Cleared.
I was almost afraid to believe what the detective was saying. I heard myself make a little squeaking noise. "You"re sure he"s innocent?"
"Absolutely. He was seen in a public place by several people, including a very reliable witness, at the time of her death. There is absolutely no way he could have killed his wife."
A nervous chuckle bubbled up my throat. I couldn"t hold it back. "You have no idea how worried I was."
"I understand." He glanced at his watch again. "Any other questions?"
I bolted from my chair. "I"ve taken enough of your time. I"m sure you have more important things to do than to rea.s.sure me that I wasn"t about to marry a murderer."
Foster"s smile was genuine. "No problem." He stood, opened the door.
On the way out, Jon"s warning played through my head. "I"m sorry. Can I ask you one more question?"
"Sure," he said, looking a little stiff. "Shoot."
"Are any of the neighbors suspects?"
The detective"s smile was coy. He took a moment to answer. "Let"s just say there are a few people who haven"t been cleared yet."
"Thank you." I wanted to kiss the man but I didn"t. For one thing, he was wearing a wedding ring. Instead, I practically danced out of the police station. My heart felt light. My over-wound nerves were unknotting with each deep breath I took. Ah, the joy of breathing easy. I hadn"t even realized how freaked out I"d been.
I sang to Lady Gaga"s "Telephone" as I drove home. At the top of my lungs. I collected a few stares as I waited for the traffic light to change. But I didn"t care. I was too happy to worry about what anyone thought. Jon"s wife might have been killed. That was a terrible tragedy, one I shouldn"t take lightly-not for Josh, not for Jon-but at least I didn"t need to worry that I was living with a killer.
After checking the house, and finding I was alone-Jon had said he was going to work and Josh was at a local fair with a friend-I headed down to my girl-cave and pulled out my sketchbook. It had been weeks since I"d had time to work on my collection, with the move and everything. I flipped through my drawings.
Flat.
Boring.
Blech.
Yuck.
What in the world had made me think these designs were any good? Sheesh.
I flipped to a fresh page and gathered a handful of freshly sharpened pencils.
Hours flew by.
I took the occasional break to stretch and eat. Before I knew it, the world outside my window was dark. I took a look at the day"s work-hoping I wouldn"t open my sketchbook tomorrow and think it all sucked-before shutting everything down and going upstairs.
The house was dark. uber quiet. Empty.
I padded into the kitchen for a snack before heading into the family room. I channel-surfed for about two minutes. Cut off the TV. Nothing worth watching. I glanced outside at the deck, the nicely wooded backyard, the silvery moon.
What the heck? I headed outside and flopped onto one of the chaise lounges on the deck.
The air smelled great, like freshly mown gra.s.s and damp earth. It was so quiet I could hear the insects, the birds, the skittering of an animal somewhere-I hoped that was just a squirrel. Finding one of Josh"s baseball bats sitting propped up against the house, I moved it next to my chair. Just in case.
I glanced up. There were a couple of floodlights pointed down at me. They weren"t lit, so they weren"t activated by a motion sensor. Must be a switch inside somewhere.
The distant sound of someone shouting echoed through the neighborhood. It was coming from ... I turned my head ... that way.
Hmmm ...
I"ll admit, I"m nosy by nature. Add in the possibility that one of my neighbors might be a suspected murderer, and I couldn"t resist the impulse to snoop. I followed the sound of the voices. They were coming from Erica"s house. She was the one who was yelling. Interesting. Miss Cool, Calm, and Collected was having a moment.
There was no fence between our yards. Convenient.
The visibly furious Erica was in the family room, which, like ours, opened onto a wide deck in the backyard. Her back was to the door wall, arms flailing. Thanks to the fact that the wide gla.s.s doors were open, I could catch bits and pieces of what she was saying. None of it was nice. Her poor husband. She didn"t have a shred of respect for the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Not an ounce.
But hey, she"d said he was handy with power tools. That had to count for something.
After throwing one last insult about his lack of skills in the bedroom-low blow, if you asked me-she stormed out of the room. The show was over. Just as I was about to head back home, something lunged out from behind a low shrub and sank its fangs into my ankle.
I screamed like a girl. Couldn"t help myself. Then I did what anyone else would do. I kicked my foot like a wild woman while running as fast as I could with some ferocious beast tearing at my flesh. It was agony. I mean, seeing-stars painful. Stomach-clenching painful. Tears-welling painful. I slammed my ankle against everything I could. A tree trunk. The deck post. The house.
The d.a.m.ned thing wouldn"t let go.
Every cuss word I knew flew from my mouth as I clawed at the furry beast, trying to tear it off. From the weak light leaking out through the gla.s.s door, I could see the animal was brown. The coat was smooth, like a dog"s.
Maybe it"s a rat.
Gag.
Desperate now, I grabbed the baseball bat, swung.
Crunch.
Another gag.
I shook my leg. The crunched animal flopped lifeless onto the deck. I stooped down to get a look at it, wondering if I should put it in a box, in case rabies was suspected.
Big ears. A little pointy nose. Long, skinny legs. And a rat tail.
What the h.e.l.l is that?
Creeped out, my ankle throbbing, I set the bat down and went inside to check my leg and look for a box. After cleaning my wound and a ten-minute search that got me nowhere, I opted to sacrifice one of my designer shoe boxes. I went for my least favorite-apologies to Lauren Jones. Box in hand, I headed back to the family room. Before heading out, I searched the wall for the light switch. Found it. Didn"t find the ratdogwhatever.
Gone?
Something caught my eye. A flash of gold. I squinted into the darkness about thirty feet from the deck. Were those ... eyes? Glowing? Big eyes. Was it a big dog? Coyote? Did they have mountain lions in Michigan?
