 
# The Madams of Mischief

## Sherry M. Siska

#### Doomdiva books

### Contents

The Madams of Mischief

The Madams of Mischief

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Thanks

The Divas of Doom

The Divas of Doom

The Divas of Doom

About the Author

# The Madams of Mischief

Doom Diva Mysteries: Book One

* * *

Sherry M. Siska

# The Madams of Mischief

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

* * *

Text Copyright © 2012 Sherry M. Siska

All Rights Reserved, including the right of

reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

* * *

Print version ISBN-13: 978-1478327035

Print version ISBN-10: 1478327030
This book is for the ones who believed, even when I didn't: Jim, Kyle, Matt, Lindsey, Mom, Donna, and Rebecca who were there at the beginning.

* * *

For those I've lost along the way:

Terry B., Marigail, Martha, and, most of all my Dad.

# 1

Destiny. According to my mom, whenever disaster strikes, you can put the blame right where it belongs: on that old Madam of Mischief. She likes to say that whatever happens was 'Meant To Be', that 'It All Works Out For The Best', and even worse, 'One Of These Days You'll Look Back On This And Laugh'. So far, I'm not convinced.

"Charli," she said to my sister, sixteen at the time, after I made copies of certain choice morsels of Charli's diary and sold them at school for a penny a page, "I know that it's hard for you to believe it right now, but I think this was 'Meant To Be'. Trust me honey, 'Everything Works Out For The Best'. One of these days, 'You'll Look Back And Laugh' over this."

Okay, so she was right that time. John Carsky, the best-looking, most popular guy in school, and the object of Charli's unrequited love, found several copies of the diary stuck in his locker, textbooks, gym bag, etc. He was embarrassed as all get out, but, apparently, more than a little bit interested. They've been married for seven years now. Charli even started speaking to me again. Eventually.

Here's a better example: last year, when my boyfriend, Ricky Ray Riley, (yes, THAT Ricky Ray Riley) dumped me three days before our wedding, there was Mom dishing out her usual pep talk, 'Meant To Be', 'Works Out For The Best', 'Look Back And Laugh'. I'm still waiting.

Oh sure, it's all working out just great for Ricky Ray. He is, as you know, an up-and-coming country music star, well on his way to catching up with all those other superstars. It didn't hurt him a bit when he won that Grammy award a couple of months ago for his song, "Bye-Bye, Baby, Bye-Bye", either. In case you were wondering, that's the song he wrote, and sent to me, (via express mail, of course) to tell me that the wedding was off. Not that I'm bitter or anything.

It's just that I'm beginning to think that maybe Destiny and her sisters, Lady Luck and Chance, have it in for me. Lately, it's been one dirty trick after another. Just when I thought things couldn't get much worse, they did. I found a corpse in Morley Park.

If you ask me, I don't think even Mom can figure out how that was 'Meant To Be'. And so far, it sure hasn't 'All Worked Out For The Best'. We won't even mention laughing. Some things will never be funny.

# 2

It all started because I'm a sweet, caring, loving sister. A couple of Sundays ago Charli called. She needed somebody to keep her kids the next day. Being sweet, caring, loving me, I said yes. Charli, being Charli, neglected to mention that my duty was going to start at the ungodly hour of seven thirty in the morning.

That may not sound so bad to you, but I work at a 'Hot Hits' country music radio station (WRRR, 98.6 on the FM dial) and I'm on the air Saturday and Sunday nights, seven to midnight. The rest of the week I work a schedule that varies day to day, doing all kinds of stuff: commercials, remote broadcasts, filling in on the air if one of the other DJs is off. If I get really desperate for money, I even bartend. Anyway, the point is, I'd only had four hours of sleep when Charli and the kids blew in. Trust me, that wasn't enough.

Now, I may be a sap, but I'm not stupid. Fifteen minutes after Charli left I figured out that my apartment was way too small for me, three wild kids, and a slightly nervous cat. (That would be Delbert, a massive tuxedo cat named after the awesome Delbert McClinton.)What I needed was a sure-fire way to survive the next four hours. Preferably something that would leave me with my furniture and my sanity intact. But what?

"Aunt Marty." Adam, Charli's four year old, tugged on the back of my thread-bare terry robe.

"What do you need, sweetie?"

Enormous blue eyes stared up at me. "If you take us to the park, I promise to love you forever."

Kevin, the six year-old, chimed in. "Me too. I promise to love you forever, too."

I've always been a big sucker for a tow-headed guy with a killer smile, so I didn't stand a chance against two of them. Besides, it sounded like a perfect plan. What could be better than a fun-filled morning at Morley Park? So what if it was more than a little hot and insanely early in the morning? When life gives you lemons, you're supposed to make lemonade, as long as you're not spilling it and crying over it, right? (By the way, my mom also has a really bad habit of throwing all of the helpful idioms and aphorisms and proverbs she knows into a big old mental pot. Surprisingly, this often results in something that resembles good advice.)

I tossed on my "Queen of Denial" t-shirt and a pair of cutoffs, dumped some smelly tuna glop in Delbert's food dish, and loaded the kids into my used-to-be-candy-apple-red, not-as-bad-as-it-looks sixty-nine Mustang. We sang two-year old Jaelyn's favorite song, 'Ricky Ray's a loser', (only Jaelyn can't pronounce her 'Ls' so it comes out Ricky Ray's a boozer) all the way to the park. Life was good.

Morley Park lies right smack dab in the middle of the Glenvar Industrial Center, about four miles from my apartment. An eight-foot high chain link fence wraps around the park, which is about the size of three football fields placed side-to-side. Thanks to the woods that surround the park on three sides, you don't see hardly anything of the surrounding industries.

The boys had the doors open before I'd even turned the engine off. They bounded out of the car and ran through the gate, headed straight for the swings, while I unhooked Jaelyn from her car seat.

The kids didn't seem to mind the heat, but I sure did. I mopped my face on the sleeve of my shirt and looked around, trying to figure out the coolest place to sit. The oak tree behind the jungle gym seemed to be my best bet, so I traipsed back there and plopped down on a table.

I was evidently the only doting Aunt dumb enough to fall for the 'let's go to the park' ploy, because we had the place to ourselves. I was hot and sweaty, the mosquitoes were using me for target practice, and the humidity was so high that I could almost feel my hair frizzing. Miserable didn't quite cover it. And, let's face it, you can only watch kids slip down a slide so many times without wanting to scream. I'd basically reached my boredom saturation point, and was trying in vain to get a signal on my phone when I heard gravel crunching.

Charli's friend, Vanessa Young, and her two kids drove up in their blue mini-van. She parked next to my car and tooted her horn. Adam and Kevin dashed out to greet them. Her kids hopped out of the van and began playing tag with Charli's boys. Jaelyn crouched underneath one of the slides, digging in the oak bark mulch that carpets the play area.

Vanessa took her time getting out. She shaded her eyes with her hand and looked around before trudging toward me. She lugged a big tote bag and a small six-pack cooler. Her baggy gray 'Ye Olde Glenvar Days' t-shirt and the denim shorts she wore looked like they were two sizes too big for her.

"Hey, Marty, hot enough for you?" she asked, when she reached me. Her gray-green eyes were rimmed with heavy dark circles.

"I reckon. How about you?" I patted the table next to me. "Have a seat."

She dumped her stuff down on the bench and swiped at the table with a tissue. "I swear, I'm beat. I had to work a double yesterday. I don't know why they let three nurses have vacation this week. Do you realize that it's been exactly nine months since that bad ice storm. There were eight babies born during my shift last night."

She stuffed the tissue in her pocket and settled down next to me. "Where's Charli? I haven't seen her in weeks."

Vanessa and Charli were best friends when they were in high school, but they grew apart after graduation. Daddy always called them Quart and Pint; Vanessa is around five-ten and Charli barely reaches five-two. Mom fussed at him about it.

"Now, Don," she'd say, "you're going to make poor Vanessa self-conscious."

I'm not sure if Daddy's nickname had anything to do with it, but Vanessa still walks all hunched over, always looking down, and she turns bright pink if anyone she doesn't know very well talks to her.

"She drove over to Roanoke to go shopping. She's getting ready for some dumb mystery writing convention. She's got some hare-brained idea that she can write a mystery novel and self-publish it. How have you guys been doing?" I swatted at a mosquito and missed.

"Well, the kids are doing pretty well. It's still weird, you know. I wake up in the night, and reach over to his side of the bed. It always surprises me when I find it empty." Her eyes grew watery. "It always makes me feel so foolish. I mean, it's been eight months since the accident."

Eight months? I felt like a real louse. The last time I'd seen her had been at her husband's memorial service. He was killed in an accident of some sort while on a business trip. Somewhere in Michigan or Montana. One of those states that start with an M.

"Has it really been that long? It seems like it was just last week. Did they ever figure out what happened to him?"

"Marty, you've been a real good friend."

Good friend? More like super self-centered louse. My face felt feverish.

She patted my hand. "I know you'll understand when I tell you that I really don't feel up to talking about the details. Do you mind if we talk about something else? Please?"

"Sure thing, sweetie." I slid my arm around her and squeezed her shoulder. It was sharp and as thin as a child's.

"Good Lord, Nessa! Honey, you're nothing but skin and bones." Miss Tact. I swear, it just popped right out of my mouth before I had time to think. Mom's always fussing at me about stuff like that. Among other things.

"I know. I've lost twenty pounds. I'm not bragging, because I didn't have it to lose." Her face reddened. "It's just that, well, I have all these damn bills and I've been working all the OT I can get. Whenever I work a lot I just can't eat."

We watched the kids play. A train rumbled by and the children darted over to the fence to watch it pass. A thin film of coal dust rained down on my car.

Vanessa smiled and pointed at the table. "Look. All the graffiti on the table is about Ricky Ray."

She was right. The table was covered with odes to Ricky Ray, some written in ink, the rest carved into the wood. I read a few of the notes and shook my head.

"Disgusting!" I said. "Look at that one. 'Ricky Ray Riley rules'. When did they start teaching alliteration at the junior high?"

"Here. Look at this one."

I leaned over and checked out the one she was pointing to. "At least it was written by someone with a better imagination and a bigger vocabulary."

I pointed to one that suggested a biological impossibility.

Vanessa giggled. "I'd like to see Ricky Ray do that. Now that would be worth seventy dollars a ticket."

"That's for sure! I'll bet they could even get seventy-five!" We both snickered.

"What are y'all laughing about, Aunt Marty?" Kevin asked. He held Jaelyn's hand.

"Nothing, hon. Go on back and play."

"Jaelyn pooped." I stopped laughing and sniffed. "P.U. She sure did. Geez, Jaelyn!" I turned to Vanessa. "Normally, I'd wait until Charli gets home, but I think this one is breaking some air pollution laws."

Vanessa started laughing again. "Desperate times call for desperate measures." She stood up and slapped me on the back. "I think I'm going to walk over to the swings for a minute or so. Good luck."

"Chicken!" I hollered, laughing, as she walked away.

I changed Jaelyn, pulled up her little black and white polka-dotted romper, and kissed her before I sent her back off to play.

"I'll be right back," I called to Vanessa, who was pushing one of her kids on the swing. He hopped off while it was in mid-flight, soaring through the air the way I always liked to do when I was a kid. It looked like fun. "I better get rid of this toxic waste."

"Looks like the closest trash can is back there next to the johns." She pointed back by the rear fence where the two lovely portable toilets, one pink and one blue, stood. The park was still under construction and permanent restrooms weren't supposed to be added until sometime in the fall.

I picked up the offending diaper and held it out at arm's length, pinching my nose closed with the other hand. "If I'm not back in twenty minutes, call the cops."

Vanessa laughed.

I practically skipped over toward the green ninety gallon trash tote. I lifted the hinged lid of the trash can, swung it open, and tossed in the diaper. That's when Destiny not only called my name, she also spit in my face, thumbed her nose, and blew me a big old raspberry. Lucky me.

# 3

I was about to drop the lid down when something inside the can caught my eye. Then I did something that I've re-played over and over again in my mind, each time saying, "Don't do it, Marty. Don't look down in that trash can!" But, of course, I did.

At first, I thought that someone had put one of those department store mannequins in the trash can. It was wedged inside: feet and rear end down, knees bent in a semi-crouch. The body slumped over, right hand on the right knee, forehead resting on the hand. The left arm stuck up, lying across the head. The back of the head was a mess. Blood matted the hair so thickly that I couldn't tell what color it was. Flies buzzed around. I whispered, "shoo, shoo".

Slowly, as if they were controlled by some force outside of me, my hands rose to eye level. I stared at them, comparing them to the one I could see inside the trash can. Then, I did another really stupid thing. I stuck my hand down in the trash can and touched the left hand of the body. It was lifeless, but definitely not plastic.

That's when it hit me. No, no, no! Bile boiled up from my stomach and my legs went wobbly. All I could think was: Please, this can't be happening! I slammed down the lid, and ran like hell toward the picnic table, trying not to scream. Trying not to throw up.

"Vanessa!" I tried to shout to get her attention, but my voice caught and it came out in a squeak.

Suddenly, something took my feet out from under me and I fell backwards, my head hitting the ground. Everything went black.

I moaned and opened my eyes. Vanessa dabbed at my head with a wet baby wipe.

"Marty, are you okay? Are you all right? Marty, honey, talk to me." She was trying to be gentle, but dang did it hurt when she touched my head.

I swatted at her hand. "Nessa, stop! That hurts. What happened?"

"You ran into that tree branch there." She pointed up at a low-hanging branch. Her face shimmied back and forth. "Are you sure you're okay? You have one heck of lump popping up. Do you know where you are?"

I stared up at the branch she'd indicated. It shimmied, too. The sunlight filtering through the leaves made intricate patterns, like fairies dancing. The kids were playing Red Rover. "Red rover, red rover, send Adam right over," they chanted. They laughed and shrieked, clanging noises came from the industrial park, but something was wrong. What was it?

I sat up and felt the knot on my head. "Ouch!"

"I'll bet. You were running full tilt when you smacked into the tree. I asked you if you know where we are."

"Morley Park," I said. Then I remembered. "Oh God!"

"What? What is it?"

Panic. "We gotta call the police!"

Vanessa looked puzzled. "The police? What on earth do we need the police for? Here, follow my finger with your eyes. We need to make sure you don't have a concussion."

I couldn't focus, couldn't track her finger, couldn't stop thinking about the body in the trash can. "The police! Gotta get the police!"

"Marty, stop it. You're scaring me. What's going on?"

I sucked in air and grabbed her hand. "Vanessa, there's a dead guy in that trash can. The one I threw the diaper in. We've gotta get the police!" My voice sounded weird, sort of like I'd been inhaling helium.

"Oh, honey, you're just hallucinating. You know...."

I cut her off. "No! I'm serious. Go look for yourself if you don't believe me."

She looked skeptical. "Okay, if it'll make you happy, I'll go look."

When she reached the trash can I didn't watch her open it, fearing that she wouldn't see what I'd seen. Fearing that she would. Still, I couldn't help myself and looked over in time to see her put her hand to her chest.

I choked back a sob and looked away again. The children were taking turns on the slide. Singing at the top of their lungs. So innocent. So full of life.

When I looked over again Vanessa gently closed the lid of the trash tote and crossed herself. Automatically, I did the same thing, a silent prayer echoing in my mind.

I struggled to my feet and went to her.

"Nessa, we've got to get these kids out of here," I said. "Right now. Then, the police. We have to get the police. I'll call. You take the kids and go. I'll wait here."

No answer, just a dazed expression.

"Vanessa?" I touched her shoulder. "I need for you to take the kids and get them out of here. Now."

"Okay." Her voice was weak. Like a frightened child.

"Just take the kids to your house. I'll come get them as soon as I can," I said.

"They can just stay there until Charli gets back. I'll fix them some lunch and they can play in the backyard." Her voice sounded flat, emotionless.

I picked up a weak signal and dialed 911 while she rounded up the kids. Luckily, they hadn't noticed anything was wrong. I was grateful for that. One of Vanessa's kids complained about having to leave. She told him to stop arguing, just get in the van. He looked like he was going to cry, but thought better of. He grabbed Adam's hand and the four older kids trooped off toward the parking lot. Vanessa scooped up Jaelyn and hustled after them.

It didn't take her long at all to get Jaelyn's car seat transferred and within seconds, it seemed, she shot off out of the parking lot, spinning gravel all the way to the train tracks, leaving me all alone in the park with the dead guy.

I managed to get the basic info relayed to the 911 operator before I lost the signal and the call dropped. I waved my phone around, trying to re-gain the signal so I could call back, but it was a lost cause. The sun passed behind a cloud making everything dark for a few seconds. When it emerged, the boundary of light and dark passed quickly over the park until the whole place was once again bathed in sunshine.

Another train passed by, this one heading back toward the coal fields, its cars empty and hungry looking. I watched it until it was out of sight, my head pounding along to its clack, clack, clacking.

While I waited, I went and sat back down on the picnic table. It was hard not to look at the avocado colored tomb, though. Every time I glanced toward it, I pictured those flies buzzing around, some lighting in the blood-caked hair, and that hand, just lying there, so still. So very still.

The park was quiet and beautiful, the sunlight reflecting off the play equipment. Two little squirrels chased each other around and around and disappeared into the top of one of the oak trees. How could this picture perfect setting contain such a grisly secret? I shuddered.

On the other side of the railroad tracks, past the industrial park, lay the city of Glenvar, Virginia. Imagine Mayberry on steroids. Daddy says Glenvar isn't just a city, it's a state of mind. Sucker that I am, I'd believed him. I'd always felt safe there, protected.

Now, though, everything felt different. More common. Even the familiar church spires and the Courthouse clock tower, standing their vigil over the city, seemed to belong to another place and time. So did the surrounding mountains.

The gentle, rolling peaks of the Blue Ridge were normally a comforting sight. On that terrible day I didn't find them very appealing. They loomed ominously in the background, making me feel small and alone. I shivered and quickly looked away, hoping the police would hurry.

It took less than ten minutes for them to arrive. My mom, Maggie Sheffield, beat them by a full five minutes.

# 4

My Mom is gorgeous. Picture Michelle Pheiffer with a southern drawl. Even though she's almost fifty, people always think that she and Charli are sisters. It drives Charli nuts. They look a whole lot alike -- that stylish ash-blonde hair, blue eyes, peachy complexion, small boned -- the exact opposite of me. With my brown curly hair, green eyes, and olive complexion, I'm the spitting image of my dad.

Mom and Charli both dress real fancy, too. They wear expensive, stylish clothes from the best stores. Again, just the opposite of me. I like jeans, t-shirts, and tennis shoes. The size four, lime green, silk suit Mom wore looked like it cost more than one of my monthly paychecks. It didn't look all that comfortable either.

She walked toward me, practicing her 'Miss America' smile, giving me one of those lady-like little waves.

I met her in front of my car. "Mom, do you have some sort of special 'Marty radar' that goes off the second I get involved in anything? How did you know I was here?"

She gave me a quick hug. "Hi, sweetie, I didn't know you were here." She pulled back and looked me over, her smile fading. "What in the world have you done to your head?"

"I ran into a tree branch, back there on that big old oak tree." I nodded toward the back fence. Back to where the body sat, not even thirty yards from the tree.

She hugged me again. "Honey, you've got to start watching where you're going. You could have poked your eye out. I swear, sometimes you are such a klutz."

I blew out my breath and decided to go with sarcasm. "Well darn. Maybe I'll get that eye next tine."

She rolled her eyes. "It looks like it hurts." She gently touched the bruise. "You don't have a concussion do you? We better get you to the doctor."

"Ouch!" I jerked my head back. "Don't touch it! I don't need a doctor. I'm fine. I promise, I don't have a concussion."

"For goodness sakes, Martina, let me look at it." She reached for my head again. I backed up a couple of steps.

I started to tell her about the corpse, but caught myself. I didn't want her to faint or anything. But, then, maybe she already knew about it. I couldn't think of any other reason she would have shown up at the park on a hotter-than-hades August morning. Mom isn't the sort to sit around communing with nature. Especially when nature contains mosquitoes and other pests.

"What are you doing here anyway?" I asked.

She fluttered her hand. "Well, it's sort of silly. I interviewed Mayor Mongan this morning." Mom's a reporter for the local weekly, The Glenvar News-Record.

"I'm doing a story on the new golf course proposal. You know, the one they want to build on top of the old landfill? Anyway, when I got in the car to go over to city hall, I found this note stuck under my windshield wiper blade." She pulled a folded up piece of paper from her jacket pocket and handed it to me.

"Did you put it there?" she asked.

"No."

I opened the note. It was typed on lined paper. The paper still had the ragged edges where it had been ripped from a notebook. I read it aloud:

> "Your next scoop? Waiting for you at Morley Park. Look in the dumpsters."

At the bottom of the note was a crude drawing of the portable toilets and the trash can where I'd found the body. A big star was drawn on the front of the trash can. Obviously, whoever had put the body in the trash can wanted Mom to find it. But why?

