungry,” was her answer from the stairs. I counted. Five, four, three, two, one, SLAM! Her bedroom door. She had that timing down to an art.

  With Callie home, I knew I had twenty minutes before I needed to be at the bus stop for Bethany and Amber. “So, to make a long story short, we think we should call the police and tell them what we saw. What do you think?”

  “Sure. Absolutely.”

  “Really?”

  “Any information is good information,” he drummed the table. “So, what do you know about this Wadsworth guy?”

  “Waldo.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not his real name. What did he say it was again?”

  “Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Oswald Fuchs.”

  “I just took your last cookie.” His grin was wily. “I like your cookies.”

  Taking my glass to the counter and throwing the empty Oreo package into the trash, I chastised him. “You are a piece of work, aren’t you?”

  “I’m a piece of art.” He brushed crumbs from his hands. “Can I borrow your computer for a few minutes?”

  “Yeah, it takes a few minutes to boot up though—we need a new one badly.”

  He was off in a shot to my small computer room around the corner. Technically it was a closet, but we wired it for light and electricity, and it served me just fine while I posted movie reviews and articles on my website. Meanwhile, I brushed my teeth, checked out the circles under my eyes, plucked a couple of hairs from my chin, and ran to the bus stop where I tried Howard again on my cell phone while I waited for the girls. I still couldn’t reach him, but I did make a mental list of the things I had to do—laundry, dishes, pay a few bills, cook dinner, call friends and figure out a time to contact the police and report a potential killer.

  Two hours after Amber and Bethany arrived home, the house was eerily quiet. Callie was still in her room, hopefully doing homework, but probably chatting online. Bethany was in her room definitely doing homework, Amber was on the living room couch watching the Disney Channel, and Colt was still in my computer room. I heard him talking on his cell phone a couple of times, but had no idea what he was doing. PI work I guessed, which was probably nothing more exciting than tracking down some guy who had written a few bad checks. I had scratched three of my to-do items off the list, but hadn’t thought about food at all. I would hold off calling Peggy and Roz until after the dinner and bedtime rush.

  Popping my head into the computer room, I found Colt grabbing a sheet of paper from my printer, folding it in half and stuffing it into his back jeans pocket. My gaze rested longer on his nicely shaped rumpus longer than it should have. I gave myself a mental slap. “Hey, I think I’m going to order in Chinese. You wanna stay and join us?”

  “Can’t thanks. Meeting some friends for dinner.”

  “You have friends?”

  “I’m a very likeable fellow, you know.” He tapped my nose playfully with his finger. “And I saw you staring at my cute butt.”

  I blushed, but ignored the comment. “Fine. I guess we’ll eat alone. All the men in my life are leaving me.”

  “I’ll never leave you, you know that.” He took me in for a big hug which I savored long and hard.

  “I love you—” I was about to finish that sentence with “you big lug,” when he pushed me away like I had killer cooties.

  I stared at him, momentarily confused.

  He was looking past my shoulder. “Sorry, dude.”

  My heart dropped like an anchor as it splashed into a sea of dread. I turned my head, following Colt’s gaze until my sights fell on Howard standing in the doorway. His jaw was set, his lips pressed thin. It was his hold-back-the-anger look. He closed the door behind him without ever taking his eyes off mine. He had caught us in an innocent act that didn’t look so innocent. And to make matters worse, Callie was standing next to him and Amber had viewed the entire show from her prime position on the living room couch.

  “Just great,” shouted Callie. “I come downstairs to see if maybe you’re going to feed us dinner sometime this century, and here you are playing kissy-face with your boyfriend. In front of Dad! Isn’t life peachy in the Marr household? College can’t come soon enough!” She flipped herself around and stomped back upstairs.

  “Hi, Daddy!” Amber cheered.

  Howard broke his somber stare-grip on me, turned to Amber with a beaming smile, and scooped her up in his arms. “Hi, Sweetie. How are you?”

  “Good, Daddy. Can I show you my art project?”