I dove back inside the house and slammed the French doors, throwing the lock. Evidently, the ratdogwhatever had just become something else"s dinner.
I didn"t want to be dessert.
"You"re hurt."
It was dark. I was in bed. The lights were out. And my bandaged ankle was under a sheet and a blanket. I squinted at the clock. It was three in the morning. I blinked up at Jon, who was standing next to the bed. "How do you know I"m hurt?"
"I saw the bandages and b.l.o.o.d.y towel in the bathroom." He sat. The bed sank, and I sort of rolled downhill, closer to him.
"Oh yeah. Of course you did. Sorry. I guess I forgot to clean up."
"It"s okay. What happened?"
"I was outside in the backyard, enjoying the nice evening, when something jumped out of nowhere and bit me."
"Hmmm. Let me see."
"Now? Can"t it wait until morning? I mean, I cleaned it up real good, and it doesn"t look as bad as I thought."
"I ... suppose." He stood. "How did your meeting with Detective Foster go?"
"He explained everything. And I feel so bad that I doubted you. I mean, we haven"t known each other long, and we dated long distance, so we"re still kind of strangers. But I should have trusted my instincts."
"And your instincts tell you I"m ... ?"
"A good man, though flawed. At least, that"s what you tell me."
His chuckle reverberated through every cell in my body. It was a very pleasant sensation.
I slid a hand over his thigh, gave it a little squeeze. "You"ll forgive me, won"t you?"
"I"ll think about it." He stripped off his shirt. The dim light leaking through the open drapes skimmed over the swell of his shoulders, highlighting them while keeping his face masked in darkness. "That happens to be one of my faults, you know."
"What is?"
"I hold grudges. For a long time."
I figuratively stepped into his shoes. They weren"t very comfortable. "I guess I can"t blame you in this case. I don"t know how I"d react if you thought I"d killed someone."
The sound of a zipper being opened-ziiiip-cut through the silence. The sloughing of material followed. And after that, a heavy male sigh. "Okay. I forgive you." He dove onto the bed, landing next to me, the force of his landing sending me bouncing up into the air. A shrill little squeak burst from my mouth just as he caught me midair and wrestled me onto my back.
"That wasn"t such a long time," I said, running my hands down the sides of his torso. His body was to-die-for beautiful. I couldn"t keep my hands off.
"I guess the definition of "long" is relative. Now, how about we start over? You"ve just moved in and we"re both insanely happy ... and h.o.r.n.y."
"Oh yes, we are." I wrapped my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, and kissed him.
CHAPTER 5.
The rolled-up flier, printed on neon green paper, was rubber-banded to our front door the next morning. I found it when I went out to check the mailbox.
Figuring it was an advertis.e.m.e.nt for lawn cutting, I shoved it in my pocket and continued my trek to the end of the driveway. Lindsay came stomping outside just as I was yanking open the mailbox. She let the huge cardboard box she was carrying fall to the ground. It landed with a dull rattle.
Intrigued, I waved, donned a cheery smile-which wasn"t such a hard thing to do after last night-and said, "Having a yard sale?"
It was Tuesday. The day after a holiday. The first day of school. Seemed like the most unlikely day to have a yard sale, but whatever.
"No. I"m not selling this stuff. I"m giving it away." She nudged the box with her foot. "I"ve got some good things in here. Come on over and take a look." She thumbed over her shoulder. "There"s more inside, too."
In my book, free was another word for junk. But I was curious. "Okay." I headed across the street and peered into the box while Lindsay headed into the house.
The carton was full of electronics. A Nikon digital camera and an Apple iPad were on top. They couldn"t work. Right? n.o.body would give away something that nice. When Lindsay came staggering out with the second box, I held up the two items that had caught my eye. "What"s wrong with these?"
She grunted. "Not a thing." She dropped the second box next to the first.
"Nothing? They work?"
"They"re practically new. Both have a factory warranty. I think we"ve had the camera for only three months."
"Really?" My bulls.h.i.t meter was screaming at full volume, but what did I have to lose by taking them? I tucked my new treasures into the crook of my arm and dug back into the box, in search of more goodies. "If they work, why are you giving them away?"
"Because I just found out the b.a.s.t.a.r.d is cheating on me."
"Ohhhh." Now, things were starting to make sense. I gently set the items back in the box. I wasn"t about to take something that wasn"t Lindsay"s to give away. "Sorry."
"Don"t be." She planted her hands on her hips and glared out at the street. "It"s better I found out now, rather than later. Sure wish I"d had the guts to do this sooner. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d"s been cheating on me for over two f.u.c.king years. Two years." She dug the camera out and shoved it into my hands. "Take it. Please. He won"t give a d.a.m.n. It"ll give him an excuse to go buy the latest and greatest model. After all, that"s what he likes to do best-trade up." Then, to my surprise she s.n.a.t.c.hed it back, set it in the box, and hauled the whole carton into her arms. Before I realized what she was doing, she shoved it into my arms. "As a matter of fact, take all this stuff. The camera"s cords and lenses and manual are in there. Same with the iPad"s accessories."
"I can"t-"
"Sure you can." She gave me a little push.
"No, really. I have a camera. And I don"t read much. I doubt I"ll have any use for the iPad... ." My voice trailed off.
Lindsay clapped her hands over her face.
While I stood there holding the box, trying to think of what to say, she was slowly sinking. Not because she was standing in quicksand or anything, but because she"d gone semi-boneless and was crumpling to the ground. Some strange sound-a ... burble?-came from behind her hands.
s.h.i.t, she was crying.
If there was anything I couldn"t handle, it was the sight of a grown adult crying.
"Okay," I said, "if it means that much to you, I"ll take the stuff."
She didn"t stop crying.
I bent over her. "I said, I"ll take the box."