"Isn't that the silliest thing," Mom said. "Marty, what's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"It's a body." I shook the note. "In the trash can. There's a dead guy in the trash can you're supposed to look in."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Mom, would I kid about something like that?"

She slumped back against my car, looking horrified. "No. I guess you wouldn't. Do you know who it is? Was?"

"No. I didn't look that closely." I leaned next to her.

She didn't say anything, just stood there staring toward the trash can.

"You're going to get your suit dirty." I gently touched the hem of her jacket, rubbing the silk between my fingers like I'd done as a child.

"Not to worry, it's old. I can always send it to the cleaners."

She brushed her hair back from her face. "So you must have received a note, too."

"No. I didn't get a note. I just happened to open the trash can and find the body. See, I was baby-sitting the rugratsCharli for Charli. They were driving me and poor Delbert nuts, so I brought them here. I had to change Jaelyn, and when I went to throw the diaper away, that's when I found - well, you know."

She gasped. "The children were with you? They didn't see the body did they?"

"No, don't worry. They don't even know anything was wrong. I'd give anything to be that innocent."

She looked around, as if she expected the kids to suddenly pop out of some secret hiding place. "Where are the little angels now?"

Angels? Charli's kids? The heat was affecting her mind. Or maybe it was that family history of insanity I mentioned before.

"Vanessa Young was here. She took them with her. We didn't want them here when the police arrived. She's going to keep them until Charli gets home."

Mom pressed her hands against her chest. "Thank the good Lord you found the body! Can you imagine if one of the kids had found it? That just gives me chills." Her eyes teared up and she dabbed at them with a tissue, careful not to smear her makeup.

"I know, me too. I'm so glad Vanessa was here. I don't know what I'd have done if I'd been by myself. Probably panicked or something," I said.

"You would have handled it somehow. You're strong." She straightened up and brushed off her skirt. "I'm going to go have a look."

"What?" I said, pushing off the car and grabbing her arm. "You can't do that! The police will be here in a minute and besides, it, it, it might make you sick."

She shot me her 'don't be ridiculous' look. "Nonsense. I'm a reporter. If I want to have the best story, I need to see the body." She pulled loose from me and headed toward the entrance gate.

I could almost see the wheels grinding in her head. Mom's determined to get a job working for the Roanoke Times, the big daily paper located in the city that's about twenty minutes away from Glenvar. I'm sure she was thinking that this story was going to be the one that got her foot through that particular door.

When she reached the gate, she turned around and winked at me. "Don't worry, I won't disturb anything." She flashed me a smile. "I know all about police procedures."

She pulled a leather bound steno pad and a pen from her purse. I watched her as she walked through the gate. It clanged shut, bouncing back and forth a few times.

"Hey, Mom," I said, "wait up."

I squeezed my eyes shut as she opened the trash can with a tissue. "I don't want to leave fingerprints," she explained.

I opened my eyes. "Mom, this is nuts. I can't believe you're doing it."

"For goodness sakes, nobody said you had to look again. Go on over there and sit on that table or..." Her voice trailed off.

She dropped the lid down. But not before I'd peeked in again. It was exactly as I remembered it: swarming flies, blood-matted hair, and that lifeless hand. Only something else.

I lifted the lid back up and looked again. "Wart? Mom, it's Warthog Turner!"

Warren 'Warthog' Turner. The guy voted most likely to go to prison in an informal class poll our senior year. The guy who, if someone had said to me, 'Marty, you're going to find someone you know, dead in a trash can, guess who?', would have been my first, last, and only answer.

I closed the lid and turned around to face Mom. She wasn't there. She was bent over inside one of the portable toilets somewhat inelegantly losing her breakfast. I waited until she'd finished, and went over to her. She mopped at her face with a tissue, not caring whether she smeared her makeup or not.

I put my arm around her and led her over to what I now thought of as 'my' picnic table. Her face was very pale and her eyes were blurred with tears. She trembled slightly as we sat down.

"Are you okay?" I asked gently.

She gulped for air. "I didn't think he'd look so, well, so _dead_!" she said, after a few more gulps.

I didn't say anything. I heard the sirens and then the gravel spraying as a police car, followed closely by an ambulance and a fire truck, screamed up to the entrance gate.

"We better go out and meet them," I said, pulling Mom to her feet and out toward the parking lot.

# 5

"Warthog? You mean Warren Turner?" My human best friend, Tim Unser, who also happens to be a Glenvar police officer, scratched his nose and gave me one of those looks that amounts to a mental pat on the head.

I nodded vigorously. "It's Wart. I'm positive."

"Warren. Warthog. Dead." Tim still had that look.

"Tim, you're regressing here. Pretty soon you'll be babbling worse than Jaelyn. Snap out of." I gently swatted him on the arm. You'd have thought I hit him with a baseball bat or something.

He rubbed his arm. "Ow. Geez, Marty, you don't have to hit me, you know."

He looked over at the trash can. There was a whole knot of people around it, some of them looking inside, some stringing up yellow crime scene tape, all of them shouting and waving their arms around. There were people looking around on the ground, some searching the parking lot, one officer was down by the railroad tracks keeping rubberneckers away; the noise level had gone up about ten-fold. It reminded me of one of Ricky Ray's records -- lots of banging and clanging, and every once in awhile a word you could actually make out.

Tim had been among the first group of police officers to arrive and he had been assigned to me. More precisely, to obtaining a preliminary statement. So far, he wasn't doing a very good job, but far be it for me to point that out.

One last envious glance at the folks who were taking care of the crime scene, and Tim turned back around to face me. "I forgot to ask, what's your mom doing here?"

I looked over to Mom's car. She was sitting in it repairing her makeup. Obviously, she was recovering quite nicely from her little gastric indiscretion.

"Hey, Mom," I said, "bring that note over and show it to Tim."

She came over to where we were standing.

"Hi Miz Sheffield, how are you today?" That Tim, polite as always. His mama raised him right.

Mom flashed him a dazzling smile. He blushed. I think he has a crush on her. Of course, I've yet to meet a man who, within knowing her for ten minutes, doesn't.

"I've been better." She handed him the note. "I found this underneath my windshield wiper blade this morning."

Tim took the note and read it. "Y'all wait right here a minute," he said when he'd finished. "This is evidence."

He ran out to the crime scene and climbed over the yellow tape. A woman dressed in a navy business suit turned around when he tapped her on the arm and spoke to her. Tim pointed to Mom and me, and to the note Mom had given him. Both of them joined us.

"Mrs. Sheffield, Marty, this is Detective Luray," Tim said. "She wants to ask y'all a few questions."

Mom and I said hello to Detective Luray, a trim, pretty, thirty-something brunette.

She smiled, said hello to us, then turned to Tim. "Officer Unser, would you go ahead and dust Mrs. Sheffield's car. And then, when I'm done here, you can get these ladies' fingerprints so we can eliminate them from the evidence."

Tim grinned and took off toward his squad car, looking like he was going off to fight the bad guys and save the world. Super Tim to the rescue. Must be a cop thing.

Detective Luray smiled at Mom and me and held up a plastic bag containing the note. "Mrs. Sheffield," she said to Mom, "Officer Unser said that you found this note on your vehicle this morning."

"That's right," Mom said. "I worked at home until about twenty to eight. I found it on my car then."

"And you decided to check it out?"

"Not at first. I thought it was a silly prank. All during my interview, you see, I'm a reporter and I interviewed the Mayor this morning. About that new golf course proposal, you know \--."

"Yes Ma'am." Detective Luray frowned. "Now, about the note. You decided to check it out after your interview?"

Mom bobbed her head up and down. The detective smiled.

"Yes," Mom said. "I kept thinking about it, the whole time I was talking to the mayor. You know, come to think of it, I don't think I even asked him about \--."

Detective Luray was frowning again.

Mom blinked a couple of times. "I'm sorry. Where was I? The note. When I left City Hall, I decided, 'what the heck, what harm can come from looking?'"

The detective smiled.

"Do you keep your car in a garage?" the detective said.

"Yes," said Mom. Smile from the detective. "But Don, that's my husband, went to work early this morning. He's a supervisor over at the tire plant. Anyway, he left about three-thirty. I guess he didn't want to wake me up or something, because his garage door was still open when I went out to get in my car." She rubbed her temples. "He does that sometimes. I always tell him not to, but \--."

Frown. "How many people have handled the note?"

I was definitely going to have to try this smiling/frowning thing myself. Mom was behaving like one of those dogs that drool when a bell rings.

"Me, Martina, Timothy, and you."

The detective thanked Mom and turned to me. I told her about finding the body. She didn't have to frown at me a single time.

I sort of fudged a little and left out the part about Mom and I peeking in at the body. Somehow, I didn't think she'd appreciate it. Besides, Mom had been through enough trauma for one day, and, it wasn't really important to the story.

When I'd finished talking, the detective looked up from her notebook. "Did you notice anything unusual?"

"Other than the dead body, you mean?"

She almost chuckled. At least that's what the snorty sound she made sounded like to me. "Sorry. Yes, other than that. I mean vehicles in the vicinity of the park, things like that. "

"Not really. Let me think for a minute, though."

I scrunched up my eyes and tapped my mouth with my fingers. Suddenly, it popped into my head. I twisted my hair around my finger.

"No. Nothing. Nothing at all," I said.

I felt my face growing red. I'm not a good liar. Never have been, never will be.

After a few more questions, Detective Luray made arrangements for us to come to the station and sign our statements. She asked us not to discuss the identity of the victim with anyone until Warren's wife, Beth, had been notified. We assured her we wouldn't. She thanked us for our assistance and slipped back over to the crime scene.

It was just as busy as before; people running around, hollering, taking pictures. A couple of TV news vans were already on the scene, the reporters doing stand-ups with all the action going on behind them.

Tim came loping over to us, his feet splayed out slightly, long arms swinging. He's a slightly gawky looking red-head. Almost too tall and too thin, light freckles, and a crooked grin. He's still pretty cute, in an Opie Taylorish way.

We've been best pals since the first day of kindergarten when Steve LeFever took me in the coatroom and tried to pull my panties down. Tim rescued me. He's been rescuing me ever since. Except for the few times when I've had to rescue him. Usually, that involves me pretending to be his girlfriend so he can get rid of some woman who has a cop fetish or a ginger fetish. You'd be surprised at how many of both are out there in the single girl's club.

He took our fingerprints. "Hey, wanna meet at Pilazzo's later?" he asked me. Plaza's is a combination pizza parlor - bar that we hang out at.

"I gotta do a remote from four until seven over at Thompson's Precision Engines. Seven-thirty or so okay?"

"Sounds like a plan." He started toward his cruiser, then turned back. "Hey, listen," he said, "you take care of yourself."

Big brother. I may pick at him and fight with him, but I'm always glad he's on my side.

I went and gave him a little hug. "Me? I'm fine. You take care of yourself. You're the one that has to fight the bad guys."

He rolled his eyes and loped over to his squad car.

As soon as Tim was out of earshot, Mom turned to me. "What's going on, Martina?

"I think they're collecting evidence and stuff."

"No. That's not what I'm talking about and you know it. You lied to that detective."

I started to protest, but she stuck her hand over my mouth. "I'm your mother. It's my job to know these things. You give yourself away every time you try to tell a fib. The blush, the lip licking, the hair twirling. You know you can't fool me."

Uh oh. Technically, it wasn't really a lie. At least not a big one. I was simply withholding a trivial little piece of information that probably wasn't going to mean anything anyway. Still, I certainly didn't want to share it with Mom. At least not until after I'd talked to Vanessa. I needed a diversion tactic. I wracked my brain.

I clasped my hands behind my back to keep from twisting my hair. "I was just trying to protect you. I didn't think it would go over too well if they knew you'd been messing around the crime scene. You know how they are."

Her face looked sunburned beneath her makeup. She shook her head and gave a big sigh.

"Poor Beth," she said, obviously going in for a little diversion herself. "And those poor little children. They're just babies."

"I know. I feel so bad for them. I can't imagine losing a husband. First Vanessa, now Beth. You know, they're best friends. Isn't that weird. I mean that they both lost their husbands at such a young age."

"Very strange. And sad," Mom said. She looked at her watch. "Good grief, it's eleven forty-five. Why don't we get out of here. Go get some tea or something cold to drink."

"That's all?" It felt like I'd been at the park for years instead of hours.

"Can you drive?"

"Of course. I'm fine. Listen, thanks on the tea offer, but I'm going to go over and check on the kids." And talk to Vanessa.

"I'll go too. Meet you there."

Just what I needed, Mom tagging along. I'd have to think of some way to get Vanessa alone.

Mom stopped in front of her car, her brand new white MKZ, the one that now sported a not-very-attractive coat of black gunk. She looked absolutely horrified.

"Timothy," she said, through clenched teeth. "Timothy Cornelius Unser!"

Tim was leaning into his squad car and when she shrieked out his name, he jerked his head up and whacked it on the door frame. All I gotta say is, I'm glad it was him and not me. His face was twelve shades redder than his hair when he reached her.

"What have you done to my car?"

Tim looked like he was going to cry. "I, I, I'll come over and wash it as soon as I get off work. I'll wax it too, if you want."

Mom sighed her 'God-give-me-strength-and-patience' sigh. "No. That's all right. I'll take care of it myself."

"No, really, Mrs. Sheffield. Please. I'll wash it for you this afternoon. Soon as I get off."

Mom agreed to let him wash it. Personally I wasn't sure that was such a good idea. Tim doesn't have very good luck when it comes to Mom's cars. When we were thirteen we went to the grocery store with her. While she was inside, Tim and I decided to practice driving. I cruised around the parking lot a couple of times and then turned the wheel over to Tim. He was doing okay until he saw Mom coming out of the store. He panicked and smashed into one of those light poles. Four hundred-fifty dollars in damage. I didn't get my allowance for two years.

After Mom and Tim worked out the details for him to wash her car, we left the park. I had just crossed the railroad tracks when the driver of a city trash truck flagged me down. I stopped in the sewing factory parking lot. Steve LeFever, the supervisor of the sanitation department, jumped out of the truck and ran up to my window. I turned off the engine and got out of the car. Mom, curious as always, joined us.

Steve's a tall, muscular guy with the beginnings of a serious beer belly. Thinning-on-top shaggy blonde hair, and a crooked nose, which he broke in a high school football game, save him from being pretty. He's one of those guys that Mom unnecessarily warned me about when I was growing up. (Remember the coat closet?) He's coarse, macho, and piggish. I don't know why, but there's a lot of women out there who love him.

"Marty, Mrs. Sheffield., what's going on?"

Mom and I looked at each other. Steve was Warren's boss and one of his only friends.

"There's been a murder," I said. "Over at the park. I found the body."

Steve's eyes bugged out. He said a few dirty words. "A dead body? Who?" More profanity.

The detective had warned us not to mention Warren's identity. Mom and I made non-committal noises. It didn't matter. Steve wasn't listening. He was cussing up a storm.

"I can't believe this," he said, between curse words. "We usually get there early, about nine, and empty out the trash. We'd been on time, we would've been the ones that found it!"

I couldn't tell if he was happy or mad about not being the one to find the body.

"Can you believe it?" he continued. "You know why we're so late this morning? "

Mom and I dutifully shook our heads.

"'Cause we're still behind from last week. I had two guys out on vacation, one out with the flu. Then, today Wart didn't show up!

I wondered what would happen when I told him the reason Wart hadn't shown up. Would Tim arrest me? I sure hoped not. "Steve, I hate to tell you this, but...," I said.

"Hello, Steve," Tim said. I jumped about a foot. I hadn't heard his cruiser pull up. Must be one of those new stealth models.

Tim stuck his hand out and shook Steve's. His face was as somber as I'd ever seen it. "I'm sorry to be bringing bad news, but there's been a murder and we've just confirmed that the victim is Warren Turner."

"So, old Wart's been murdered? That son of a — " Steve stopped mid-sentence. He swayed back and forth a little, staring without blinking at Tim. Then, he did just about the last thing you'd expect. He burst out laughing.

Mom, Tim, and I stared at him, our mouths practically hanging open. He kept laughing and laughing. It took awhile, but he finally managed to stop.

"Sorry," he said. "I can't believe I was laughing. I don't know what the fu—," he looked at Mom, "er, hell came over me." Now, all of the sudden, he's Mr. Decorum.

Tim cleared his throat. "It's all right. It happens a lot. Are you okay now?"

"I think so."

Tim studied him. "I'm going over to tell Beth right now. I know y'all are close friends, and I was wondering, well, I was hoping that you might be willing to come with me? If you think you'll be okay, that is."

"Beth," Steve said, his voice almost a moan. He looked like he might start to cry. "This is bad. She ain't strong, you know? Poor little gal, she ain't gonna take it so good."

"You'll come with me then?" Tim asked.

Steve didn't hear him. "I called over there this morning to see if Wart was sick or something. No answer. Guess I should have followed up more. Say what you will, but it ain't like Wart to miss work. No sir. Wart was a good worker. Didn't hardly ever lay out."

"Don't blame yourself, Steven," Mom said. She patted his hand. "Why don't you go with Timothy to tell Beth. She shouldn't have to face this sort of thing alone."

He pulled away from the car and stood straight, still shaking his head. "Yeah, I'll do that. Poor little gal." He turned to Tim. "Ready when you are, buddy. I gotta tell you though, I ain't looking forward to this."

"Me neither," Tim said. "Me neither."

They spoke to the other men in the trash truck before getting into Tim's squad car. Mom and I watched as they drove away. I glanced back toward the park. The ambulance carrying Wart's body was slowly moving across the railroad tracks. Things were evidently winding down in there. The news vans were still in place, though. I wanted to get away before they decided to latch on to me. There had been enough violence for one day.

# 6

The Oaks of Stableford Manor. That's the name of the neighborhood Vanessa and Charli live in. Pretty la-di-da, if you ask me. I mean, it's just a bunch of regular cookie-cutter houses, sitting a little too close together, all clumped around a crummy little park and community pool. Charli says it has a great 'location', and that it's 'classy'. Personally, I'd go with boring. But, then, what else do you expect from people whose lives revolve around oak-bark mulch and fertilizer?

The houses come in two or three basic designs and look like those paper dolls you cut out of a folded up piece of paper. You cut out one, unfold the paper, and, ta-da, you've got a whole bunch of little clones, all lined up in a row. Sure, they're nice houses, but they sort of give me the creeps. I'm always tempted to change the sign to 'The Oaks at Stepford Manor'.

It took us about five minutes to get there from the park. Vanessa's house is one of the 'custom presidential colonial models' -- a four bedroom, two bath, brick and frame two story with a family room, garage, and a swing set in the yard. Charli lives on the street behind her, in a 'custom executive ranch home'. Their backyards touch at one of the corners.

I left the Mustang on the street in front of Vanessa's house. Mom parked in her driveway. The house needed painting and one of the shutters was hanging crooked. Poor Vanessa; I decided I'd talk Tim into coming over and helping her out. The Oak's Neighborhood Alliance Group, ONAG for short, frowned on things like crooked shutters.

I punched the doorbell several times. No answer. Mom was standing beside her car, searching for scratches.

"Maybe they're around back," I said. "Vanessa mentioned something about the backyard."

No one was back there.

"Probably over at Charli's. She must be home by now." I went to the corner where the lots meet and peeked over Charli's privacy fence. Vanessa's two kids and Charli's three were playing on the swing set. I could see Charli peering out her kitchen window at them.

Mom and I headed toward the front of Vanessa's house to get our cars. Even though the yards touched, it was one of those 'you can't get there from here' situations. All those privacy fences made it impossible to go through the yards. When I got to the front corner of the house, I stopped short.

Mom ran into me. "Ouch! Why'd you stop?"

I shushed her and pointed toward the street. A Channel Forty-two news truck was sitting next to my car. We flattened ourselves against the house and peeked around the corner at them.

"That didn't take them long, did it?" Mom whispered.

"They probably followed us."

I didn't want to talk to anyone from the media, but especially those Channel Forty-two folks. They're into local scandal and gossip. In fact, they'd made the story of Ricky Ray ditching me before our wedding their main news topic for several weeks.

Every time I'd turned on the TV there I was -- coming out of the station, coming out of my apartment, coming out of Pilazzo's. Always looking my worst, of course. To this day, they never mention Ricky Ray without showing a really lousy picture of me and talking about the breakup. And they talk about Ricky Ray a lot. The jerks.

"Of all the TV stations in the Valley, they would be the ones to show up," Mom said.

"I know. And, I can see it now, 'Dumped DJ Finds Disaster in the Dumpster, story at six, eleven, and for as long as we can come up with a snappy new headline'."

Giselle St. James, the perky little reporter who, in my opinion, suffers from a major brain deficiency, (she doesn't have one) was peeping into my car. I did a mental inventory to see if I'd left anything embarrassing lying out in the open. Did I mention that Giselle and I have hated each other since fourth grade? Well, we have.

"I think we should climb over the fence and go in Charli's back door. They'll never figure it out," I said.