  “Absolutely, gorgeous. Let me go talk to Callie first, though, okay?”

  Colt had been inching his way past Howard, trying to sneak out, but he wasn’t successful.

  “Did I scare you away?” asked Howard as Amber wriggled down out of his arms.

  “You? No, no. I have friends. To meet. For dinner.” He opened the door and was about to step out, but turned to me, “Meet you tomorrow at one, remember? Straight Shooters Gun Shop—you know where it is?”

  I nodded. I actually had no idea where it was, but my vocal cords had frozen.

  “Just teaching your wife to shoot a handgun, man. You okay with that?”

  Howard didn’t answer.

  “It was her idea. Just so you know.”

  Howard shoved Colt out the door, closed it hard, then took a deep breath and made his way up the stairs, never once looking me in the eye.

  “Mommy,” Amber whispered, as if Howard might hear her. “Colt isn’t your boyfriend, is he?”

  “No, Amber. He’s just my friend who happens to be a boy—well, a man. But he’s not my boyfriend. And he’s your father’s friend too, so don’t worry.”

  “I don’t know,” said Amber shaking her head, apparently not convinced. “I think Daddy just pretends to like Colt. If you axe me, he’s jealous. Maybe ‘cuz you hug Colt a lot.” She proceeded back to the couch, where she flopped down and fixed her eyes on Disney again. “Can you fix supper now? I’m hungry.”

  “I’m ordering Chinese, is that okay?”

  “Can you order those squishy noodles?”

  She meant chicken lo mein. “Sure.”

  I heard Howard talking to Bethany, and then his footsteps moved to Callie’s room. There was a light knock, and he must have been invited in because the door squeaked open then closed again. I felt so guilty I could have melted right into the floor. I decided it was better to just get things moving rather than pace a hole in the foyer floor, wondering when he’d come back down. I grabbed the phone and dialed Hunan Rustic Woods. The fact that I knew the number by heart probably didn’t reflect well on my recent homemaking efforts. Well, I reasoned, it was healthier than Kentucky Fried, right? Anyway, the lady who took my order said it was a busy night—would be forty-five minutes before they could deliver. Fine, I�
��d cut up some apples to hold everyone over.

  Finally I heard Howard’s footsteps and the next thing I knew he was in the living room and Amber was talking his ear off then running for her art project. It was quite the project—I was very proud. I poked my head into the living room while she was out collecting her prize. He stood next to our tall wing-back chair, hand on hip, looking very confident and handsome in his black FBI jacket.

  I took a few tentative steps toward him and risked an invite. “We’re having Chinese, can you stay?”

  Surprisingly, he reached out and pulled me in for a long, wonderfully warm, soft kiss. Holy cow. I wasn’t about to fight it this time. I wrapped myself around him and joined in the fun. I think I heard birds singing.

  Okay, the birds were probably my imagination, but the giggling I heard from upstairs was not. When we finished, I was smiling like a Cheshire cat and Amber was running up with her art project.

  “See my project, Daddy? Those are two kitty cats, and that’s a pond.” She put his hand on the poster board. “Feel that? It’s called texture. We’re learning all about it in art. Do you like it?”

  Howard was smiling, but still had his other hand resting nicely on my booty. “Yes, I love it. You did a beautiful job.”

  “I did, didn’t I? Okay, I’ll go away now, so if you want to go on smooching you can.” Not bothering to see if we’d continue, she took off in a flash back up the stairs. Howard wrapped his arms around me again, and we stood, faces close, smiling.

  “I tried to call you a couple of times,” I said when she was gone.

  “I know. I’ve been busy. Can’t talk about it. Karl dropped me off here so I could get my car, but I have to go. Don’t be mad.”

  “It’s not another woman?”

  “It’s WORK. And you know I can’t talk about it.” His expression changed the way it does when he wants to change the subject. “Have you heard any news on the woman last night . . . what was her name?”

  “Michelle Alexander. Peggy said she’s still in intensive care.”