Mom Zone Mysteries 02 Staying Home Is a Killer (23 page)

I tossed our dishes in the sink and then I did the only thing I could think of to do: I went to visit Mabel.

I knew she’d be up. During the summer, she swept her porch and driveway at five a.m., then yanked weeds out of her flower bed before breakfast. I didn’t think something as minor as a change in temperature would change her routine.

“Have another,” Mabel said and slid a warm cinnamon roll onto my plate. “Oh, I shouldn’t. I’ve already had breakfast.”

“Nonsense. You’re going to need to keep up your energy. Eat that and then take a walk around the neighborhood and look for Rex. Leave Livvy with me.” Today she wore a pale yellow wind suit with a jaunty blue and yellow plaid scarf and looked completely recovered from the flu.

“Oh, I couldn’t do that.”

“Sure. I’d love it.” Her face crinkled as she smiled at Livvy and said, “I’ve got a trunk of toys for my grandkids in the bedroom yonder, but they don’t get here that often. We’ll be fine.”

“So you didn’t see anything? Hear anything?”

“No. Let me think. Last night we watched
Biography
, Cary Grant. Then the news. Didn’t hear anything.”

“Have you found anything around your house from Penny?” Mabel’s words broke into my train of thought.

“No.”

She pushed a plate with tiny bites of cut-up cinnamon rolls over to Livvy. “Maybe I was wrong, then. Maybe she didn’t leave anything there. Remember, I saw her at your house right before she died. I thought she might have left you something. Maybe you should search her house.”

“What?”

“If you didn’t find anything at your house maybe there might be something at her house. A clue.”

“Mabel, the police searched her house and mine, too, for that matter.” I said it automatically. But why would Penny come to my house when she could have called me? Had I really checked out my house for, well, clues, as Mabel called them? I felt silly even thinking like this.

“He’s out of town again, you know,” Mabel said.

“Who?” I asked.

“Will Follette.”

I shook my head and asked, “How do you know these things?”

“The Wilsons live down the street. They clear his sidewalk for him when he’s away. Not that Will arranged that. It was Penny, you know. She asked Mort’s son, he’s a teenager, to shovel their walk and paid him to do it when Will was out of town. I saw Mort the other day at the gas station and mentioned seeing his son shoveling Will’s driveway. Mort said his son probably won’t ever see another payment from Will, but it was the least they could do for Will, with Penny dying, you know.” Mabel collected the empty plates and carried them to the sink. Over her shoulder, she said, “You go on. I’ll keep an eye on Livvy.”

I’d consumed the cinnamon roll and a tall glass of milk without realizing it. “Okay.” I pulled on my coat. I left Livvy bent over a box that Mabel had placed in the middle of the floor, extracting a drum and a tambourine.

Mabel made a shooing gesture with her hand, then slowly levered herself down on the floor beside Livvy. I slipped out the door and heard Mabel’s muted voice explaining, “See, here. You shake it like this.”

Apparently cinnamon rolls and new toys had dampened Livvy’s separation anxiety. I walked down our street before they could get started on the drum. I didn’t see a huge black dog bounding toward me and, to my relief, I didn’t see a forlorn black lump anywhere either. I even stopped at Marsali’s house to ask him if he’d seen Rex. He’d put down his scissors and coupons on the Sunday paper that was spread across his kitchen table before checking his backyard for Rex. I remembered the snacks from Cobblestone Bakery I’d promised and felt a wash of guilt. He hadn’t seen Rex, but promised to keep an eye out for him.

I got in the Cherokee and made slow widening circles of the neighborhood. An hour later I returned to our street. Since it was Sunday the pickups and dilapidated cars and vans of the work crews weren’t crowding both sides of the street in front of the Wilsons’ house. The Cherokee’s tires ground over the snow and ice that fringed our driveway. I put the Cherokee in park and climbed out.

Instead of marching right over to Mabel’s to get Livvy, I walked to the kitchen door and studied the concrete steps. I blinked, trying to adjust my eyes to the sharp contrast between sunlight and the deep shadows around the foundation. Experimentally, I swept a few prickly bushes aside, but I didn’t see anything except pure white mounds of snow. I stepped back out of the bushes, glad for my coat and gloves that had protected me from the sharp thorns. I climbed the steps slowly, looking around me, taking in every detail: concrete steps, iron handrail, and wooden screen door closed securely. I never did really look at the porch when I rushed in or out. And except for the depressing fact that we’d need to scrape and paint the eaves in the summer, I didn’t see anything unusual. I ran my gloved hand over the top of the door frame, and got a layer of wet dirt on my glove.