Except for a wobbly looking swing set, Vanessa's back yard was bare. No ladders, chairs, or anything else we could stand on.

I chinned myself up so I could see over the fence. "Psst! Hey, Kevin," I said, "go get your Mom."

Kevin caught sight of me. "Aunt Marty!" he shouted, loud enough to be heard all the way over in Roanoke.

I finally convinced him to shut up and go get Charli. She brought us her kitchen step ladder and pulled a chair up on her side of the fence. Mom was straddling the fence, her skirt hitched up almost to her waist, when Giselle came tearing around the corner of Vanessa's house, her cameraman in tow. Charli grabbed Mom's arm and yanked, pulling her on over, but not before Giselle's cameraman got a good shot of Mom's rear end.

Giselle stuck her microphone in front of my mouth and suddenly the camera was on me.

"Miss Sheffield, would you care to comment on the grisly discovery you made today?" She had on about twelve pounds of makeup and I saw a little red streak of lipstick on her teeth.

"Hi, Giselle. Moon any State Troopers lately?" (In high school Giselle was caught mooning people on the way home from a field trip. I always knew that information would come in handy.)

She was momentarily stunned. I scrambled over the fence and we dashed toward Charli's back door. The kids thought we were playing a game. They followed us inside, whooping and screaming like a bunch of wild animals. It was sort of fun. I let out a whoop or two, myself.

I peeked out the window once we were safely inside and saw Giselle standing on the kitchen ladder looking over the fence and yelling at Robbie, her camera guy.

"What if they play that on the news tonight?" Mom said. She was examining her skirt. It was streaked with black and gray dust and had a small rip in it. She'd broken the heel off one of her shoes, too.

"Don't worry, they won't." Actually, knowing them the way I did, they probably would.

"Now I know how those famous movie stars feel when they get cameras shoved in their faces all the time," Mom said.

I dropped the wooden slat of Charli's "plantation" shutter mini-blind back down and flopped onto her family room sectional. "Mom, I hate to tell you this, but, it wasn't your face he was interested in." I patted her rump as she walked by.

She looked horrified.

"I'm teasing."

"Well, it's not funny. Maybe I should call over there and talk to the station manager."

"Won't do any good. He's got a sadistic streak bigger than Herb's." Herb is my boss. Imagine a cross between Danny DeVito as Louie DePalma and a pit bull, but dressed in a Porter Wagner style western suit. That's Herb.

Charli brought us big glasses of iced tea. She was about to pop to hear the rest of the details of the murder. I briefly told her what had happened.

"Warren Turner! Dead! This is just incredible. Nothing like this ever happens in Glenvar! I'd have just died if it had been me that found the body. Goodness, Marty, what on earth made you open that trash can?"

I gave her an abbreviated version of the story, leaving out the part I still needed to talk to Vanessa about.

Mom, who was still pacing around the room stopped and looked at me again. "Why don't we talk about something else. Like how I'm going to get my hands on that video Giselle and Robbie took?"

"Sorry, Mom. You're just going to have to suffer, I guess." I glanced back over at Charli. "By the way, where's Vanessa?"

Charli was busily rearranging the magazines on her heavy oak coffee table. "She had to run a couple of errands and then she was going over to be with Beth. I'm watching her kids until she gets back."

I looked at the anniversary clock on Charli's mantle. It was getting late. I really wanted to talk to Vanessa before I had to go to work. I needed to take a shower and change clothes before I went in, too.

Mom said, "I guess they've told Beth by now. Poor girl, I can't imagine how she must feel."

"Neither can I," Charli said, as she stood up. "Speaking of kids, I better go check on them. They're being way too quiet."

After she left, Mom swished her ice around in her glass. "Do you want some more tea?" she asked.

"No, I'm fine. Thanks anyway." I rubbed my temples.

"I'm going to get some more." She looked at me with concern. "I think I better call the doctor and ask him about your head, too. Be right back."

I listened to the clock tick and tried to imagine living in Charli's house. Charli inherited Mom's taste in decor, too. The French doors that we'd come in through were next to a massive stone fireplace. The furniture was picture perfect, a tasteful leather sectional and matching chair, everything perfectly accessorized, and looked like something you see in a magazine. It was all very soothing and peaceful, if you like that sort of thing, I guess. I tend to prefer modern stuff. Of course, being a poor, struggling DJ, my decor is more along the lines of 'early yard sale'.

Mom came back in and sat down next to me on the sofa part of the sectional. I'll bet it cost a fortune.

"The doctor is going to call me back," she said. "You know, I just can't help thinking about the Turners and Poor Warren. He graduated with you, didn't he?"

I nodded. The bobbing caused my head pain to increase. "He's a year older, but I think he flunked a grade before they moved here."

"They moved here? When was that?" she asked.

"Fourth grade. I'll never forget it either. Poor Wart was real short and real fat and, bless his heart, his Mom dressed him in all these really bizarre outfits. She made him wear a burnt orange polyester leisure suit and a lilac shirt with a green and yellow striped tie that first day."

"Poor kid!" said Charli. She came back in and sat in a matching leather recliner.

"I know. And, to make matters worse, he had a flat top and thick, black, horn-rimmed glasses. He looked like a miniature accountant who had dressed up like a pimp for Halloween, instead of a ten year old kid. I'm ashamed to say that we teased him unmercifully. In fact, by the end of the day, the boys were all calling him Warren the Warthog."

"Martina, you should be ashamed! Kids can be so cruel, but I thought I taught you better than that," Mom lectured.

"I am ashamed, Mom. We were pretty cruel. But, you know, I don't think it bothered him. In fact, I don't think anything bothered him. He was such a mean little guy. He was always looking up girl's dresses and cussing and talking back to the principal and stuff. I think he had detention every single day in sixth grade." I took a sip of tea and looked up at the portrait over the fireplace. Charli's perfect family smiled back at me.

"When we got to high school, things just got worse. He got into fights all the time, got suspended three or four times every year. Supposedly, he was selling drugs, and there was a rumor that he was the one that set the fire that burnt down the old Carson place, but he didn't get arrested, so I don't know if it was true or not. Probably was. Anytime there was trouble, you could pretty much count on Wart being involved. He was a real head case."

"I always wondered what Beth saw in him," Mom said. "I mean, she's so pretty and smart. They just didn't fit."

"No, they didn't. They looked so weird together, too. I mean, she must have been six or seven inches taller than him. Of course, almost everybody was taller than Wart. Except Charli, of course."

Charli stuck her tongue out at me.

Mom said, "He wasn't really a bad looking man."

She was right. He was actually pretty nice looking: light brown hair, grayish-blue eyes, and strong features. But he was a real shrimp. I'm five-four and about one-twenty. Wart was at least an inch shorter than me and I doubt he even weighed as much. He'd lost all that baby fat by the time we got to ninth grade.

As far as I can remember, he never had a girlfriend or even a date during the first three years of high school. He mostly hung around with a couple of other guys who were delinquents too. Then, our senior year, he met Beth Brown.

"Beth must have seen something in him, something beyond that roughness," Mom said.

I yawned and stretched, then got up to leave. "I guess. Well, this has been fun, but I've gotta get ready for work. See y'all later."

"Martina, dear," Mom called as I headed out the door, "you know, you really should do something with your hair before you go to work."

Geez, the things I have to put up with sometimes.

# 7

The best part about doing remote broadcasts? Talent money. It isn't usually a lot, but, since I do them off the clock, it helps pay my cat food bills. Truth be told, they can also be sort of fun. You get to meet people, give away stuff, just generally have a good time. Sometimes, though, things don't go so well. In fact, they can be downright disastrous. And when that happens, it's sort of like going bungee jumping and realizing, when you're halfway to the ground, that you forgot to attach the bungee cord.

The Thompson's Precision Engine remote broadcast I had to work that afternoon turned out to be even worse than that. Evidently, Destiny and her sick sisters weren't going to stop until I was splattered like a bug on the windshield of life.

Thompson's Precision Engines is located on East Main Street, also known as 'Gasoline Alley' for all the car dealerships and repair shops. TPE is right next to Nancy Winslow Automotive, a used car dealership. I turned into the driveway and parked in a corner spot next to the yellow aluminum building, right in front of the office door.

Fred Thompson, the owner of the place, stood between the door and my car, talking to Detective Luray. Actually, standing and talking doesn't really describe what he was doing. He was shouting. Screaming. Jumping up and down.

His face was so red and contorted with anger that I thought about just staying in the car. I mean, with the way my day was going, having to make a quick getaway was a distinct possibility. However, curiosity got the best of me. I climbed out. But I stayed right by the car door, just to be on the safe side.

Fred is a great big bear of a man. Exceptionally handsome, with thick silver gray hair and blue eyes that twinkle when he smiles, he has a manner that makes you want to curl up next to him. If he weren't the same age as my dad, and didn't happen to be married, I might find myself thinking impure thoughts about him. Since he is, though, I manage to keep my thoughts out of the gutter. Most of the time, anyway.

At that particular moment there was no threat to my impending sainthood. He was about as appealing as a pissed-off rattlesnake.

He drew himself up to his full height, towering over the detective, and stabbed his finger toward her. "Are you crazy? Are you nuts? I hated him with a passion, but I didn't have anything to do with killing him. You think I like it that he was wearing my name on his shirt. He wasn't fit to wear anybody's softball jersey, but especially not one of mine!"

Detective Luray held her hands out, palms toward Fred. "Sir, please, no one is accusing you of anything. I just need to ask you a few questions. This would be a lot easier if you'd cooperate."

Fred's face grew even redder, almost as red as the Thompson's Precision Engine t-shirt he was wearing. I tried to remember how to do CPR.

"Cooperate? Cooperate? You think I'm going to help you try and pin this on me?" He took a step toward her, still jabbing his finger in the air.

Detective Luray held her ground. "Mr. Thompson, I suggest, very strongly I might add, that you control yourself."

Fred backed off, but he kept arguing with her, shouting and almost spitting with anger. She stayed calm and never once lost her temper. She kept her head high, her shoulders back, her hand near her gun.

Fred's son, Zach, came out of one of the three service bays that are on the side of the building next to the used car lot. He wore a red t-shirt like Fred's, a pair of dirty khaki pants, and a black baseball hat. He looked like he was roasting. I did sort of a double take. He also looked extremely hot in that other sense of the word. I didn't remember him being that good-looking.

He wiped his greasy hands on a pink shop towel and trotted over to the detective and Fred. He laid his hand on his dad's shoulder and spoke softly to Fred, too softly for me to overhear. Shoot.

Fred shook his head violently and pulled away from Zach. "No, I won't do that!"

Zach grabbed his father's arm and spun him around so that they were nose to nose. This time, when he spoke, I didn't have any problem hearing. "Yes, Dad! You have to do it. There isn't any choice. Just get it over with. You know what this sort of thing does to her."

Suddenly, all the fight seemed to go out of Fred. His shoulders slumped and he rubbed his beard.

Zach patted his dad on the back, tapping and stroking the way a parent does to comfort a child.

"I'll talk to you," Fred said to Detective Luray, "but let's go down to the station to do it."

"That will be fine," the detective said.

While Fred was getting in her car, which was parked in the slot next to mine, she closed her eyes for a split second and I saw her mouth move, almost like she was saying a little prayer.

Since the fireworks appeared to be over, I moved away from my car and toward the building. Zach glanced at me, but went over to the passenger side of the detective's car, where Fred was sitting. Fred rolled down the window.

Zach leaned down and looked in his father's eyes. "It's going to be okay Dad. You didn't do anything wrong. Just remember that."

Fred reached out the window and caressed the side of Zach's face. "I know, Son, I know. Now, you go take care of her. I'll be back as soon as I can."

He rolled up the window as Detective Luray drove through the parking lot and turned right onto Main Street, toward the police station.

I noticed that I wasn't the only one who had witnessed the confrontation. Nancy Winslow, the owner of the used car lot, stood beside the curb that separated the two businesses, a satisfied looking grin plastered on her face.

Zach gazed after the police car. He pulled his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked so sad and alone. I went to him and touched him gently on the arm.

"Hi, Zach. Everything okay?"

He startled. "Oh, hey there, Marty. I forgot you were here. Yeah, I guess everything's okay. I don't know." There were tears in his eyes. "You hear about Wart?"

"Yeah. I found his body."

He gawked at me. "You did? What a bummer. Are you all right?"

"I'm doing fine. It's poor Beth and those two little ones that we should be worried about." Mom would have been so proud of me. I guess her lecture on 'saying the proper things' had actually paid off.

He nodded solemnly. "You got that right. It's a real shame." He wiped at his eyes with the dirty shop towel.

"Is there something I can help you with?" he asked.

"Well, I'm supposed to do a remote. For your fifteenth anniversary celebration, I think." The salesperson from the station was supposed to handle all the details. She wasn't there yet.

"Crap! I forgot all about it, what with Wart's getting murdered and the cops showing up. They're questioning Dad. They think he had something to do with it. Because of the jersey."

"The jersey?"

"You know, the one Wart was wearing."

I shook my head. "I didn't get a good look at the body so I don't know what you're talking about."

"Wart had on a TPE softball jersey. A brand new one that we hadn't even given out to anyone on our team yet. The only people who had them was me and Dad. That's why they think Dad's involved. And because of the fight they had yesterday."

"Fight? What fight?" I asked.

"Just a stupid misunderstanding. It wasn't important and it certainly doesn't mean Dad killed Wart." He glanced toward the office door. "Listen, I need to make a phone call. Can you wait here for a minute?"

I checked my watch. The saleswoman was running late. "I guess. But I really need to get set up pretty soon. I'm supposed to do the first break-in at five after four."

"I'll make it quick." He disappeared into the last service bay.

Cars streamed by out on Main Street. Nancy Winslow was still rooted to where she'd been standing earlier, looking my way. She waggled her fingers at me. I waved back.

Zach returned two minutes later. "Okay, let's go talk to my Mom, see if she knows where you're supposed to set up. I'm just a hired hand around here, nobody tells me anything." He grinned. His eyes twinkle, too.

He put his hand on the door handle, but didn't open it. "Uh, listen, Marty, this thing with Wart? My mom is, well, she hasn't been doing so great since my brother died. She's real fragile. I don't want her to know about the cops suspecting Dad. It would tear her up. You won't say anything, will you?"

"Of course not."

"Thanks." He put his arm across my shoulder and gave a little squeeze. A shiver went down my back. One of those nice kind.

When he let go, I glanced over to the car lot. Nancy was still watching us. What the heck did she find so interesting?

Zach turned to see what I was looking at. "That woman is so damned nosy," he said.

Nancy stuck her hand in the air, her middle finger straight up. She cackled and went into her office, the door slamming behind her.

"That was cute," I said.

"Wasn't it though. But what do you expect? That's the way she is." Zach opened the office door and we went inside to talk to his mom, Roberta.

It took my eyes a minute to adjust to the light when we got inside. Roberta was sitting behind a desk, sort of slumped down in the chair. To say I was shocked at her appearance would be an understatement.

I hadn't seen her in about a year and a half. Time hadn't been kind to her. I remembered a tall, graceful, exquisitely beautiful woman, not this haunted looking scarecrow.

The desk was littered with papers and three overflowing ash trays. I looked around for a place to sit, but the molded plastic visitor's chairs were piled high with files and cardboard boxes. The calendar on the wall still showed June. The place reeked of burnt coffee, cigarette smoke, and a citrusy-piney smell that I thought was gin. A window air conditioning unit churned and hummed, but it didn't make much of a difference. The office was stifling.

Roberta held a lit cigarette in one hand and a plastic stadium cup in the other. Lipstick stains smeared the rim of the cup. I couldn't help but stare at her. If I'd seen her on the street, I probably wouldn't have recognized her.

"Mom." Zach bent his head close to hers, "Dad had to run a few errands. He'll be back in a little while, okay?" He was speaking to her the way Charli speaks to little Jaelyn. I felt almost embarrassed for him.

She stared at him, like she wasn't quite comprehending what he was telling her. She focused in on me. "Who's that?" she asked, slurring her words slightly.

"That's Marty Sheffield, you remember Marty, she's here to do that remote broadcast. Did Dad tell you where he wants her to set up?" he asked.

"No. I don't think so." She scratched her head with the hand holding the cigarette, making me very nervous. She stared at me lazily. "I don't guess it really makes any difference. Wherever, whatever. Why don't you ask your Dad? He knows everything."

"He isn't here right now."

"Where'd he go?"

"Errands, remember. I told you he had to go run some errands." Zach's voice went up a notch.

"What'd that woman want with him? To get in his pants? That's what she probably wanted. That's what they all want, ain't it?"

Zach took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "No, Mom. She just wanted to ask him some questions about her car. Dad didn't mention the broadcast?"

An inch long ash fell off her cigarette and landed on the desk. "I don't know."

Zach pulled his lips between his index fingers and made a clicking sound with his tongue. "Okay," he said a few seconds later. "How about around front, between the building and the street?"

"Sounds good to me. All I need is electricity." I wanted to get out of that office. I'd have set up in the middle of Main Street if he'd suggested it.

"We're in luck. There's an outlet right next to the office door."

I set up the tuner and speakers, plugged the cell phone I use for talking on-air into the board, and ran an extension cord to the electrical outlet. Once everything was in place, I tuned in the station. They were playing my favorite song, George Teoria's "The Angel in You Brings out the Devil in Me".

During a remote broadcast, the remote DJ -- in this case, me -- goes on the air and tells the on-air disc jockey how great the sponsor is a few times an hour. The rest of the time, I play the station's songs, talk to the people who drop by, hold contests, sign the occasional autograph, and hand out coupons and stuff.

The account manager who'd sold the time to Fred finally showed up a couple of minutes before four. She helped me hang a big 'WRRR 98.6 HOT HITS TO HEAT YOU UP" banner on the building above the table and we chatted until time to go on the air.

Things went pretty smoothly during the first two of the three hours Fred had bought. I'd just finished talking to the studio DJ at the top of the third hour when all hell broke loose.

# 8

I was teasing my co-worker and watching the cars swoosh by when the twisted sisters decided that things were just way too calm. It was probably my own fault. After all, I should have known better than to let my guard down. And I guess you gotta hand it to those folks at Channel Forty-two, they're nothing if not persistent. Perky Giselle was out of the van and had a microphone stuck in my face before I knew what hit me.

"Miss Sheffield, would you care to comment on your role in the murder of Warren Turner?"

I was in a bit of a quandary here. I couldn't say naughty words; there were too many people around. I certainly didn't want to give Giselle, of all people, anything useful. So I said the only thing I could.

"Moonraker. Moon over Miami. Bad Moon on the Rise. The cow jumped over the moon. Moon River."

Her face turned red, but she didn't give up. She repeated her question.

"Moonlight Serenade. The Honeymooners. Blue Moon of Kentucky..." I might have gone on forever, or at least until I ran out of 'Moon' words, but Detective Luray and Fred returned from the police station.

The detective wheeled her car into the parking lot. I waved to her and smiled. She waved back. Fred climbed out of her car and shuffled over toward our table, looking really glum. Giselle, being brainless, as I've already mentioned, didn't even realize that she had a real story on her hands. She kept her attention, and camera, aimed at me.

Detective Luray motored slowly across to Nancy Winslow's used car dealership. Fred, watching her, smiled broadly. The office door slammed and Roberta came weaving out, carrying her stadium cup and another cigarette.

She staggered toward the table, hollering for Fred, and caromed into Giselle. About half the contents of Roberta's cup sloshed down the front of Giselle's dress. Giselle backed away from Roberta, screaming about her dress being ruined. I didn't even try to hide my smile.

"What is it, Roberta?" said Fred. "I'm right here." He was still staring after the detective, who had gone inside Nancy Winslow's office.

Zach rushed around the corner and smacked into Giselle. Her microphone smashed into her nose. She whimpered as she rubbed her nose and went over to the news van to look at herself in the mirror.

Roberta teetered to a stop right in front of me and set her drink on the table. She smelled sour and boozy. The liquid in the cup must have been straight gin. She leaned her hands against the table and bent forward trying to look at me. Her eyes were out of focus. "You're Maggie and Don's kid, ain't you?" she said.

"Yes Ma'am."

"Thought so. You don't look like her. You look like your dad, all those dark curls and those big green eyes. Handsome thing, ain't he?" She grabbed a handful of my hair. "Wish I had curly hair." Hers was short and spiky, sort of a mousy brown. Not particularly flattering.

"Play me that song about the library," she said. She straightened up and picked up her cup.

"You mean Trent Hart's "Library of Love"?" I didn't bother to explain that the music was coming from the radio and I couldn't play anything. Besides, it was in heavy rotation, which meant it was bound to come on soon.

"That's the one." She started around the table. Fred was still looking over toward Nancy Winslow's, watching the detective get in her car and drive away. He looked unhappy again. Zach watched Fred. Giselle wailed about her nose being swollen.

All of the sudden, there was a loud crash behind me and the music went off. I jerked around. Roberta lay sprawled on the ground, the electrical cord tangled around her legs.

"I'm all right," she muttered.

Fred and Zach hurried over and tried to help Roberta up.

"Mom, Mom, are you okay?"

"Roberta, for Christ sakes, get up!"

"Marty, she's broken the plug off!" my co-worker said. She mumbled something about drunken fools and slipped around the corner to call the station and tell them what had happened.

Giselle asked Robbie, her cameraman, if he thought her nose would look bad on the air.

A bright red Explorer squealed into the parking lot. It screeched to a halt and a bunch of high school aged girls jumped out. They were laughing and jabbering a mile-a-minute.

One of the girls shouted, "Ready, set, go!"

They all started to sing, "Ice cube in my pants, makes me want to dance, kills all that romance, I don't have a chance with that ice cube in my pants!"

The on-air DJ, a person with a really sick sense of humor, had offered a CD to the first person to show up at the remote and sing "Ice Cube Boogie", that stupid song that went viral on YouTube back in the spring. Two girls wearing varsity soccer t-shirts began doing the line dance someone else made up and put in their video version, which had gone even more viral. I laughed and drummed on the table. They were much better than the idiots from the video.

Robbie turned his camera around and filmed them. That just made them ham it up more.

"What the —? " Fred dropped Roberta back to the ground and came around the table. "You kids go on. Get on out of here!" he shouted, waving his arms at them.

Robbie swung the camera around toward Fred. Fred jerked it out of his hands and threw it. The cameraman cursed Fred and ran over to his camera. His baby.

Giselle bellowed about her nose, the kids sang louder and louder, Roberta hollered for somebody to help her up. It was absolute pandemonium.

In the midst of all this, Nancy Winslow's gritty voice thundered through. "I'll get you for this if it's the last thing I ever do!"

I looked up in time to see her take a huge swing with a baseball bat directly at Fred's head. Some of the teenagers were still laughing and singing; the rest screamed. Giselle screamed, too. I ducked under the table. My momma didn't raise no fool.

Zach tackled Nancy, knocking her off balance so that the blow with the baseball bat hit Fred in the shoulder instead of the head. They banged into the table and the bat smacked down hard, right above my head. I scrunched down tighter, hoping and praying that they didn't destroy my equipment.

"Stop that! Give it to me!" Zach yelled. He wrenched the bat out of Nancy's hands and tossed it under the table right beside me.

Fred lay on the ground, moaning. The kids were hiding behind cars, screaming. Giselle and Robbie yelled at each other over whose fault it was that they weren't getting this on video. Roberta hollered for somebody to help her up. The account manager was nowhere to be seen. Her momma evidently didn't raise no fool either.

Nancy, who's almost as big as Zach, grabbed him around the neck and choked him. "Give me back my bat! I'm gonna kill him! I'm gonna kill you!" she screamed.

I grabbed the baseball bat and swung it out, knocking her feet out from under her. She went down with a loud thud, pulling Zach on top of her.

In the background? Roberta. "Where did the music go? Why'd you turn off the music?" she said.

Believe it or not, when the police came, no one was arrested. For God only knows what reason, Fred refused to press charges against Nancy. Fred told Robbie to send him a bill for the damage to the camera and the cameraman agreed, so no charges were filed for that. either. Eventually, Robbie and Giselle left, still screaming at each other. The teenagers, evidently scared out of their wits, had taken off as soon as they heard the sirens.

Fred's shoulder was badly bruised, but not broken. He locked up the shop, bundled Roberta into his car, and they drove off, presumably headed for their house. Nancy Winslow slithered off toward her car dealership. My co-worker finally reappeared from wherever she'd been holed up, loaded up our undamaged equipment, and went back to the station. The last thing I heard her say was something about changing careers.

That left Zach and me. We leaned against the table I'd been using, staring at our feet. Shell-shocked.

"What just happened here?" I asked him.

He shrugged. "I'm not real sure. Dad and Nancy have been having a feud off and on for a few months. Maybe it had something to do with that. Or maybe it had to do with that cop going over to talk to her after she brought Dad back."

"How come he didn't press charges? I mean, she tried to hit him with a baseball bat! She could have killed him!"

Zach bounced on the balls of his feet. "It's a real complicated relationship between those two. I'd rather not go into it right now." He bent down and picked up some loose gravel and began tossing it up in the air.

"By the way," he said, "thanks for what you did. Nancy was choking me so hard that I couldn't breathe." He dropped the pebbles to the ground and wiped his hands on his shirt.

"No problem. I couldn't let her kill you guys." I grinned at him. "If y'all were dead, I might not get paid for doing the remote."

Zach chuckled. "Yeah, well, thanks anyway."

I turned my head so I could look at his face better. How come I'd never noticed before just how nice he is to look at? He looks exactly like what Fred must have looked like about twenty-five years ago: thick dark brown hair, those crystal blue eyes, and a great body.

I've always known Zach, maybe that was the problem. Familiarity. In fact, I couldn't remember ever not knowing him. His birthday is the day before mine, and our moms were even in the hospital at the same time. We also have a lot of other stuff in common, most important among them being that we both hate Ricky Ray Riley.

The girl that Ricky Ray dumped me for -- and ran off to Nashville with -- was Zach's fiancé at the time. In spite of all that, we've never really been friends. Maybe it was time to change things.

I checked my watch. Uh oh. It was eight-fifteen. "Wanna go to Pilazzo's with me?"

"Yeah. I could use a beer or two." He rubbed his hands over his head. "Man, what a zoo this town is turning into."

I laughed. "I guess that makes me the head zookeeper."

He gave me an odd look. "What?"

"You know, first I find Wart's body in a trash can. A few hours later, I participate in a riot. Never mind. It was a stupid analogy."

He smiled and twinkled. "You're the prettiest zookeeper I've ever seen."

I felt my face flush. "Yeah, right."

He reached over and softly ran his finger down the side of my face. "Yeah. Right."

My heart skipped a beat. At least it felt like it did."Let's go," I said, my voice just a little bit hoarse.

# 9

Ah, Pilazzo's! An abandoned gas station until two guys I grew up with got the bright idea to open a combination bar-pizza parlor-pool hall, it's practically my home-away-from-home. You can still smell a faint odor of gasoline, and when it rains the outside patio turns into a rainbow colored oil slick. It's always chilly in the winter, hot in the summer, and the walls look like they're coated with axle grease.

I love it anyway. I don't know why. I mean, I'm not a barfly or anything like that -- I don't drink much, maybe an occasional beer or glass of wine. Okay, I guess I do know why. Food. We're talking the best pizza this side of Chicago. Overstuffed sub sandwiches. Half-pound ground sirloin burgers on Kaiser rolls. Awesome potato soup. It makes me hungry just thinking about it.

The bonus is that I can pretty much count on knowing ninety percent of the people there at any given time. Plus, the owners let me bartend whenever I need money. What more could I ask for?

Well, I guess it _might_ be nice if everybody in the place didn't always know my business. I probably wouldn't complain if they all loved Ricky Ray a little less, either. I mean, it is a little irritating that they have giant posters of him stuck all over the walls and that the sign out front says 'Pilazzo's: Home of Ricky Ray Riley'. And really, you have to admit, twelve Ricky Ray songs on the jukebox is just plain overkill.

As usual, one was playing – "Hot-Blooded Mama, Gives Me the Chills" -- when Zach and I arrived. The front room was crowded for a Monday night. All ten stools that sit in front of the bar and all the chairs at the three round tables crammed into the tiny room were taken. People stood in little clusters, chattering and laughing. The air was thick with noise. Instant headache.

I tapped Zach on the arm. He bent his head down so that he could hear me over the blare.

"I'm going to go see if I can find something for this headache," I said. He nodded and winked at me, causing me to forget what I was going to say next.

The song ended and it was like being caught talking in the middle of church. I looked around. Half the people in the place were staring at us. The rest of them had their heads together, furiously whispering and slyly eyeing us. I glanced at Zach and he shrugged. Someone stuck a quarter in the jukebox and George Teoria's "I Thought I'd Found Heaven the Day that I Found You" blasted out.

Zach put his mouth close to my ear. Really close. "Ignore them. They've probably heard about you finding Wart's body. You wanna beer?" His lips brushed against my cheek.

I stammered out a yes and nodded. If he kept this stuff up, I was going to be in some serious trouble before the night was over.

"Meet you on the patio." I nodded again and we split up, Zach going for beer, me searching for aspirin. And a little self control.

He was right about everybody knowing about Wart. Bad news travels fast in a place like Glenvar; in a city of twenty thousand you don't really know everybody, but sometimes it sure seems like it. Especially when your name is Marty Sheffield and your Mom just happens to be Miss Popularity.

The word had also gotten out about Fred being taken in for questioning. Every two steps someone stopped me and asked if he was guilty. The rumors were also flying around pretty fast and furious. The one I heard most frequently – jokingly thrown out there by some guys who made a bet about whether or not they could get it to be taken seriously - was that Wart had been killed by the CIA because he found secret documents proving that the proposed golf course was really going to be an alien landing site.

I finally managed to reach the swinging doors leading into the big kitchen that had been added to the back of the building. I went in there and snagged some otc pain medicine from the manager's desk. Next stop, the patio. Instead of fighting my way past the crowd, I used the door that exits from the kitchen. One of the perks of being a sometimes-employee.

It was a lot quieter out there and not nearly as crowded. Tim sat at a black wrought iron table with a bunch of cops, including Detective Luray. The table was piled up with dirty dishes and empty soda glasses.

"Hey, Marty," Tim said. "You remember Detective Luray? I think you know everybody else."

"Hi, y'all. How's it going?" I asked.

A chorus of 'just fine', 'how are you', and 'hey there' greeted me back. I pulled up a wrought iron chair and squeezed in between Tim and the detective.

"They're just grabbing a quick bite to eat before heading back to work," Tim said. He smiled at the detective. "No rest for the weary."

She smiled back and then looked at me. "Tim's the only lucky one in this bunch. He gets to go to bed tonight. The rest of us have a murder to solve. How are you holding up, Miss Sheffield?"

"Fine, thanks. And please, it's Marty."

She stuck out her hand. "Theresa."

I shook her hand and we made small talk for a few minutes. She was new to the area, had only been on the force for six months. I told her how impressed I'd been with her handling of Fred.

"He had me a little worried at first, but once his son calmed him down, he was a perfect gentleman. Very cooperative and helpful."

"Hey, that reminds me," Tim said, "what really happened at that remote? We only heard the official version."

I told them all about it. The laughter started as soon as I mentioned Giselle St. James.

"Marty's best buddy," someone said.

"Ain't that the truth," Tim said. "I think she follows her around, waiting for stuff to happen. How else could you explain how she just happened to be around for the fight Marty and Ricky Ray had? With Rockin' Robbie, cameraman to the stars, of course."

"Tim, don't," I said. Very calmly, I might add.

Theresa Luray smiled sweetly. "What happened?"

Encouragement. Great. That was all Tim needed.

"Tim." I gave him my best steely-eyed glare. "Don't start on that. You know how I feel about it."

"You see, it's like this," Tim said. "The day that Ricky Ray and Marty were supposed to be getting married, three days after he express mailed her a copy of "Bye- Bye, Baby" with a note telling her that the wedding was off, they had a huge fight in the parking lot of Pilazzo's."

"Tim, that's enough!"

He ignored me. As usual. "A bunch of us brought her here to try and keep her mind off the canceled wedding. Well, dad gum if Ricky Ray didn't show up, looking for her. Seems he wanted to get some stuff he'd left over at her apartment. He wanted her to give him Delbert -- that's her cat -- too. Well, Marty lost it. Funniest thing you ever saw."

I slumped down in the chair and started thinking up ways to get even with him.

"She busted the window out of his Porsche with a rock. Then she saw his guitar. He had the thing buckled in the passenger seat. She grabbed it out, threw it on the ground, jumped in the Porsche -- that idiot had left the keys in the car -- and ran over the guitar. Back and forth she went. About eighteen times. All that was left were little bitty splinters."

Theresa put her hand over her mouth in a vain attempt to hold the laughter in.

"This wasn't just any guitar, either. It was his special guitar." Tim made little quote marks in the air with his hands when he said 'special'. "Belonged to George Teoria. Ricky's daddy bought it at an auction for him. Paid a small fortune, too. It was signed by Chet, George, Waylon, Willie, and a whole bunch of other Nashville superstars. Ole' Ricky Ray just sat down on the curb and cried. And right smack dab in the middle of the whole thing? Giselle and Robbie, getting the whole thing on tape. Probably her biggest scoop. They aired it over and over again for about a month."

Everybody at the table was just about rolling on the floor they were laughing so hard. Personally, I didn't find it a bit funny. As soon as the cops left to go back to the station, I let Tim have it.

"Tim, you know how much I hate it when you do that to me. I told you not to tell that stupid story anymore. I begged you to stop. Why won't you listen to me?"

"Aww, Marty, come on, don't be mad at me. Please?"

I pretended like he was a rock. Mature, Marty. Act mature. I bit my lip and stared at the stone fountain that sits in the middle of the patio.

"Well, fine. Be that way then." He stood up and made like he was leaving.

"Me! You know, sometimes I really hate you. You always turn it around so it looks like I'm being unreasonable. You're so mean!"

"Good grief! I said I'm sorry. Listen, I promise not to tell that story ever again. Okay?" He gave me that look of his. The one that reminds me of a poor little puppy dog.

I could have punched him. "You have to pinkie swear."

He sat back down and stuck his hand out. We hooked pinkies. "I promise," he said, "no more stories, no more fights. Friends forever."

"Friends forever." Just like when we were eight.

# 10

Tim flashed me his cutest grin. "So, now that you don't hate me anymore, you wanna go play pool?"

I slapped at a mosquito. "Not really. But, let's go inside. These dang mosquitoes are eating me alive."

Tim led the way into the poolroom. It's where the service bays used to be. Cheap red carpet and two red vinyl and Formica booths, along with all those tacky Ricky Ray posters, pass for decor. The air in there was almost as smoky as it had been in the front room. The music was not quite as loud and, fortunately, someone with good taste had chosen the song.

Two guys were shooting pool and two others sat at one of the booths watching them. They said 'hey' to us and turned their attention back to the game. I plopped down in the other booth. Tim slid in across from me.

"Listen," I said, "do you know any reason Nancy Winslow would want to take a swing at Fred like she did tonight? And why on earth he wouldn't press charges?"

He gave me a sober look. "Marty, this is confidential info, you can't say anything."

"I won't say a word." I grinned. "Pinkie swear."

"You know Theresa questioned Fred. Well, we had a lot of things to ask him about. See, the cause of death was most likely a blow to the head with a blunt object. Probably from an aluminum softball bat we found down in the trash can with Wart," he said, almost in a whisper.

He looked around to make sure no one was listening. The guys at the other booth were straining to hear. He dropped his voice even lower. "Fred's name was engraved on it. He confirmed that it belongs to him."

My mouth flopped open. "Fred's baseball bat? Wow!"

"Softball. Anyway, that's the main reason we wanted to talk to Fred. Well, that and the fact that all Warren had on when we pulled him out was that TPE softball jersey."

"All? You mean he didn't have on anything else?"

"Just underwear. Fred said he couldn't figure out how Wart got the jersey. The two of them didn't get along too well, so it wasn't like he'd ever give him one."

"That reminds me. Zach seemed to think y'all were talking to Fred because of some fight that he had with Wart yesterday. What was that all about?"

Tim was surprised. "Heck if I know!" He pulled out a little notebook and jotted something down. "I'll tell Theresa. She might want to have another talk with Fred."

"Why did she go over to Nancy Winslow's after she questioned Fred?"

"Fred told her that Nancy and Wart were business partners and that they'd had a falling out. He thinks Nancy might have killed Wart and is trying to frame him."

"Frame Fred? But why would she do that?"

"Fred said she hated him. Something about a dispute over the property line. Said she'd do anything to drive him out of business."

"Over the property line? That doesn't make sense."

Tim sighed. "Nope, it doesn't."

"Did Nancy tell Theresa anything?"

"Just that she figured Fred was guilty. Theresa said she was evasive, but we don't really have any reason to push her on anything. Nothing points to her, except Fred's innuendo. We couldn't find any record of a partnership between Nancy and Wart. At least not yet."

"Well, if you ask me, Wart being killed with a baseball bat and then Nancy taking a bat to Fred's head sure seems like a heck of a coincidence."

"Doesn't it though?"

"And I tell you another thing, if you'd seen her swing that bat, you'd probably put her at the top of your suspect list for killing Wart," I said.

"She can definitely swing a bat. Do you know that the longest home run I ever saw hit at the Civic Center fields was hit by her? She's better than any guy in town. She's built like a freakin' Amazon, too."

Nancy's into body building. Once, I did a remote at a body building contest that she won. She's an awesome sight: close to six foot tall, maybe one hundred seventy pounds. All perfectly sculpted muscle. She's beautifully proportioned, too. Unless you consider her hands. They're tiny, like they belong on someone else's body.

"She'd actually be sort of pretty if she ever smiled," I said. "She's always making that evil looking grin, though. It gives me the creeps when she does that."

"I think that's why she does it. She knows it intimidates people."

"She intimidates me even without that look. Do you remember that time she had me do a remote over at her car lot? I went inside to use the bathroom and she nearly took my head off. Accused me of spying on her. I let Slammin' Sam do the next one she had. I'm poor, but I don't need the money that bad, you know?"

Tim put his finger to his lips to shush me. The guys at the other booth were talking about Warren. We eavesdropped:

"You remember the senior prom?"

"When Ole' Wart got drunk as a dog and threw up all over Beth's dress? They spent the rest of the night sitting in the car, waiting for Steve and his chick-of-the-week to take 'em home."

I remembered that night. Ricky Ray and I'd asked Beth if she wanted us to give her a ride someplace, but she'd turned us down.

"I forgot to ask you how Beth's doing," I said.

Tim scratched his head and yawned."Not too good. She took it real hard. I'm glad Steve went with me. He called Vanessa and she was supposed to come over, too."

Vanessa. That reminded me that I still needed to talk to her. Maybe I could run by her house before I went to Mom and Dad's.

"I'm glad," I said. "I betcha Vanessa is the only woman friend Beth has."

Tim rolled his empty bottle between his palms. "You want a beer?"

"No, I already ordered one." I'd forgotten all about Zach. Wonder what was taking him so long to get the beer? .

"Hey, speaking of Vanessa, are you going to Mom and Dad's anniversary party with her?" I asked.

When Mom and Dad had celebrated their thirtieth wedding anniversary the year before, Charli and I had forgotten it. So had Dad. To make up for it, we'd talked Dad into pulling out all the stops. Being a man who enjoys living, he'd readily agreed. We were having a big party for their thirty-first the following Monday night.

Initially, we'd tried to keep the party a secret, but Mom's nosy reporter instincts had won out pretty quickly. She basically ended up taking over the planning. Not that Dad had minded too much. Charli and I had unfortunately inherited most of the not-so-much-fun tasks.

"I don't think so. She's six years older than me, and besides, she has two little kids. She even used to baby-sit for me when I was eight years old, for Christ sakes! I can't help it, but I've got too many hang-ups about it, you know?"

"Geez, Tim, nobody said you had to marry her. She just doesn't want to go to the party alone. I think you should go. She's a nice girl and she's had a hard time since O'Del died. Why don't you do it as a favor to me?"

He squirmed in his seat. "I'll think about it. You better be right, though. I don't want her to get the wrong idea and start thinking this is the start of some big romance. I want to keep my options open. An instant family isn't one I have in mind."

I winked at him. "You could do a lot worse, you know? Vanessa is pretty, smart, and really sweet. Plus, she's almost as tall as you are."

"But I've got my eye on somebody else."

"Who? Wait! I'll bet I know!" I started to tease him about Detective Luray, but Zach slipped into the booth next to me and handed me a beer. "Here you go, Marty. Sorry it took so long. I was talking to some people."

He held out his hand to Tim. "Hey there, Timbo, how ya' doin'?"

Tim shot me a dirty look. "I didn't know you were bringing him," he said. "I'll talk to you later, Marty."

He jumped up and stormed off toward the patio.

"What the heck was that all about?" I asked Zach.

He looked astonished. "I don't have a clue. Unless, maybe he's jealous."

I snorted. "Tim? Jealous? That's nuts."

Zach shook his head. "Marty, you must be the only person in the entire state, no, the entire world, who doesn't know that Tim has a thing for you."

"That's ridiculous. We're just friends. Practically brother and sister." I took a big slug of beer. "Absolutely ridiculous."

Zach put his hand on my arm and squeezed ever so slightly. A tingle ran down my neck. "I don't think it's so ridiculous. You're the prettiest girl in town."

I rolled my eyes. "This is getting deep."

Tim came back in, a beer bottle in one hand and a cue stick in the other. He put four quarters on the edge of the pool table signaling that he wanted to play the winner of the current game.

"How's the DJ business?" Zach asked.