I walked down the steps and methodically paced around the house, my gaze fixed on the deep shadows of the foundation. At the front porch, I climbed the steps and peered over the edge. Below me, the foundation plantings’ thin, bare branches with pointy thorns splayed out like mini-fireworks bursting on the snow. I shook my head, frustrated. I doubted Penny had hidden anything among the thorny bushes, but even if she had we’d probably have to wait for the spring thaw to find it. When the snow melted last year, we found three of Rex’s tennis balls, one of Livvy’s sandals, and a rake.

Turning to the front porch, I surveyed the bare expanse. With our wicker furniture, flower pots, and wind chimes stowed in the shed, only a large clay pot that was too heavy to carry huddled off to the right side of the steps. A layer of frost iced the rich black soil. I managed to tilt it back, but there was only a dark circle staining the porch under it. I levered it back down and turned to inspect the arched front door. No place to hide anything there. I checked behind the mailbox, then flicked up the stiff welcome mat and found a few leftover pine needles. I scanned the porch, even the ceiling. Several bugs had met their end in the light fixture. I sighed and walked back down the steps. Aside from starting my spring cleaning list, I hadn’t found anything.

I pulled my keys out of my pocket and fanned them out on the ring. The sliver of Will and Penny’s key winked in the light. I glanced down the deserted street, but the driveways merged together as I squinted against the strong sunlight. I stood there a few moments debating, then shoved the keys back into my pocket and walked over to Mabel’s. I wouldn’t do it.

At Mabel’s house I worked Livvy’s arm into her coat, but I was still thinking of the empty street. It was so cold and icy that there weren’t many joggers or walkers this time of year. And Mabel, our personal neighborhood watch, noticed everything.

“Mabel, how could anyone get into Penny’s house without being noticed?”

Mabel replaced the toys in the trunk and shook her head. “I don’t know. I spent all morning sitting right there in that chair. I made it out to the mailbox, but that was it. I did see the white convertible, but I didn’t stay to see what happened. I was so tired after that I had to go to bed. I was coming down with that flu, so I didn’t notice much, except that white convertible. It was different.”

Mabel looked so depressed. I pushed and pulled Livvy’s other arm into her coat sleeve and said quickly, “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure the police have questioned everyone in the neighborhood. Someone had to have seen something.”

“You know…” Mabel said slowly, dollhouse furniture dangling in her hands. She put them in the trunk and shoved herself off the floor. She went to the window. “The traffic at the Wilsons’ would make it possible for someone to hide in plain sight.”

I thought of the parade of vehicles and how I mentally skipped over them. “You’re right. Someone could park on the curb and walk across the street to Penny’s and their car would blend in. Do you think the work crews noticed anything?”

Mabel shook her head. “No. They’re working inside, so they probably didn’t see anything. And if they did, I think quite a few of them are illegal immigrants and wouldn’t talk to the police.”

I thanked Mabel and tried to entice Livvy away from the two-story dollhouse. I wouldn’t have let Livvy play with it because the pieces were so small, with tiny, breakable parts that she could put in her mouth and then choke on, but Mabel had been right there on the floor with her, watching her every move. Livvy seemed to realize this was an extra-special treat that she wouldn’t get if I’d been around and so she clung to the miniature lamp and lawn chair until the skin on her knuckles turned white.

I managed to pry her fingers away from the toys. Livvy immediately burst into tears and looked at me like I was a traitor. I tossed the toys in the dollhouse and we made an ungraceful, noisy exit. Standing on Mabel’s porch I finished zipping Livvy’s coat and handed her Pink Girl from the pocket. Livvy shook her head and batted at my hand. “No,” she wailed. “Want the air,” meaning she wanted the lawn chair. I felt my pulse pick up. When she threw a fit I tensed up, too, even though it was only over a dollhouse toy. I blew out a deep breath to calm down. “I know you’re upset, but you can’t have the chair. We have to leave it so it will be there next time.”

After a few minutes, she sputtered a few times and then pointed up at the icicles hanging from the edge of the roof.