Tim kept his eyes glued on a spot about a foot above my head. Right around Ricky Ray's kneecaps. What was with him?

"Not too bad. How's the car repair business?"

The two guys finished their game and Tim stuck his quarters into the coin slot on the pool table. The balls released and he pulled them out of their slot and slammed them into the rack.

Zach was looking at Tim. "What? I'm sorry. Your pal seems to be more than a little mad."

"His problem, not mine." I took a sip of beer.

Tim kept shooting me dark looks between turns. Zach and I talked about our jobs and some mutual friends and tried to ignore him. Another guy, one I recognized vaguely, walked in and watched the game for a few minutes. Tim made a good shot and I said 'way to go'. Just trying to be nice. The new guy turned around and noticed us.

"Yo, Thompson!" He staggered over to our table. "What's this I hear about your old man getting busted for Wart's murder?" The guy Tim was playing against snickered.

Zach slammed his beer mug down on the table. "He did not get arrested! Why don't you climb back in that bottle you came out of?"

"Zach, just ignore him. He's drunk."

The guy stuck his face in Zach's. "Hey, Pretty Boy, tell your girlfriend to mind her own business."

"Get out of my face!" Zach said.

The other man sneered at him. "What you gonna do about it?"

Zach jumped up and grabbed the guy on each side of his collar. "I'm telling you this once, and only once, get on out of here and if I ever, ever hear you talking about my family, I'll bust that cue stick over your head!" He gave the guy a shove.

Please, God. Not another fight.

The guy fell back against the pool table. Zach grabbed his shirt and jerked him to an upright position. "I said get out of here! And I mean it."

Several people stood in the doorway, watching the action. My face felt like it was on fire.

Tim hooked his arms around Zach's and wrenched them back. "All right, that's enough. He's leaving now, aren't you?" He gave a hard look to the other man.

The guy bobbed his head yes, but his eyes bored into Zach's. "You ain't worth the trouble, you know that?" He spit on the ground, right beside Zach's foot, and left.

Tim let go of Zach, giving him a little shove. "You. Get control of yourself. Or take a hike."

Zach shot him a venomous look. "Hey, I'm cool. And I'll leave when I'm good and ready to. Officer Unser."

He looked over at me and raised both hands, palms up. "Marty, I'm sorry. I'll be right back," he said. He went in the men's room.

My hands were shaking. I gulped down some beer.

Tim loomed over me. "Marty, I just got one question for you. What are you doing hanging out with a creep like Zach Thompson?"

"Zach is not a creep," I said. "What has gotten into you, Tim? You are totally out of line! Who I hang around with really isn't any of your business, is it?"

"Since when? I'm only trying to protect you, Marty. You saw what just happened here."

"Geez, Tim, what I saw here was not totally unjustified. That guy was being a jerk. I probably would have reacted the same way. And let's be honest, so would you."

He smacked his hand down on the table. "No I wouldn't! Besides, that, I care about you. I don't want to see you get mixed up with another loser."

"Zach is not a loser. What is with you? I thought you guys were friends."

"Friends? Not with that guy. I don't like how he treats people. You just wait and see. He'll treat you like a dog. Or worse."

"Not that it's any of your business, but he's been a perfect gentleman. I like him, and I'll get mixed up with him if I danged well want to."

"And I guess we know what kind of judgment you have. Not to mention your taste in men," he said.

I lurched to my feet. "That's it! I don't have to put up with this garbage. I thought you were my best friend! How can you sit there and talk to me like this." My eyes were hot with tears. "What happened to friends forever?"

"Marty, if you can't see how it is I feel about you, well, I guess you're in worse shape than I thought." He hurried out the door.

I blinked back the tears and tried to ignore all the people who were staring at me.

Zach elbowed his way through the little crowd. "Everything okay?"

"I gotta go home." I reached into the booth and grabbed my tote bag. "I'm sorry, I just gotta go."

"Look Marty, if it's about my getting into a fight, I'm real sorry. Please don't run off. I swear to you, I'll control myself."

I shook my head. "It's not about you. It's Tim. We had another argument while you were out of the room."

I glared at the people still staring at me. They got the message and turned away. "Anyway, I've had a really long day, and to be honest, I just want to go to bed."

He gently wiped a tear off my cheek. "Sure, I understand. Truly, it's not a bad idea. I probably need to get going, too. I want to call and check on my folks." He put his arm across my shoulder. "Come on, I'll walk you to your car."

The air outside felt stale and stagnant. "God, I wish it would rain. It's so freaking humid," I said.

"We sure could use a good soaker." Zach gave me a questioning look. "Marty, why are we talking about the weather?"

"I don't know. I guess it was about the only sane thing I could think of, you know? What do you want to talk about?"

"When are you going to go out with me?"

He caught me by surprise with that one. "Uhm, why don't you call me sometime," I said. Stammered.

He put his hand under my chin and lifted my face up so that I was looking at him. "I'll do that, real soon." He slid his finger up to my lips. "Real soon," he said, so softly that I could barely hear it.

I was halfway to Mom and Dad's when I remembered that I still needed to talk to Vanessa. I made a U-turn and headed in the other direction, toward her house.

# 11

Things were quiet at the Oaks of Stableford Manor. Too quiet. It wasn't even ten o'clock yet and it was practically deserted. I only passed two cars headed out of the neighborhood and I didn't see anyone out walking. Almost all of the houses were dark. A light on here or there and an occasional blue flicker from a big screen TV was about it. Talk about boring lives.

Vanessa's house was dark, too. Not even a blue flicker, and at first, I didn't think she was home. I hit the doorbell twice and drummed my fingers against the door frame. Some of the paint flaked off and fell to the porch. I was definitely going to have to get Tim over to help her. Those ONAG folks can be a real pain.

ONAG has this whole booklet full of do's and don'ts. I'm a big don't. They told Charli to tell me I couldn't park my Mustang on the street in front of her house. Said it was an eyesore. I don't know why. I know it has a little rust, and, okay, so one of the fenders isn't quite the same color as the rest of the car. That's still no reason to call it an eyesore.

The porch light blinked on and the door creaked open. Vanessa had on an old pair of gym shorts and the same t-shirt she'd worn at the park. A pink towel was slung around her shoulders. Her hair was wet and about six inches shorter on one side than the other. She had a pair of wicked looking scissors in her hand.

"Hey, Marty, what's up?" She seemed surprised to see me.

"You're home. Can I come in? I need to talk to you."

Laughter came from a house somewhere down the street. A car door slammed and the engine roared to life. The headlights came on as it pulled out of a driveway and turned onto the street. Vanessa stared after it.

"Well, I'm right in the middle of cutting my hair." She held up the scissors. They were big enough to cut down a small tree.

"I really hate to bother you, but it's important." I smiled nervously.

She still stared at where the car had been. "But if it dries, I'll have to start all over again."

Start all over again? Don't ask me what she meant by that one. Maybe the aliens got tired of waiting for the new golf course/landing pad and had already landed. Maybe Vanessa was now one of those pod people. Heck, maybe everybody in Glenvar was. It sure would explain a lot of things.

"Please. Just let me come in for a few minutes."

She opened and closed the scissors. They looked sharp. Real sharp. "I don't know. I'm really tired and the house is a big mess and I have to get up early."

A dog barked and several others answered back.

"What if I promise not to look at your mess?"

She clicked the scissors open and closed a couple of times. Hard. "You're going to keep bugging me until I do. Aren't you?"

I nodded. She motioned me through the door.

The last time I'd been to her house, right before her husband died, it had been decorated as elegantly as Charli's house. Maybe even nicer. In those few months, things had changed radically. The living room was completely empty. So was the formal dining room.

We passed by the empty rooms into the family room. It was furnished. Well, sort of. The sofa in there was just plain ratty. Rattier even than mine, and that was saying something. Two mis-matched wing chairs faced each other over a scarred cocktail table. Wedged in between the fireplace and the door to the kitchen was a white laminate dinette table with chrome legs. Four brown vinyl-covered chairs were pulled up to the round table. All of the furniture looked like she'd picked it up down at the landfill. Or, maybe my apartment.

Vanessa glanced around the room. "I'm getting ready to redecorate," she said. "I thought it might help me and the kids get over losing O'Del."

"I see." I didn't, but what the heck. I dropped down into one of the wing chairs. "Kids sleeping?"

"No. I mean yes, but not here. I just got home from Beth's a little while ago. Since it was so late, Charli said I should just let them spend the night at her house." She took the pink towel off of her shoulders and tossed it over the back of one of the vinyl chairs.

"Is she doing okay? Tim said she took it real hard."

Vanessa stood beside the white dinette table click, click, clicking the scissors. "I guess she's doing as well as can be expected."

"As well as can be expected?"

Vanessa pulled out a chair and sat at the table. Click, click, click. "You know, crying, angry, feeling guilty. The poor kids are so confused. They're too little to understand what's going on."

"Guilty? Why guilty?"

"Well, because of the separ...." She clapped her hand over her mouth. "Shoot. I wasn't supposed to say anything. Well, I suppose it's all going to come out now anyway. See, Beth and Warren had been separated for a couple of weeks. Beth feels guilty because the kids didn't get to spend that time with their daddy, and now, he's gone for good."

"Separated?" I thought Mom knew everything that went on around here. If she'd heard anything about that, I know she'd of told me. She always does.

"It was supposed to be a secret. They didn't want Wart's parents to find out. You know how they are about stuff like that."

Warren's folks are the pastors at Church of God of the Living Truth's Holiness Fellowship of Man, about as fundamental and conservative as a church can get. Rumor has it that they're one of those snake handling denominations. "Have they decided when the funeral's going to be?"

"Thursday morning. Visitation's Wednesday night at the funeral home. Seven, I think."

She was still clicking those scissors. It was really getting on my nerves. "Want a soda?" she asked.

"Sure, sounds good."

She took a dented can of cheap generic soda out of the refrigerator, poured it into two glasses, and brought one of the glasses to me. She took a sip out of the other glass, eyeing me cautiously. After she sat back down at the dinette table, she picked up her scissors again. I guess they were sort of her security blanket or something.

"So, what's this important stuff you need to talk about?" Click, click, click.

I took a deep breath. "Well, it's um, it's hard for me to ask you this, but, um." I took a big drink of the soda and started again. "Vanessa, it's about that watch."

She spilt some of her drink. The scissors clicked faster. "Watch? What watch?"

"Warren's. When I found the body, I know I saw a watch.

She stared at me, her eyes blinking rapidly. The color drained from her face. She stood up, scissors still in hand and started pacing back and forth between the table and the fireplace.

I took another drink of my soda. "When she got there, Mom insisted on looking at the body and I went with her. It didn't register at the time, but the watch wasn't there anymore. I didn't take it. Neither did Mom. You're the only other person who looked."

Her eyes were still blinking, the scissors fiercely opening and closing. I went over, took them out of her hand, and laid them on the table. Her breathing was shallow and rapid. She was hyperventilating. I remembered something about needing a paper bag, so I dashed into the kitchen and looked for one. All I found were the plastic ones you get at the grocery store. I didn't think they would work.

I slammed the cabinet door shut and dashed back to the family room, trying to remember what else you were supposed to do when you hyperventilated. Vanessa was sitting on one of the wing chairs, and had her hands cupped over her nose and mouth, taking slow breaths. After a few seconds, she began breathing more regularly. She moved her hands away from her face, which was blotchy. Her eyes looked dead.

"Vanessa, are you all right?" I asked.

She shook her head slowly from side to side. "No. I'm not okay. I'm scum. I can't believe I've sunk to this."

I hugged her. "No, honey. You aren't scum. You're one of the kindest people I know."

She just kept shaking her head and repeating the word 'scum', over and over again.

My head felt like it was going to explode. I went back in the kitchen to look for some ibuprofen or something. There was a bottle sitting next to the sink. I took some out, two for me and two for Vanessa. When I went back in the family room, Vanessa was standing by the fireplace holding the scissors up next to her chest, the evil looking blades pointing toward her neck.

"No!" I screamed. "Don't!"

She started. The blades scraped against her throat.

"Don't do it, Vanessa, think about your kids!" I tried to think of a way to distract her so I could get the scissors.

"Marty, what on earth are you screaming about? I'm just going to finish cutting my hair. I've got to do it before the police come to get me." She grabbed a handful of hair and savagely cut it off.

"Vanessa! Stop that! You're butchering your hair."

She grabbed another handful and chopped it off. Then another. Gobs of hair flew all over. I grabbed her hand.

"Give me the scissors! Now! The police aren't coming for you. I didn't say anything about it to them," I said. "Stop it! Please, you're scaring me!"

She glued her eyes on mine, like she was trying to decide if I was telling the truth. Finally, she relaxed her grip on the scissors. I took them from her and put them on the fireplace mantel. Tears poured down her face. When I hugged her, she wrapped her arms around my neck, practically choking me.

"Oh God, Marty, oh God. I think I'm losing my mind!" She cried and cried for what seemed like hours.

# 12

In fact, Vanessa's crying jag only lasted for about forty-five minutes. That was about thirty minutes too long, to be honest. I never let on, though. Mom would have been really proud of me.

"Nessa." Her head lay on my shoulder and my arm was pinned between her and the sofa. We'd sat down after about fifteen minutes. "Hon, would it be okay if I move my arm? I think it's fallen asleep."

She made sort of a burbling sound and leaned forward. I leaned back and shook my arm. Vanessa wasn't crying anymore, but she wasn't exactly not crying, either. I got a handful of toilet paper from the bathroom and took it to her.

My stomach wouldn't stop growling. I launched a search for food. Search being the operative word. The cupboards were practically bare. All I found was a quart of milk, some stale bread, a half-empty jar of cheap store-brand peanut butter, and a couple of those little packs of jelly you see in restaurants. I fixed us each a sandwich and a glass of milk.

Vanessa's eyes and nose were red, but she'd finally managed to stop snuffling. I handed her the food and sat down next to her, turning my body so we were slightly facing each other.

"It was crazy," she said. "I just looked down and saw that watch and I don't know what came over me. It was like an out-of-body experience or something."

More like out-of-mind. "So you just took it?"

She looked at me for a long time. I thought she was going to start crying all over again. Not good.

"Yes," she finally said. "I just took it."

I bit into my sandwich. It tasted wonderful. But then, I hadn't eaten anything since early that morning. In that time, I'd found a dead body, worked, witnessed two fights, and instigated a mental breakdown. All I wanted to do was go home, get in the bed, and pull the covers over my head. Then, when I woke up, I'd find out it had all been just a really bad dream.

"Like I said, I haven't said anything to the police yet. I wanted to talk to you first," I said. "But, you have to tell them about the watch."

"I know. I've been a basket case all day. I just knew they were going to come and arrest me. I jumped every time the phone rang. I could hardly look Beth in the eye." She was snuffling again. "What on earth am I gonna do?"

"How about this? I'll call Tim and explain it to him. He'll know what to do to make it be all right. Maybe he can keep your name out of it somehow."

Of course, Tim was currently very mad at me, and probably not speaking to me, but I didn't mention that.

"Do you really think so?"

"There's a good chance. Tim's cool." She seemed convinced. Personally, I was a lot less hopeful.

I called Tim and got his voice mail. I tapped my fingers against the receiver while I listened to his message. It was a lame take off on "Dragnet". Tim thinks he's so funny.

"Tim! Call me! It's me, Marty," I hollered into the phone.

"I need to talk to you right now. It's an emergency. Tim! Call me."

He either had his phone off, didn't have a signal, wasn't speaking to me, or was in a deep sleep. Knowing Tim, it was the deep sleep. I'd just have to go over there. I hated to leave Vanessa, but she seemed to have almost returned to her normal self. Her eyes were fatigued, but no longer looked dead. Her color was almost normal, too. In fact, she seemed to be even better than she'd been earlier in the day. I guess she was relieved.

"Are you going to be okay by yourself?" I asked her.

She said yes, all she wanted to do was take a hot bath and go to bed. I told her I'd take the watch to Tim, explain everything, and it would all be okay. I hoped like hell that I was right.

We went up to her bedroom to get the watch. The bedroom was almost empty of furniture, too. Her mattress lay on the floor and her clothes were stacked in cardboard boxes. She opened the closet and reached into the back. She'd stuck the watch in the pocket of a winter coat.

I studied it before putting it in my own pocket. It wasn't just any old watch; it was a Rolex. A real one. The question I had: how could a garbage man afford an expensive watch like that? Knowing Warren, my guess was that it was stolen.

Vanessa gasped when she caught sight of herself in the mirror that was propped up next to her bedroom door. Her hair looked terrible, some of it cut almost to the scalp.

"Oh God!" she moaned, "How am I ever going to fix this?"

I shook my head. "I'd offer to help, but it'd probably look even worse if I did."

She smiled weakly. I took that as a good sign.

"Maybe Charli can help, she's good at this sort of thing. And you know you can trust her," I said.

She thought about it. "I know. You guys are the best."

We went downstairs and I called Charli and told her Vanessa was scared to stay alone. I left out the part about the watch, but told her that Vanessa had "accidentally" messed up her hair while trying to cut it. Charli said she'd be right over as soon as she put on some clothes and shoes. Once Charli arrived, I gave Vanessa a hug and told her not to worry. She and Charli stood on the front porch and watched me as I climbed into my car.

"Marty," Nessa said, "thanks for everything."

"No problem. See you tomorrow," I said.

No problem? I brushed away tears as I pulled out of the driveway and headed over to Tim's apartment.

Tim's truck wasn't out front and he didn't answer the door. My apartment building is right next to his, so I went home. It felt so good to finally be there. I wandered around looking at everything, like you do when you've been out of town for a few days.

I scratched Delbert's ears and gave him a 'sorry I've been neglecting you' snack. I tried Tim's number several times and kept getting his voice mail. Between attempts, I sent three texts, basically saying, "Call me! 911" as I paced around the apartment, trying to slow the adrenaline that still pulsed through me.

At about eleven-thirty, with still no signs of life from Tim I called Charli to check on Vanessa. She told me Vanessa had fallen sound asleep about ten minutes after I left. "I just can't get over this house. What on earth?" Charli said. "It looks like she's sold everything she owned."

I hesitated, but decided to tell Charli about the watch. I might not act like it, but I trust my sister implicitly. "I need to talk to you about something. But you've got to promise not to say anything to anybody about this. Not even Mom."

"You know I won't."

I told her about Vanessa stealing the watch.

"What the heck was she thinking?"

"She wasn't. She said it was like she had an out-of-body experience. I'm really worried about her."

"Me too. I feel so guilty. I guess I haven't been over here in, I don't know, six or seven months. No, wait, it was right after O'Del's memorial service. I guess that's about eight months. I've hardly seen her since then. She's come over to the house a few times for coffee, and I've kept her kids a couple of times, but until today, I don't think I've seen her except in passing for about a month. I can't believe how skinny she's gotten."

"I think she's having financial problems. I mean you see how empty the house is, and I don't know if you've looked, but she doesn't have much food, either."

Charli took a deep breath and blew it out. "I guess things must be worse than I'd thought. She told me once that O'Del didn't have any insurance when he died. That's why she just had him buried up there in Minnesota where he was killed. I think she had to take out a loan even for that. He'd been laid off for several months, you know, and she said they had to cash in their insurance so they could pay bills."

"But Vanessa's a nurse. She makes decent money."

"That's true, but probably not enough to support a family of four. If her mortgage payment is like ours, I imagine that it alone takes most of her salary."

"You don't think that's why she took the watch do you? For the money, I mean."

"I don't know. I hope not. That makes it seem worse somehow."

"I wish I could help her, but I barely make enough to support me and Delbert."

"I know you do. But I'll bet Vanessa wouldn't take money from her friends, anyway. She's a proud girl. Her daddy raised her that you don't take handouts."

Vanessa's folks had been much older when they'd had her. Her mother died when she was in high school, and her dad when she was twenty. She didn't have any other family that I knew of. And O'Del had been from California or Washington or somewhere out west. Vanessa had never mentioned his family, so I didn't know if he had any relatives, either.

I sighed, "I know. I just feel so bad for her."

We talked about some other things, including the murder. I told her what Vanessa had let slip about Wart and Beth being separated.

"I can't believe it! Well, I can believe it, but I can't believe we hadn't heard about it. Nobody in Glenvar can keep a secret."

"That's for sure. Speaking of secrets, do you know anything about Roberta Thompson?"

"You mean the drinking?"

"Yes. How long has she been like that?"

"Since Fred, Jr. died."

Zach's brother, who was the same age as Charli, died two years ago. He had been sick for years with cancer.

"I saw her once when I took the van in to get it inspected," Charli said. "Mom told me that Roberta just sits in the office all day, sipping gin and tonic. She doesn't even bother to hide it anymore."

"It's so sad. And I feel so sorry for Zach. You should have seen how sweet he was toward her. You could tell it just broke his heart to see her like that."

"I feel sorry for Zach, too. It was bad enough when Fred, Jr. was alive. To hear her talk, he was the only child she had. Now, she's practically canonized him."

"Heck of a thing to have to try and live up to."

"I know."

I told her what had happened at the remote broadcast. I also filled her in on what Tim had told me at Pilazzo's about the investigation.

"I'll bet Nancy Winslow did it," Charli said. "She's certainly big enough, and mean enough, to do it. If we asked around, we'd probably find out that she had a motive too." She sounded excited.

"Charli, this isn't any of our business. It's a police matter, you know." I rubbed Delbert's sleek black coat. "But, she certainly tops my list of suspects."

"Listen, why don't we poke around a little. We won't interfere with the investigation, just gather information. This whole story would make a great book."

Uh-oh. Charli had apparently found the idea for her mystery novel.

I figured I'd better get her mind off of her potential best seller and onto something less troublesome. I told her about Zach wanting to go out with me. Bad idea. I'd no sooner got his name out, when she butted in.

"I'm so glad. I really like him. He's such a nice guy. Good looking, too. It's about time you started going out and having fun. It's been almost a year since, well, you know."

"Charli! Geez! Between you and Mom! I wish y'all would just back off. That's the last thing on my mind. Geez!" I said, exasperated, sorry I'd brought it up.

"Good grief, Marty. You don't have to be so touchy. It's not like I said you should marry him or..."

I interrupted. "I gotta go. Talk to you tomorrow."

After we hung up, I tried Tim a few more times, still not getting an answer. I didn't bother sending any more texts. His truck was still missing and his lights were still off, too. Where the heck was he? It was after midnight and he had to be at work at six-forty five.

My adrenaline rush finally gave out, so I took a long, hot bath, soaking in the lavender bubble bath Mom had given me for Christmas until the water started cooling, then went to bed. Delbert curled up next to me and I rubbed his tummy. He started snoring after about ten minutes. Sleep didn't come quite so easily for me. I flipped and flopped, replaying the events of the day over and over in my head.

I was walking over toward a green trash tote carrying a dirty diaper when the diaper started ringing. I opened my eyes and fumbled around for the telephone.

"Marty, are you okay? Wake up, honey. Do you know where you are? Are you feeling all right?"

I groaned. "I think I'm in hell. What time is it?" I asked Mom.

"Three-fifteen. I just wanted to make sure that you weren't in a coma. Daddy was worried about you. He said that you're supposed to wake people with concussions up every couple of hours." She covered the receiver and told Daddy that I was still alive. "Go on back to sleep. I'll talk to you in the morning."

"Why me? Why do these things always happen to me?" I asked Delbert. He didn't answer.

# 13

When I looked at myself in the mirror Tuesday morning, I figured that Destiny and the other bimbos of badness were probably laughing themselves silly right about then. The bump on my head resembled a purple ostrich egg and I had a major case of raccoon eyes. At least the bottom half of my face was okay. Of course, the way things were going, that was subject to change at any time.

I dug way in the back of my junk drawer and came up with a tube of porcelain bisque sheer coverage liquid foundation that Ricky Ray had bought for Halloween the year before we split up. He'd dressed up like Dolly Parton. I went as one of her wigs. We won first place.

I squirted a big gob of the stuff out in my hand. It was sort of pinkish-white, probably not the best choice for someone with my skin tone, but it was all I had. I dabbed some on the purple knot and gently rubbed it in. It covered it up pretty well, but I was obviously going to have to put it all over my face. Delbert sat on the vanity next to the sink, watching my every move.

"You know, Delbert, I wish the hell I'd paid attention to Mom when she gave those 'how to apply makeup lessons'."

I rubbed my hands together and then smeared the porcelain bisque all over the rest of my face.

"What do you think?" I asked Delbert. He leaped off the counter and ran into the bedroom. "Yeah," I said, "me too."

Mom says if you project confidence and capability all the rest will take care of itself. Easy for her to say. Confident and capable are her middle names.

I figured I didn't have anything to lose by trying, though. "I am confident and capable," I confidently and capably told my reflection. She didn't buy it, either.

I thought about going with the old 'paper bag over the head' trick, but finally decided that the porcelain bisque was more practical. It would probably look much better once I got out in the sunlight. Plus, I'd already wasted fifteen minutes looking at myself in the mirror, fourteen more than normal. It was time to get a move on. I had places to go, people to see.

I was filling in for the afternoon DJ, Slammin' Sam, who had taken the day off. That meant I had to be at work at noon. It was nine forty-five. Plenty of time to cruise by the police station, sign my statement, and talk to Tim about Vanessa and the watch. But first things first; Pilazzo's breakfast cook had a half order of gravy biscuits and a side of home-fries with my name on it.

I tugged on a denim skirt and my What Would MacGyver Do? t-shirt, gave Delbert a bowl full of some really vile smelling stuff, and went out to inflict a little confidence and capability on the world.

Once my tummy was pleasantly stuffed, I zipped over to the police station. Theresa Luray was sitting at her desk with Tim in a chair right next to her. Their heads were so close together they were almost touching. They didn't even notice me.

I looked her over. She didn't really seem to be Tim's type. She was petite and pretty, in an obvious sort of way. In fact, she sort of reminded me of a brunette version of Charli. Not Tim's type at all. So why was he looking at her the way Delbert looks at a bowl of gourmet shrimp deluxe cat food?

"Hey there. I'm here to sign my statement," I said. My voice echoed off the metal filing cabinets.

Detective Luray smiled at me. Her makeup was perfect, just like Charli's always is. I felt like putting my hands up over my face to hide the porcelain bisque.

"Why, hello, Marty," she said. "Thanks for coming down."

"No problem," I said. "Hey, Tim, how's it going?"

Tim smirked at me.

He turned to Detective Luray. "Theresa, er, I mean Detective, I'll talk to you later about that, uh, that other matter," he said.

She looked from him to me and back to him. "Um, sure. I'll see you." She gave him one of those fakey looking movie star sort of smiles. The kind that says 'you're the only man in the world'. I've seen Mom do it a million times.

Tim practically glowed, he was grinning so hard. I couldn't believe he was falling for it. He can be so freaking gullible sometimes.

I caught his eye and smiled the same exact way Theresa had. He sort of rolled his eyes and made a snorting sound. Obviously, he wouldn't recognize capable and confident if it smacked him upside his big, dumb head.

Detective Luray watched him leave, still smiling. God, she smiled a lot. I cleared my throat, and she started slightly. Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. She smiled some more before turning her attention to the pile of papers on her desk.

"Let me see, now," she said, rifling through a stack of file folders. "Ah, here it is."

She handed me a typed up piece of paper. I scanned through it. It told the story pretty well, except for the part about the watch.

"So, Miss Sheffield. Marty. Did you think of anything else to add to your statement?"

I felt my face growing hot. I twisted my hair around my finger and looked up from the paper. I had to force myself to look her in the eye. She was watching me intently, still smiling. I don't trust people who smile all the time. It's just not natural. I glanced back down at the paper and made up my mind. I'd tell Tim about the watch, not her.

"Uh, sure, I guess this looks about right."

I searched in my bag for a pen. Normally it's like a pen convention down in there. Today, not a single one to be found. "Are you all making progress in the investigation?" I asked.

She handed me a fancy gold pen with her initials on it. "I'm sorry, but I can't reveal any information regarding the investigation. Department rules." A smile. "But I do want you to know how much I appreciate the help you've given us."

"No problem." I practically choked on the words. "Glad to do it."

I signed the paper, handed her pen back, and stood up.

"Do you know where Officer Unser went? I need to talk to him about some personal business before I leave."

"Sorry." She stared at me, curiosity mixed with something else -- jealousy, maybe? -- coming from her large brown eyes.

"That's okay. It can wait."

"Maybe we can locate him on the way out."

She swished around the desk and shepherded me toward the door. She was dressed in a navy blue summer suit, pale pink blouse, and executive pumps. And, of course, a great big gun. I imagine having a gun strapped to you makes capable and confident a whole lot easier to project. Probably what Tim found so attractive, too.

I certainly could have used a gun -- or maybe a couple of fire-breathing dragons -- myself. The porcelain bisque and the positive thinking weren't doing a very good job. Theresa was one of those women who make me feel big and loud and gawky. Charli and Mom make me feel that way, too. I bumped into the corner of the desk on my way out, leaving a gigantic bruise on my leg and pretty much confirming the gawky part.

We made our way slowly down the hallway, peeking into each office we passed to see if Tim was around. No sign of him anywhere. When we reached the front I shook Theresa's hand and said good-bye. After she was out of sight I asked the receptionist if Tim was out on patrol. She looked at me over the top of her bifocals and arched one of her penciled-on eyebrows.

"Officer Unser has a court appearance in," she looked at her watch, "thirty-two minutes. I'd imagine that you can catch him if it's important. He's in courtroom three." She picked up the buzzing phone and dismissed me with a flash of hot pink nails.

I went out the entrance and turned left. The Glenvar courthouse is conveniently located right next door to the police station. I was just about through the courthouse's double glass doors when I heard Tim call me.

He was leaning against my car drawing circles in the dust. I couldn't see his eyes behind his cop sunglasses, but he still looked mad.

"I tried to call you," I said, in the calmest voice I could manage.

"I got the message." His voice wasn't calm at all.

"Well, how come you didn't call me back? I've got something real important to tell you. It's about the murder. Well, sort of." I started to lean against the car, but it was so hot it burned the back of my legs. I jerked away.

"Here," I said, pulling on his arm, "let's go down to the pharmacy and get some frozen lemonade."

I flashed him a fake-sultry grin. It's one that's normally a sure-fire laugh inducer for Tim. "My treat."

"No thanks." He didn't even crack a smile. He eyed his watch. "I gotta be in traffic court in fifteen minutes."

Obviously he wasn't feeling well. Either that or the pod people had got him, too. Tim never passes up frozen lemonade. Especially if I'm buying.

"Thirty." I flashed another grin.

"Fifteen." He still didn't smile back. "Cut the crap, Marty, and tell me what you want."

I yelled at him "Okay, fine! Be that way! See if I care!" I jerked at the car door handle.

Two men dressed in blue pin-stripes, obviously lawyers, (If a lawyer was turned into a pod person, how would you know?) came out of the courthouse. They turned around and stared at us. Tim grabbed my arm and pulled me across the street to the Library courtyard. He plopped me down on a bench underneath a big maple tree and sat down next to me, still holding tightly onto my arm. It hurt.

"Ow! Let go, you jerk!"

He let go. I yelled at him again. Then, it suddenly occurred to me that I wasn't helping Vanessa any, so I shut up in mid-curse. I took a deep breath and attempted to calm down.

The courtyard is the center of the downtown area. It's the prettiest place in Glenvar. I looked up and down our tree-lined Main Street and started feeling that 'Glenvar State of Mind' wash over me. I quickly regained my composure and told Tim about Vanessa and the watch.

Tim's 'Glenvar State of Mind' was gone in a flash. He took off his cop hat and ran his fingers through his hair. "Is she out of her ever-loving mind?" He said.

"Big trouble, you think?"

He stuck his hat back on top of his head and groaned. A friend of my Mom's came out of the Library and saw us. With a big grin on her face, she waved and called out to me.

"Yoo-hoo, Marty! Hello, dear, how are you." Tim groaned again as she started over toward us.

She chatted on and on, asking about the anniversary party, about my finding Wart's body, about Charli, about Ricky Ray. When she started in about Ricky Ray, I rudely cut her off. She left in a big huff.

Tim finally found something to laugh about. "You realize, of course, that now you're gonna have to listen to a lecture from your mom about good manners."

"Probably. But at least I didn't get black goop all over her car." I glanced over at him and punched him in the shoulder. "Timothy Cornelius Unser, what have you done to my car?" I've got Mom's voice down to a science.

He poked me back, still laughing. "Man, she had me sweating bullets over that one. I was afraid she was going to remove a few body parts."

"You're lucky she didn't." I stopped laughing. "So. What are we gonna do about Vanessa?"

"We aren't gonna do anything," he said. "I am. Give me the watch. I'll talk to Theresa after court and try and get it straightened out. She'll want to talk to Vanessa about it, but I don't think, well, I hope anyway, that it will not be a huge problem."

I handed the watch over. He stuck it in his shirt pocket. He started to say something but stopped. He took a couple of deep breaths, opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, and then took some more deep breaths.

"Tim, you look like a guppy. Do you have something to say?"

He opened and closed his mouth a couple more times. "It's, well. Look, Marty, I'm, um, sorry. About last night. Okay? I don't want to fight with you."

"Yeah. I know. I don't want to fight either." We sat there, watching the cars and people pass by. It was such a beautiful day. A little hot and hazy, but still nice. Some high school kids walked past with frozen lemonades. My mouth watered.

Tim stared straight ahead, still watching the cars.

I squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry, too, pal. "

He smiled.

"Friends forever," we both said at the same time.

"So, how's the investigation into the murder coming?" I asked.

"About the same. I spoke to Theresa, I mean Detective Luray, about the stuff we talked about last night. She thinks we might be right about someone setting Fred up."

"Really? Who? Nancy?"

"I don't know," he said. "Not Nancy, at least not that we can tell. There still isn't anything that points in her direction. She played softball on that women's team that Warren coached. We talked to several of the other players. They all said that Warren and Nancy got along real well, never had an argument, etc."

"Bet she's the only one Wart never had a run-in with."

A little girl and her mom came by, carrying cups of lemonade. The girl took the lid off her cup and tossed it into a trash can. A small trash can, one that was too little for a dead person to be stuffed into.

"If we were going to arrest everybody that ever had a run-in with Warren, we'd empty the streets." Tim glanced at his watch.

"You better go," I said. "You're gonna be late."

He shook his head. "I've got ten more minutes."

"Did y'all find any fingerprints or anything?" I asked,

"Nope. None of the prints on the trash can, the note, or your mom's car were useful. And the bat was wiped clean."

We walked back across the street to my car. I opened the door and rolled down the window, hoping it would cool off some before I had to get back in it and drive. A couple of men and a woman came out of the courthouse entrance, laughing and cutting up. Obviously not lawyers.

"Did you find out what Wart and Fred fought about?"

"Not yet." Tim scratched his head. "One of the guys said that he'd heard that it was about something that happened at the Regional fast-pitch finals. Do you think your dad might know anything?"

Dad is a big softball fan and goes to lots of games. I told Tim that I'd ask him.

"So, have y'all talked to Beth? Questioned her, I mean," I asked.

"Theresa talked to her this morning. She's still all shook up. Listen, I gotta tell you what she said. It's pretty funny. Ha-ha, not odd. She said Warren left for work about five-thirty Monday morning wearing a pair of cutoff khakis and a Panther's t-shirt."

He shook his head and choked back laughter. "She told Theresa she didn't know where the TPI jersey came from. Said Warren wouldn't be caught dead in a Thompson jersey." He lost his battle with the laughter.

"Those were her exact words?"

"Yes," he sputtered before going into another fit. "Theresa said as soon as Beth realized what she'd said, she started bawling her eyes out."

"I'll bet. What an unfortunate choice of words."

That set him off again. I crossed my arms and waited for him to settle down. Two guys wearing Glenvar College shirts ran by, wiggling lacrosse sticks back and forth.

Tim must have remembered that he had to be in court, because he suddenly stopped laughing, looked at his watch, and cursed. "Crap! I gotta go! I don't wanna be late!"

He opened the big double doors and then turned back around. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"What on God's green earth have you got all over your face?"

So much for capable and confident.

# 14

I spent Tuesday afternoon cutting commercial spots and preparing to go on the air at two. It was a fun shift, passing by relatively quickly. I only received three obnoxious phone calls, one of them from a fourteen year old wanting to know if I could get her Ricky Ray's autograph. Sure thing honey. I'll get right on that just after I rescue one of those flying pigs. But I didn't say that to her. I was real nice. Sickeningly nice. That's the only part of my job I really hate.

When I signed off the air at seven I grabbed my stuff out of the DJ office and almost made it out the door. Quick, but not quick enough. The station manager, Herb, (Danny and the pit bull, remember?) was heading down the hall toward me at a fast waddle. I slipped into one of the programming booths. He followed me in.

Herb almost exclusively dresses in those sorts of suits the old-time country and western stars wore. Today's suit was actually pretty tame, by his normal standards. It was brown and featured hot pink flowers and gold vines and leaves. He wore it with a hot pink shirt and, sadly, he'd chosen to go with brown boots instead of hot pink ones, which I think would have made it way more memorable.

"Marty, doll! Great effing publicity! I can't believe this effing luck! I've had every TV station in town calling up. And the newspapers: The Roanoke Times called, the Times-Dispatch, even the News-Messenger. This is hot, hot, hot. Finding an effing dead guy! Great going! And that sweet lil' Giselle, giving you all that coverage at the remote. Lord, have mercy but I'd sure like to do the big nasty with that lil' gal." (Yes, Herb really and truly does talk like this. His long-suffering and very sweet, very smart wife, Georgina, fines him when he cusses, so he substitutes. Since Georgina owns the station, the receptionist helps her out by snitching if Herb slips up.)

"Maybe I should give you her phone number. Play matchmaker. I could be flower girl at the wedding. I'm sure Georgina would be so thrilled to hear about it."

He never even heard me. "And you. I ought to give you a raise or something," he said. His voice is so smooth and sexy, you can't believe it belongs to him. Whenever he works on air, he is constantly getting propositions. If they only knew....

"But I can't. Not my money to give. That Georgina sure does know how to squeeze a dime. Too bad, though." He leered at me and did a little hip thrusting. "I can probably give you some other kind of reward." (And, yes. He actually acts like this too. The thing is, everyone knows Herb is all talk. Georgina would dismember him if he ever actually did any of the things he talks about.)

He'd evidently had a garlic and anchovy pizza, his favorite, for lunch. His breath about knocked me out. I took a step backwards and fell down onto a little rolling stool.

"Herb, you act like I planned this or something. Don't you think it's a little crass to be so happy about a murder? So far, it hasn't exactly been the best kind of publicity."

He blinked and thought for a second. Then, a big grin crossed his pudgy face. "Hey babe, don't get your panties in a bunch! Sure, I feel bad for the little dude. But come on, he's dead. We ain't. Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'there's nothing bad about publicity, good or bad'?"

I scratched my head. Talking to Herb is sort of like setting yourself adrift at sea. On a beach towel. "Uh, Herb, I think that's 'there's no such thing as bad publicity'."

"Yeah, well, whatever. The thing is, babe, we've got to strike before the corpse gets cold, so to speak. I'm thinking, I'm thinking, let's see. Hmm." He puffed his cheeks in and out a couple of times.

I watched him, fascinated, as he did a little pretend shadow boxing, pumping his fists in the air and shuffling his feet. His bolo tie, which was gold with hot pink tips and had a hot pink flower as a clasp swung from side to side and his big belly jiggled. His silver wire rimmed glasses slid down his nose.

Apparently, the boxing did the trick. "I got it!" He suddenly hollered out. "You are gonna effing love this, doll. It's genius, sheer genius! We'll do a TV campaign, get you down at that park, maybe inside one of those trash thingies." He eyed me critically. "I'll bet you look hot in a bikini. Now, let's see, a slogan. We need a slogan."

Back to the shadow boxing. I just shook my head and opened the door. "Herb, get over it. I'm not going to do some tacky, disgusting ad campaign to capitalize on this. And you can be sure that I will not ever let you see me in a bikini. Or any other kind of swim suit, for that matter"

He winked at me.

"You know, Herb, it's a good thing I'm a nice person or you'd be in some serious hot water. I'm talking lawsuit. A big fat sexual harassment lawsuit"

He winked again.

"I've gotta go," I said, looking back over my shoulder.

He was still shadow boxing, still talking to himself, trying to think up a slogan.

# 15

Don't ask me how I get myself into these things, but somewhere along the line, probably back during the winter when it was just a distant and nebulous "someday", I'd agreed to participate in a charity softball game featuring local 'celebrities'. Because we didn't want to make total fools of ourselves, the members of the media team I was assigned to had been getting together regularly to practice.

So far, about the only thing we'd practiced were twelve ounce curls down at Pilazzo's, but we were really jelling as a team. Of course, whether that translated to the softball field or not remained to be seen. Unfortunately, some spoilsport decided that we really should find out, so we were supposed to meet Tuesday night at the Civic Center ball fields to put it to the test.

Because of my encounter with Herb, I was about thirty minutes late. After I parked my car, I ran over toward the fields. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Zach standing beside the metal bleachers over at the main field talking to a bunch of guys. He looked extremely good in a pair of tight black softball pants and a scarlet jersey.

I slowed down to admire the view. Just as I did, a softball whizzed past my head, barely missing me. I jerked around to see who had thrown it.

"Sorry, Marty." Steve LeFever flashed me a mouthful of big white teeth. Wolf teeth.

He was dressed in the same type uniform Zach had on.

"No problem, Steve. How's Beth?"

He fidgeted with his glove. "Poor little thing. It's real tough on her. I tried to talk her into coming down and watching our game, but she had to go pick out a coffin and shi— er stuff."