“Icicles,” I said and took her hand for the walk home. During the slow trek home, I realized I didn’t want to spend the day in a quiet house. With Mitch gone, it seemed lonely, but now that Rex was gone too, I
really
didn’t want to go home. I checked my watch and decided we could make the late service at church, if we left right away. I buckled Livvy in her car seat and dashed inside for the diaper bag and my crocodile-embossed leather bag, glad that causal dress was standard.

Later that day, I plopped down in an armchair and looked around the circle of faces that made up our small Bible study group, as I listened for Livvy to cry. She’d done great this morning at church and they hadn’t called me down to the nursery. Did I dare hope for a repeat? So far it was quiet. Maybe the separation anxiety stage was over? Abby and Jeff sat down on the couch near me. Ginny, a skinny nurse who’d started attending the group at the same time we did, perched on the fireplace hearth and said, “How are you doing? Any idea when Mitch will be back?”

“No. I haven’t heard anything.”

“Let me know if you need anything,” she said.

I thanked her and glanced around the group again. Each person had asked about Mitch and offered to help. I’d only known these people a few weeks.

“Really,” Ginny insisted. “I mean it. Bring Livvy over, if you need a break. I’m on swing-shift, so I’m home during the day this week.”

I swallowed a lump in my throat and said, “Thanks. I might take you up on that.”

“Okay, tonight’s study is about peace. Jeff, why don’t you start us off and read the passage for us?” asked Joe, the leader. “Colossians three, fifteen and sixteen.”

Jeff found the page and began to read, “‘Give my greetings to the brothers at Laodicea, and to Nympha and the church in her house. After this letter has been read to you, see that it is also read in the church of the Laodiceans and that you in turn read the letter from Laodicea.’” He paused and looked around at the puzzled expressions. I heard muffled crying in the background. “I think I’m in the wrong place,” Jeff said with a laugh. “That doesn’t sound like it has anything to do with peace.”

Abby leaned over and said, “You’re in chapter four, not three.”

He flipped back a page and said, “This makes more sense. ‘Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts.’” Behind him, the babysitter, Emily, leaned around the corner and looked at me.

Not quite through with the separation anxiety stage, after all. I picked my way quietly through the living room. Jeff’s voice faded as I followed the babysitter down the hall. She blew a bubble with her gum and said, “Livvy looked up and realized you weren’t here. She won’t stop crying.”

I gathered her into my arms and sat down in the rocking chair. Livvy stuck her thumb in her mouth and snuggled into the crook of my arm and I soaked up every second of our cuddling time. Even though I’d been looking forward to adult conversation tonight, I stayed in the rocker, occasionally shoving off with my foot to keep us moving.

“No!” shouted David as Jessica ripped a fire truck out of his hand. “Mine!” His voice rose as he repeated the word in a high-pitched whine. The sitter intervened, rescued the toys, and told them they needed to share. I decided we probably needed to raise her salary. The scene reminded me of something—the kids’ room at Ballard’s Pathway group. Different set of kids, same actions. After a few minutes, Livvy climbed down and went to play with the toy dishes, but she kept a close eye on me to make sure I didn’t sneak out. I checked my watch and decided I might as well spend the rest of the time with the kids. By the time I managed to sneak out, it would be almost over anyway.

A few minutes later, Abby showed up with the parents and walked with me back down the hall to the living room and into the kitchen where everyone was snacking on tortilla chips, salsa, and brownies.

Abby grabbed a brownie and said, “Let’s go out to dinner tomorrow night. Just you and me. Jeff will watch Livvy.”

I handed Livvy a bite of brownie and took a handful of chips for myself. “That sounds great.” I dunked a chip in the puddle of salsa. It was nice to be good enough friends with Abby that I didn’t have to go through the dance of “Oh, I really couldn’t, that would be too much work.” Instead, I said, “Where do you want to go?”

“Pablo’s,” she said instantly. “I’ve got to have one of their burritos.”

“Sounds great.”

“Okay. Meet me at my house at six?” I nodded, my mouth full of chips, and she said, “You can update me on the investigation.”

An Everything In Its Place Tip for Organized Closets

Broom closet

• Mount hooks on the wall to store brooms, dustpans, and mops. Make sure mops and brooms clear the floor by a few inches.
  
• A crate or box on an upper shelf is handy for storing cleaning rags.
  
• A plastic-handled crate that holds your cleaning supplies can be moved from room to room as you clean and then tucked away on a high shelf to keep dangerous chemicals out of children’s reach.