"That sure doesn't sound like fun. I can't imagine."

"Me neither. But she'll be all right soon as she gets all this funeral business behind her. It's just all such an inconvenience, you know?"

Inconvenience? I smiled sweetly. "Well, I can see how it would be a real bummer to have your husband murdered. So inconsiderate."

"Yeah. Big time."

I shook my head all the way over to the field. None of my teammates were around. A few other people were practicing on the field. They told me that my team had already left, headed for Pilazzo's. Evidently, they'd decided they needed to work on those arm muscles a little more.

Since I was already there I figured that the polite thing to do was go talk to Zach. Say hi. Wish him luck. Ogle his body.

"Hey, Marty," he said, "what's happening. You here to watch our game?" He looked even better up close. And he smelled delicious.

"No. I was supposed to meet some people to practice for that benefit game this weekend, but I guess I got here too late."

"Aw, too bad. Hey, since you're here, why don't you sit on the bench and watch us?"

"Sure, that sounds like fun. Maybe I can pick up a few pointers." Pointers? Who was I kidding. The only thing I was interested in picking up was Zach.

"I'll make sure I play my very best, then."

I laughed. Okay, so I'm a sucker for a hot guy, no matter how lame his lines are. "I doubt I can tell the difference between good and bad. I haven't been to a real softball game in years. My dad used to take me when I was little, but I spent all my time running around and playing."

"It's not that hard to catch on to. You ever watch baseball?"

"Sort of. Mostly, I drink beer and eat junk food."

"Well, fast pitch is a lot like baseball. Only the ball is bigger and it's pitched underhand, not over."

"Hey, I remember. You guys do that windmill thing when you pitch, right?"

"Right. Makes it extremely hard to hit."

"Your team going to win?"

"We should. The only hang-up might be with Steve. He's pitching tonight and since eighty percent of this game is pitching, it might be a problem. He's still all shook up over Wart's murder."

He hadn't seemed all that shook up to me, but what do I know? "He almost hit me with the ball a few minutes ago. I hope he has better control during the game."

"You and me both."

We went into the dugout, really just a fenced off area with a couple of metal benches. Zach dropped his gear bag next to the fence. I sat down on the end of the bench so I wouldn't be in the way. Fred was over by home plate talking to two other men.

"Does your dad play too?"

"No. He's the coach. He used to play. He was real good. He played for a team up in Wisconsin that came in second during the 1988 ASA National championship."

"That's really cool."

"It is pretty cool. He's really into the game. In fact, he's the main man for the fast pitch league here in town."

Fred stopped behind Zach and flashed me a twinkly smile. "How are you doing, Miss Marty?"

"Fine, sir. How's your shoulder?"

"Much better, thanks. I'm really sorry about that little altercation last night."

"That's okay. I'm just glad it turned out all right and nobody got seriously injured."

"Hey, Dad, do you mind if Marty sits here on the bench with you?"

"Of course not. I love havin' pretty ladies sit beside me. Make all you young studs jealous. Here, sweetheart, you can be my assistant coach." He handed me a notebook full of diagrams and lists. "Help me keep these guys in line."

"Son, you're up first," he said to Zach.

Zach selected a bat and went outside the dugout. He swung the bat back and forth several times. Fred sat next to me and we watched the other team warm up.

A few minutes later, the umpire said, "Play ball."

Zach went to the plate and got in his stance. The opposing pitcher did a windmill with his arm and whizzed the ball toward Zach. Zach didn't move.

"Stee-rike!" said the umpire.

The pitcher repeated his motion and threw a curve ball. The ball streaked toward Zach. He swung and hit it. It popped off the bat and soared high into the air toward the outfield. The center fielder ran in and gloved it in an easy, back-handed motion. The other team tossed the ball around to each other before throwing it back to the pitcher.

"You play any ball, Marty," Fred asked.

I shook my head. "Not really. I'm a major klutz. I've played in a couple of celebrity benefit games. They usually stick me out in right field and tell me not to touch the ball, even if it comes right to me."

Fred laughed. He has a big booming laugh. "Always need a good-looking right fielder. Keeps things from getting boring."

Zach trotted off the field and squatted next to me. None of the players used the bench. They either squatted or stood around, telling dirty jokes. Must be against the 'guy rules' to sit during the game.

Steve was up next. Fred noted down Zach's out in the scorer's book and looked up to watch Steve.

"C'mon batter, be a hitter," Zach said.

Steve struck out. So did the next batter. The other team came up to bat. Zach and the other guys on his team galloped out to their positions.

"Zach tells me that you played on a National championship team in the eighties. I'll bet that was awesome."

"We weren't the champs." He held up two stubby fingers. "Came in second to that Elkhart, Indiana team. Trans-Aire. You're right though, it was one of the highlights of my life. I just love this game. I really hate that it's not as popular as it used to be. Getting hard to find pitchers."

The other team's first batter hunched over home plate. "Okay, Steve, toss in a mean one," Fred said.

Steve threw a perfect pitch, right down the pipe. The batter swung and connected. Base hit. The next batter struck out. Batter number three swung and hit the ball, sending it in a slow, lazy arc toward the outfield fence. The right fielder snagged the ball and fired it to second. The runner tagged and headed to second. He reached base just as the ball did.

"He's safe!" said the ump.

"Okay, guys, one more out. Let's go," Fred yelled. "Hope I didn't burst your eardrum, Marty." He smiled and twinkled at me. "I'm not used to having a sweet thing like you sitting next to me."

I tried out Mom and Theresa Luray's movie star smile on Fred. He grinned from ear to ear. Either I was getting better at it, or he recognized and appreciated capable and confident better than Tim did.

Steve swooped his arm around and let go of a lightning bolt. The batter swung. The ball blasted off toward Zach at third base. He stuck his arm out. I held my breath. "SMACK!" The ball hit his glove. The fans went wild.

"All right, way to go, Zach!" I bounced up and down.

He tipped his hat to me as they ran off the field.

"I do believe you've got yourself a good luck charm, here," Fred said.

"I think you're right," Zach said. He took off his cap and plopped it on my head. "There, that looks better on you than it does on me. You can keep it. I'll get another one."

I pulled my ponytail through the hole in the back of the cap and blew him a kiss. The next three innings passed by without much happening. I fidgeted around on the bench. This game was, well, in a word — boring. I found myself spending more time staring at the mountains, thinking about the cold beer and juicy burger waiting for me at Pilazzo's...

"Getting bored, Marty?" Fred asked.

"Not at all." I twisted my hair around my finger and licked my lips. "Are the games usually this low scoring?"

"Yep. That's what makes it so great. It's a real duel between the pitcher and the batter."

Just as he said that, Steve did his windmill and tossed in a rising fast ball. The batter loaded up on the fat pitch and sent the ball soaring way over the fence for a home run.

"Da— er, crap!" Fred said. "Call time."

He threw his clipboard and score book on the bench and kicked at the dirt. "Sorry, Marty, didn't mean to lose my temper."

"No problem," I said. This kind of temper losing, I could handle. It was the kind that turned into knock-down drag-out fighting I had a problem with.

He hopped off the bench and jogged out toward Steve. Steve, Zach, Fred, and the catcher huddled for a minute. Fred motioned for a guy sitting on the opposite end of the bench from me. He must not have been familiar with the 'guy rules'.

I'd noticed him warming up at the beginning of the inning, so I figured he was the relief pitcher. I proved my amazing powers of deduction when he took off the jacket he had over his right arm and strode out to the mound. Steve talked to him, then the new guy started tossing balls to the catcher.

Fred and Steve trudged over to the bench. Steve let loose with a string of profanities.

"Watch your language, boy," Fred said. "There's a lady present."

I looked around to see who he was talking about. Steve flashed me his teeth. His eyes were steely. "Sorry, Marty. Wouldn't want to offend a lady."

He turned to Fred. "We're lucky they ain't no good. I was tossing in crap. They was any good, they'd a killed us."

He scrubbed his face on a towel and picked up a water bottle. He dumped some water in his mouth, swished it around, then spit a stream between his teeth. Made my day.

"I need a soda," Steve said. He rummaged in his gear bag and came up with a crumpled dollar bill. "Be right back, Fred."

Fred sat back down next to me. We watched Steve walk to the concession stand. "Steve's our best pitcher. Normally, he'd work the whole game, but this thing with Warren has him all messed up. I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did," he said.

"Zach mentioned that it had really affected his pitching. To tell the truth, I'm surprised y'all are playing. Seems like they would have canceled the game since so many of you guys were friends with Warren."

"Friends? I know you aren't supposed to speak ill of the dead, but that man didn't have any friends. He was killing our league. Don't get me wrong, I'm sorry he's dead. But I'm sure glad I don't have to put up with him anymore." Fred's voice reached a crescendo and his face glowed redder and redder.

I really was going to have to take a refresher course in CPR if I was going to be around him much. He stomped over to the end of the dugout and hollered instructions to the players on the field.

I watched him for awhile. Wondering what he meant when he said Warren was killing their league. Wondering if he really was sorry that Warren was dead. Wondering if Zach's dad was a murderer.

# 16

I wasn't particularly looking forward to attending Warren's 'visitation' at Isaac's Funeral Home Wednesday night, especially since I'd already had a couple of advance peeks at the guest of honor. Unfortunately, I didn't exactly have a choice in the matter; Mom had raised me 'right', and paying respect to the family of the deceased definitely falls under the category of the 'right' thing to do.

The visitation was scheduled to last from seven until eight-thirty and, since I'd worked another three to seven on-air shift, I was pretty rushed for time. I snuck out the back door of the station, managing to escape without another Herb encounter, and got home by a quarter after seven.

I was out of cans of glop for Delbert and had to give him some of that dry stuff which thoroughly irritated him. I limited my 'beauty' routine to a brief tooth brushing and a swipe of the hairbrush, having given up on the porcelain bisque.

Since the denim skirt and AKUS t-shirt I'd worn to work wasn't considered proper visitation attire, (according to the Maggie Sheffield rules of behavior and dress) I slipped on a short sleeve gray and white Charli Mom had bought me for some occasion or another, and a pair of black leather Aerosole's, also a gift from Mom.

By eight o'clock, out of breath and hungry, I was making a left off of Main Street into the parking lot of the squat red-brick building that serves as Isaac's Funeral Home. The lot was jam-packed with what appeared to be half the cars in Glenvar. I circled around the lot, waving to people and scoping for a place to park. Just when I was about to give up, I spied a couple of spots all the way at the back, next to a thicket of trees that serve as a barrier to the cemetery.

I backed into one of the spaces and climbed out. Vanessa beeped her horn and waved as she pulled into a space a couple of cars down from me. I tugged at the back of my dress, trying to unstick it from my sweaty legs

One of the bad things about owning a vintage automobile is the lack of A.C. Little rivulets of sweat trickled down the side of my face and the back of my neck. Our heat wave seemed as if it was destined to last forever and the mosquitoes practically ate me alive while I waited for Vanessa to get out of her van. There was a steady stream of people going in and coming out of the funeral home. I was surprised that Warren was getting such a big turnout.

"Look at you," I said, when Vanessa finally appeared by my side. "Your hair looks terrific!"

"Thanks!" She patted at her hair, super-short and freshly colored. "You were right. Charli knew just what to do. She had everything all planned and ready before I even woke up. The girl who does her hair came in early so no one would see me. She did a good job, didn't she?"

"Yes, she did. It suits you." It really did, the color was a little redder than she usually wore and the style took years from her face, emphasizing her cheekbones and calling attention to her unusual eyes. She had on a hunter green dress. Its color and design helped hide the fact that she was so thin.

We headed toward the building. From the outside, it looked almost exactly like the police station, or for that matter, any other plain, ordinary looking brick office building.

I'd talked to Charli Tuesday night after the softball game, and she'd told me about the haircut and assured me that Vanessa was okay. Still, I hadn't seen her or talked to her myself since Monday night.

"How are you feeling," I asked her.

"Much better, I guess." She fidgeted with her hair, smoothing it down in the back. "I just can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate everything you and Charli have done for me these last few days."

"Don't worry about it. You'd do the same thing for us." The back of my neck was soaked and I was beginning to wish that my hair was cut short, too.

I dug in my tote bag and found a napkin from a fast-food place to wipe the sweat off with. "Tim told me that they weren't going to charge you with anything for taking the watch."

"Thank God. Detective Luray talked to me for about three hours yesterday. I owe her big time. She really went to bat for me. I like her, she's nice."

I wrinkled my forehead. "Sure. Nice."

Vanessa narrowed her eyes and looked at me. "What's the matter? Don't you like her?"

"Oh, sure. Sure. It's just that, well, I don't know, she just seems sort of fake or something. Did you notice how she's always smiling? It's a little weird, if you ask me."

I said "hey" to our parish priest who was getting into his car and twisted the napkin around, making it into a little rope. "You'll never guess who has a thing for her! Tim! Can you believe it? She's not even his type."

Vanessa smiled. "Jealous?"

"Who me?" I tried to laugh, but it came out more of squeak. "No way. I just don't want to see Tim get hurt, that's all. You know how inexperienced he is when it comes to women. And, what lousy taste he usually has in them."

Vanessa smiled again. "Tim? Lousy taste? Sure, Marty, sure."

I opened my mouth to make a smart aleck remark, but we had reached the double glass doors leading into the funeral home, and several people from Mom's newspaper were coming out. We chatted with them before going inside.

The contrast in temperatures was unbelievable. They must have had the thermostat set on about forty degrees. Several people stood around the lobby, talking quietly. Vanessa pulled on my arm and headed toward an elegant desk where a somber looking man in a gray suit sat, his hands neatly folded on top of the table.

"May I direct you, please?" he asked. His voice was so solemn, it made me feel like I should be crying.

"Wart, uh, I mean Warren Turner?" I said.

"Yes, madam, Mr. Turner is in parlor A. Right this way." He motioned to a set of double wooden doors to our left. "You will find the registration book directly inside to your right. Please be so kind as to sign it."

"Uh, okay, sure thing." I said.

Parlor A was about half-filled with people. There were twenty-three huge floral arrangements in the room. (I counted.) I sneezed and looked around, trying to find Tim and Charli. Or Zach. I didn't see them, but Nancy Winslow hovered next to a monstrous wreath of red and white mums. A red banner stretched across the wreath, 'COACH' spelled out in silver glitter.

Vanessa pecked me on the shoulder and bent close to my ear. Even though everyone was speaking softly, the noise level was about what you'd expect to find at a cocktail party. Only without the tinkling of glasses full of ice.

"I'm going to go speak to Beth and see if I can help her with anything tomorrow," she said.

"I think I'll wait, see if I can find Mom or Charli, before I talk to her. I'll see you later," I said, a little louder than I'd intended.

Several people glanced up at me, frowning at my breach of etiquette. I ignored them. Vanessa joined in the line of people waiting to speak to Warren's family. Nancy Winslow followed her, talking to Vanessa and waving her itty-bitty hands around in earnest. Vanessa looked uncomfortable, but kept a fake looking smile on her face.

Beth Turner and her in-laws stood to the left of the copper-colored casket, a bank of greenery and floral arrangements directly behind them. The lid of the casket was up and several elderly men and women paused in front of it, looking in. An eight by ten high school graduation portrait of Warren, a softball hat labeled 'coach', and a bunch of other memorabilia sat on a polished mahogany table off to one side of the receiving line.

Beth was evidently using the occasion to put herself back on the market. Her low-cut, burgundy dress was short, tight, and showed off way more of her spectacular figure than seemed appropriate for the occasion. Her makeup was way over-done, more fitting for a street walker than a grieving widow. In fact, she looked like she was ready to hit up Big Beef's, the local hook-up bar and dance club.

Mr. and Mrs. Turner seemed dazed, as if they weren't quite sure where they were or why they were there. Occasionally, Mrs. Turner broke down and bawled. Each time, everybody in the place stopped talking, and turned around to stare at her. And every time her mother-in-law let loose, Beth cringed and tried to shush her.

"Just look at how that hussy is a acting. Her husband deader than a doorknob and she ain't shed a tear one. Next thing you know she'll be out gallivanting all over the town with ever last man there is. You just mark my word," a woman behind me said.

"I heard tell that she's just been plumb awful to Ida and Ezra since all this come about," her companion chimed in. "I reckon she's just showin' her true colors."

Beth didn't disappoint them a bit. She kept trying to inch out of the receiving line. Warren's older sister, a matronly, sour-faced woman, pulled her back over into the line several times. The last time she did it, she kept her hand locked onto Beth's wrist in a vise-like grip. Beth didn't look too thrilled, but she never said anything to her sister-in-law.

After the gossips had moved out of my hearing range, I sneezed a few more times and looked at my watch. It was almost eight-thirty, so I screwed up my courage and went over to join the line. A half-dozen, "I'm so sorry!'s" later, I was directly in front of the widow.

"Beth, I, uh, I'm so very sorry for your loss." I gave her a little hug. She stiffened when I squeezed her shoulders, so I cut it short.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she said, "you and everybody else." Her pale blue eyes almost bore a hole through me.

I dropped her hands and moved away, trying to keep my mouth from flopping open. I bypassed the coffin and stopped in front of the memory table. A copy of the high school year book lay on the table. I picked it up and thumbed through.

"Hey, good looking." A hot breath on my neck accompanied the whispered greeting.

I quivered slightly. "Hey, Zach. How are you?" My voice had returned to that irritating squeak.

He was wearing a light blue polo shirt and a pair of navy Dockers. The blue of the shirt was the exact color of his eyes, which were twinkling like crazy. My body temperature rose about ten degrees. He gently picked up my hand and squeezed, never taking his eyes off of mine. I fanned myself with the yearbook.

"I'm doing much better now. How about you?" he asked.

"Better, too." I broke his gaze, and glanced around the room, sure that everyone in the place could read my mind. No one was even looking our way.

"I was going to call you later," he said, still holding my hand, still twinkling, "see if maybe you wanted to get together tomorrow night."

I tried to lower my voice to a sexier pitch. It didn't work. "That'd be great. Why don't you come over to my place around eight or so? We can decide what to do from there."

"Sounds good." He squeezed my hand again. "I hate to run, but I brought Mom over. Dad was afraid he wouldn't be welcome, so he stayed home."

He glanced over to where his mother sat. She was staring blankly at a grotesque arrangement of pink carnations. "I need to get her on back to the house. She isn't feeling well. This is where we had Junior's funeral, and it brings back real bad memories for her."

"I'm so sorry. I hope she's going to be okay." I sounded like a complete idiot.

He let go of my hand and put his finger up against my cheek. "See you tomorrow night." He slid his finger softly over my face.

I watched him walk away. He looked almost as good from the rear as from the front. I suddenly realized I was still holding the yearbook and quickly put it back on the table.

Roberta seemed surprised when Zach pulled on her arm and helped her stand up. She looked better than she had Monday night, but I noticed that she stumbled a couple of times as she followed Zach through the crowd and out the door. The two women I'd overheard gossiping about Beth had moved up behind me, and they had noticed, too. Their comments were less than kind.

"I heard that Fred was fit to be tied about all that drinkin' and that he laid down the law to her, said he was a fixin' to get him a di-vorce," the one with the poodle-cut hair and purple eye shadow said.

"Well, who'd blame him?" the one in the green flowered muumuu said. "He's a fine lookin' man and deserves better than a wife who's dog-drunk half the time."

"Are those rumors about him and you-know-who true?" the first one asked.

I perked my ears up, but they moved off and I didn't find out who you-know-who was. I tried to follow them, but one of Mom's neighbors waylaid me. By the time she finished running her mouth, they were gone.

I'd had enough visitation, so I pushed my way through the room and out into the lobby. Most of the people were starting to leave, and the lobby was crowded. My mouth was dry and I didn't feel like trying to fight my way through the crowd quite yet. I decided to look for the lounge and get a soda.

I wandered off down the hallway and peeked in the other viewing rooms. There were four of them, counting the one Warren had been in. Parlor A was the biggest. Parlor B was slightly smaller, and the other two, C and D, were about half the size, although they had a fake wall between them and could be made into one large room.

All of them were carpeted in a dull gray Berber, and the walls were papered in a conservative grayish-pink stripe. There weren't any pictures on the walls in the parlors, but the hallway had color-coordinated -- and really dull -- landscapes spread out at evenly spaced intervals.

Wart's visitors had overflowed into parlor B. People laughed softly and talked about their families, friends, and jobs. The unpleasant business of giving their condolences to the family behind them, I suppose they were enjoying catching up with one another and celebrating being alive. I recognized several people I knew, but no one I wanted to talk to.

Parlor D was also in use, but for a different funeral. The casket in that room was a rich polished pine and a couple of very old men sat in front of it, whispering to each other. They looked up expectantly at me when I poked my head in, but immediately went back to their quiet conversation when they realized that they didn't know me.

The lounge was at the very end of the hall, past a water fountain and the restrooms. When I reached the closed door, I heard angry voices coming from inside. I hesitated, debating whether I should go in or leave. Steve LeFever, Warren's best friend and former supervisor, yelled, "I don't give a crap who knows! Let 'em try and arrest me."

"I'm telling." The shrill voice came from behind me.

I turned around to see who it was and almost jumped out of my skin.

# 17

The apparition hovering behind me was almost six feet tall and probably didn't weigh more than a hundred pounds. Although she was certainly very old, her skin was porcelain smooth, and so translucent that you could see the spidery veins snaking throughout her body.

Everything about her was white and gray: white chiffon dress, gray shoes, white and gray purse, and milky gray eyes. Thin, gray corkscrews of hair stuck out from her head in every possible direction. It looked as though she had stuck her finger in an electrical socket.

I almost screamed but caught myself just in time. It had been awhile since I'd seen her, but it's pretty hard to forget Warren's Grandma Turner.

"I know who you are," she whispered, "you're the one that put my precious Warren in the trash."

"No, Miz Turner. I'm the one that got him out," I said, as patiently as I could manage. Gramma Turner is, well, a bit dotty.

She stood inches from me, her face bent down close to mine, and studied me. "You shouldn't be listening to people's conversations. It isn't nice. I'm a good mind to tell your mother." She stood up as straight as she could manage and shook her bony finger in my face.

I mumbled something about getting a drink of water and tore off down the hallway as fast as I could.

The somber looking man guarding the reception table called out to me as I streaked past him. "Miss, are you in need of assistance?" I ignored him.

I pushed on the glass doors and shoved my way through them. Several people turned around to glare at me. I darted past them and trotted across the parking lot, toward my car.

"Whoa, there, Marty!" Tim said, grabbing my shoulders with both hands to keep me from smacking into him.

I had been looking down, mumbling to myself, and hadn't seen him standing beside my car, talking to Charli and her husband, John.

Charli, looking like she'd stepped straight out of a beauty parlor and wearing a navy silk dress, shook her head. "Gee, Marty, you look like you've seen a ghost," she said.

"I just ran into Grandma Turner."

She and John looked at each other. All three of them burst out laughing.

"Don't worry, squirt. I saw her too," John said. He looks just like that one actor, you know the really good looking one on that hospital show, only with blonde hair. "She came up behind me and whispered some garbage in my ear. I never did figure out what she was saying."

"She accused me of putting Wart in the trash. And said she was going to tell Mom on me."

They all laughed again. I relaxed and laughed, too.

The friend of Mom's that Tim and I had seen at the library on Tuesday walked by. She tsk-tsked at us and shook her head in disapproval.

I stopped laughing and groaned. "I'll bet she goes straight home and calls Mom!"

Charli bobbed her head up and down in agreement. "That's all I need, to hear a lecture on funeral home behavior," she said.

We stopped talking until the woman had reached her car. After she pulled out of the parking lot, we talked about Mom and Dad's anniversary party, the celebrity softball game I was supposed to play in on Saturday to raise money for the Special Olympics, and, finally, Wart's murder.

"So, Tim, anything new on the murder investigation?" I asked.

He scrunched his shoulders up. "Not really, nothing more than I told you yesterday."

"Y'all still haven't found Wart's truck?" I asked.

Tim shook his head. Something moved in the trees behind us. It was just getting dark, and I couldn't see what it was. Probably a deer or a rabbit.

John snickered. "That's pretty wild. You'd think it wouldn't be that hard to find a bright red truck with silhouettes of naked women painted on the doors."

Tim rolled his eyes. "You'd think. Hey, that reminds me, did y'all hear about the reward?"

"Reward? What reward?" Charli asked.

"Warren's folks put up a five thousand dollar reward for any information that leads to the arrest and conviction of his murderer."

John blew out a low whistle. There was more rustling coming from the trees. I squinted and looked around again, but still couldn't see anything.

"Wow! Five thousand dollars," Charli tried, but couldn't quite manage, to contain her excitement. "That's awesome!"

I know Charli like a cow knows an electric fence. It was obvious to me that she was adding the five thousand dollars to the book sales she'd conjured up in her imagination.

John chuckled. He's lived through enough of Charli's hare-brained schemes to be able to read her mind, too.

Tim gave me a quick hug. "Sorry, guys, but I gotta run. I'm covering a half-shift for a guy and I need to change into my uniform."

He hopped into his Escape and backed out of his parking place. The window buzzed down and he stuck his head out. "Hey, Marty. Want to catch a movie or something tomorrow night?"

"Can't," I said. My face instantly got hot. I didn't want to get into another fight with him, so I hoped he didn't ask why I couldn't.

He didn't. "Okay, see you later." He waved, raised the window, and sped off through the parking lot.

"Where do you suppose that truck is?" Charli asked. "I'll bet it's been stripped for parts or shipped out of the country or something like that."

John chuckled. "I really doubt it. I imagine it's just hidden away somewhere. Probably someplace close by." He put his arm around Charli and gave her a little squeeze.

It sounded like someone, or something, stepped on a dead branch on the cemetery side of the thicket.

"What the heck is that noise?" I asked.

John shrugged. "Probably a dog. I'll go look if you want me to."

"No, it's okay. I'm just a little jumpy since I ran into Gramma Turner, I guess."

I swatted at a hungry mosquito. Two men came out of the funeral home and walked through the parking lot. One of them told a bawdy story and they both laughed loudly. I could still hear them laughing until the engine of their Blue Impala turned over.

Charli and John were talking about Grandma Turner again. It reminded me that I hadn't told them about the argument I'd heard.

"Hey, I forgot to tell you something," I interrupted. "I was going to the lounge to get a soda when I overheard Steve LeFever having an argument with someone. He said that 'He didn't care who knew, what were they going to do, have him arrested?' or something along those lines."

"Really?" Charli asked. Her face was neon with excitement. "Who was he arguing with?"

"I don't know. I was getting ready to go in and find out, but that's when Miz Turner scared the daylights out of me."

"Hmm," said Charli, "Steve thinks he might get arrested. Isn't that interesting? I'll just bet Warren found out Steve was doing something illegal and Steve killed him!" Her voice went up an octave.

John laughed, "Charli, doll, I think you've been reading way too many detective novels."

I laughed, too. The night before, Charli had been convinced that Beth was the guilty party. I'd called her as soon as I'd gotten home to ask about Vanessa and had told her all the things I'd found out from Tim.

"Wait," she'd interrupted me when I had told her the story about Beth's saying that 'Warren wouldn't be caught dead in a Thompson's shirt'.

"I don't understand. If they were separated, and Warren wasn't living with her, how would Beth have known what Warren was wearing Monday morning?" she asked.

"I wondered about that too. So I asked Tim about it later. It seems as though Wart went over to the trailer Sunday night to talk to Beth about reconciling. I guess it must have gone pretty well, because Beth told Detective Luray that they ended up getting romantic and Wart stayed the night."

"I'm sorry, but I just don't buy it," she said.

"Why not? Why would Beth make up something like that?"

"I don't know. But, I just don't trust her. Never have. She's, oh, I don't know, she's just shifty or something. I mean, it's not anything she's ever said or done, it's just my intuition. And, as you know, I have great intuition."

I covered my mouth to keep her from hearing my chuckles. "You? Great intuition? Right. But Charli, why would she lie?" I asked. "If she tells the police stuff that isn't true, they might think she had something to do with the murder. And personally, I can't see Beth working up enough passion to kick a flat tire, much less kill somebody."

"She could have hired somebody to take him out."

"That's nuts! I mean where do you call if you want to hire a hit man in a place like Glenvar? "Hit Mans R Us? I don't think they're listed in the phone book. And, as soon as you mentioned the word murder, it would be all over town. Nobody in this city can keep a secret. Nobody!"

"We didn't know about the separation. Somebody managed to keep that secret. Anyway, who said she'd have hired somebody from Glenvar. There are plenty of criminals over in Roanoke. She could have looked there."

We'd argued for awhile before finally hanging up. Charli had managed to come up with a plausible answer for my every objection. It appeared that she was now tossing that theory out.

I watched in amusement as she argued with her husband about her reading habits. John was still laughing, but Charli's ears were turning red, a sure sign that she is getting to the boiling point. I couldn't help myself.

"You know, John," I broke in, "last night the great detective thought Beth was guilty, before that, she suspected Nancy Winslow. Tonight, it's Steve. If you aren't careful, you'll probably be next."

Charli practically spit on me, she was so mad. "Shut up, Marty! You too, John. Ya'll just wait! I'll show you both. I'm going to find out who did this and I'm going to get that reward money. And then, I'm going to go on a cruise and y'all can't come with me! Then we'll see who's laughing ."

John tried real hard to stop, but it didn't work. He reached over and patted Charli on the butt. "Aww, come on, babe. You wouldn't have a bit of fun on a cruise without me. Besides, Char, this is real life, not a mystery novel. Things aren't all cut and dried in real life."

"Give me a break! I'm just going to ask a few questions and work out a theory." She reached up and chucked him under the chin. "I can do this, I know I can."

John let out a long sigh. "Charli, babe, geez, you're gonna make me crazy! Let's just go on home. We told the sitter we'd be home by nine."

It was getting dark, the mosquitoes were making minced meat out of my legs and arms, John and Charli could go on with this stupid argument for hours, and I was in need of some food and a soda.

"Bye, y'all. See ya." I headed for my car.

"I'm leaving now. Going home." I slipped into the Mustang and pulled up next to them. Hands were waving and faces were turning red.

"I'll see you in the morning." I revved the engine.

They still didn't hear me.

In fact, just before I left them, they were shaking hands on a convoluted bet involving cooking, cleaning bathrooms, mowing grass, and changing dirty diapers.

# 18

I'd been at home for about two minutes when the walls started closing in on me. When I'd driven past, Pilazzo's cheery neon sign had winked at me, promising food, drink, and good company, but I'd resisted. The thing was, much as I loved Delbert, after the stress of the last few days what I needed was a little human companionship. Besides, I didn't really feel up to eating any of the food I had at my place. Actually, the truth of the matter? The thought of one of those juicy burgers was driving me crazy.

One of the nine million good things about Glenvar: it's only fifteen square miles, so it only takes about ten minutes to get to where you are going. I was so hungry I didn't even bother to change out of the gray dress. Within fifteen minutes I had flicked on my turn signal and whipped into the parking lot. There were only a few cars out front, but one of them was Zach's.

"Yes!" I whispered.

Then I looked in the mirror. My hair was almost beyond help. We're talking frizz city. Even worse, the purple ostrich egg on my forehead was turning a little green around the edges. I dug around in my tote bag and found a brush and an elastic band. Bending over as far as I could, I raked out the snarls and gathered my hair into a loose ponytail.

I even thought about using my fingernail scissors to cut some bangs, but snapped out of it real quick. What was it about the prospect of seeing Zach, someone I'd known, well, forever, that was suddenly making me turn so weird?

When I popped my head back up, Steve LeFever, followed closely by Nancy Winslow, drove around to the side of the building and parked beside a big orange dumpster. Nancy scooted out of the green Focus she was driving and plodded over to Steve's car. She wore a wrinkled rust colored skirt that looked like it was made out of burlap, a tan blouse that had seen better days, and, for some strange reason, a floppy rust colored hat.

Steve pushed his car door open and turned sideways, one leg hanging out the door. He lit a cigarette while Nancy talked to him. She moved into the space between the door and the car and blocked my view of Steve. All I could see of him was the glowing tip of his cigarette.

I was parked on the front side of the building, too far away to hear what they were talking about. My curiosity got the better of me. I reached up and unscrewed the dome light, slid across the passenger seat, opened the door, and ducked out of the car.

I glanced nervously over toward Steve's car. Nancy cackled loudly. I thanked God that they hadn't noticed me and eased the door so that it was almost closed. Another quick glance their way. Still safe.

Staying low, I slipped along between the other cars and snuck up close to the building until I reached the dumpster. I knelt down between it and a car, and strained my ears.

"Did you get the money?" Nancy asked.

I couldn't hear Steve's reply. Shoot. I squeezed into the space between the dumpster and the building, inching forward until I came to the corner closest to Steve's car. The dumpster smelled sour and moldy. I pinched my nose closed and tried not to think about it. That just made it worse.

I hugged the wall, trying to keep from brushing up against the crud encrusted trash box. I'll bet you could fit two or three dead bodies inside a trash can that big. I shivered and tried to get the image of Warren, covered with blood and flies, out of my head.

I found a couple of broken down cardboard boxes between the dumpster and the wall. I eased one of them down so that it covered the asphalt and crouched down on my hands and knees in order to peek around the corner at Steve and Nancy. I sure hoped no one — especially Giselle and that cameraman of hers — came by and saw me scrunched down beside the dumpster, eavesdropping.

Nancy let out a low whistle. "Thirty-five hundred apiece. Not too shabby!"

The car door blocked my view, but at least I could hear Steve's reply. "And plenty more, if we play our cards right," he said, almost laughing.

"Thanks, pal," Nancy said, "this is going to be a doozy of a partnership."

The thumping from inside Pilazzo's suddenly became music as someone opened the front door.

I lay down flat on the cardboard mat. Footsteps clomped across the parking lot coming closer and closer to my hiding spot. I pulled the other broken box over me as best I could. My foot hit the dumpster with a loud _THUNK_ , setting off a momentary panic attack. How in the world was I going to explain myself if I got caught? Maybe I could tell them the aliens had landed, abducted me, and sucked out my brain....

The clomping grew louder. Keys rattled so close to me I felt like I could reach out and grab them. I cut my eyes up to the edge of the dumpster. No one appeared. I blew out the breath I hadn't even realized I had been holding.

The car next to the dumpster, the one I'd hidden beside, roared to life. It startled me and I whopped my head against the dumpster, making another loud noise. Steve and Nancy were quiet until the car was safely out of the parking lot.

"Did you hear that noise?" Nancy asked. "It sounded like it was coming from over there by the dumpster."

Steve laughed. "You got the willies or something? It's probably just the metal contracting. That guy in the car woulda seen something if there was anything to worry about."

"You're probably right," said Nancy. "I'm just jumpy I guess." She sounded nervous.

"I can take a look if you want me to," said Steve.

Not a good plan. Especially for me.

"No, it's okay. But next time, let's meet at the car lot," said Nancy. Whew. "I gotta run," she said. "Catch ya later."

Her heels clopped across the asphalt. Gingerly, I pulled the cardboard off of me and sat up. I peeked around the side to where they were parked. Nancy sat in her front seat, looking down at something. Finally, she left. I waited for Steve to leave, too.

He didn't. He finished his cigarette and flipped the butt out the window. It landed right in front of me, tip still glowing. His car door creaked open. I hit the ground, pulling the cardboard back over me again. What was with these people? Didn't they have anything better to do than torment sweet, innocent me?

He took his time walking around to the front of the building. When the front door opened, the music swirled out again. I counted to ten and crawled out from behind the dumpster. The front of my dress was streaked with some sort of brown gunk. I brushed it off the best I could and used my fingers to smooth down my ponytail.

I replayed what I'd overheard, but it didn't make sense. My stomach growled, reminding me of why I was there. I took another swipe at my dress, hitched my tote bag over my shoulder, and walked around to the front of the building.

A car pulled into the lot just as I was about to open the door, but it wasn't anyone I knew. The neon sign buzzed and hummed, and I could make out the words coming from the jukebox; words that constantly echoed in my mind for the past eleven months:

> Bye-bye, baby, I've loved you for so long.
> 
> Destiny is calling, baby, so you've got to be strong.
> 
> Bye-bye, baby, I've gotta hit the road,
> 
> Nashville is beckoning, it's my new abode.
> 
> I'm off to make it big, have me some fun,
> 
> My new life is waiting, So you see, I've gotta run.
> 
> Bye-bye baby, baby, bye-bye,
> 
> Bye-bye, woman, bye-bye, girl.

I sat down on the brick planter that stretches across the front of the building and waited until the song ended, trying not to gag. When I heard the last strains, I hopped back up and made my entrance. The sight that greeted me stopped me cold.

# 19

Shock would be putting it mildly. Sitting at the front table, placed for maximum visibility, sat the last person I'd expected to see. Next to Warren, that is. Long legs stretched out in front of him, custom-made boots crossed at the ankles, cowboy hat tilted back on his head: Ricky Ray was holding court.

A gorgeous blonde wearing a skimpy black leather mini-skirt and bustier snuggled up next to him and whispered something. Ricky snaked his finger through her hair and whispered back. My tote bag slipped off my shoulder. I grabbed at it, turned it upside down, and watched all my clutter clatter to the floor.

I dove after it, frantically scooping up all my junk. Wallet, gum, a can opener, my phone, an unorganized organizer, sixteen lottery tickets, three candy bars, four demo CDs, my birth control pills, a quarter roll of toilet paper. (Don't ask.)

A tampon rolled under a barstool and I had to get down on my hands and knees to reach it. I hoped beyond hope hat no one was looking at me. I retrieved it and turned around to stuff it back into the bag.

The boots stopped right in front of me. I took a deep breath and slowly looked up. Up the long blue-jeaned legs. Past the brilliant blue shirt. My eyes stopping on that face I know better than my own. Ricky Ray stared down at me, smiling and oozing out all that charm and sex appeal that has made him so freaking rich and famous.

Damn him. It isn't fair, you know? I mean, I'm over him, I really am, but I just couldn't make my body behave. My heart was racing, my hands were sweating, my face felt like it was on fire, and I just knew that if I were to try and talk, my voice would sound like a Vienna choir boy's.

He pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his thick, sandy blonde hair. Slowly, he reached down and held out his hand. I hesitated, then gave in, letting him pull me to my feet.

He looked at me, _The Smile_ plastered in place, then looked down at the tampon that had somehow transferred from my hand to his.

"Uh, thanks, doll, but I don't reckon I'll be needin' this," he drawled in that rich, sexy, bedroom voice of his.

I felt the flush all the way down to my toes. I grabbed the tampon and threw it in my bag. I still didn't speak, not trusting my voice.

He smelled incredible. The turquoise shirt, one of those with a band collar, looked like it had been custom made. The color was an exact match to those bewitching eyes. He just stood there smiling that million dollar smile and gazing deep into my eyes.

I sucked in my breath and blew it out slowly, I had to break his gaze, but it was hard. It felt like every eye in the place was on us. I glanced around. They were. The jukebox finished playing Ricky Ray's latest hit, "Rollin' Down the Highway of Love". The room was so quiet that I could hear my heart beating.

Steve LeFever and Zach stood over by the dart boards. Zach raised his eyebrows and lifted his hands, as if to say 'what gives'. His mouth was set in a grim line. I blinked and turned back to Ricky Ray.

"Marty, baby, you sure are looking good. How the devil are ya'?" Ricky Ray grabbed my head on both sides and tilted it back, my face lifted.

A hot chill ran down my spine. I knew this move all too well. He bent down and kissed me on the mouth, hard and possessive.

I jerked my head back out of his grasp and smacked it on the wall behind me. "Dang you, Ricky Ray! How dare you do that to me. Who do you think you are?"

I almost slapped him, but I didn't want to make a big scene. "What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be in Nashville acting like a big-shot star?"

He laughed. Even his laugh is sexy. "Still got a smart mouth, I see. Actually, I'm just over here for a few days. I wanted to see Mama and Grandma before we start the second leg of our tour. We play down in Raleigh tomorrow night, then we have another eighty two dates. We're even going to Japan, can you believe it?"

"Those poor Japanese!" I shook my head sadly. "Imagine, being subjected to those crappy noises you pass off as music. They'll sure have a low opinion of Americans after you get through."

Everybody was still watching us. Zach slowly twirled a dart through his fingers like a baton. I briefly fantasized about him throwing it at Ricky Ray.

"You know, Ricky, I used to think you were a pretty good songwriter," I said. "But, now all you do is churn out stupid little ditties with catchy titles. You've sold out."

He laughed again. "Sold out? Yeah, babe, I guess you could say that I've sold out. Every single off the album hit number one and every concert has been standing room only. You don't need to worry that pretty little head of yours one bit, sweet thing. I'm laughing all the way to the bank."

"One of these days, somebody prettier than you, somebody who can actually sing and who writes better songs, is going to come along, and you're going to be out of luck," I said. I hoped. Prayed. "What are you going to do then?"

He shrugged. "Ain't gonna happen any time soon, babe. I got me a whole pile of advisors. Every one of them working their butts off to make sure that the Ricky Ray Riley Reign rolls along."

I snorted. Now I knew who had written all that alliterative graffiti on the table over at the park.

He gave me his smile again. "Yes siree, darlin', I'm a genuine phenomenon. But that's enough about me, sugar. How's your folks doin'?"

"They're all doing just fine and nobody misses you."

"What about my old pal, Delbert? I'll bet he misses me."

"I wouldn't count on it. I'll bet if he saw you, he'd scratch your eyes out." That image made me smile. "In fact, when one of your songs comes on the radio, he runs and hides under the bed until I turn it off."

"I sure miss that kitty. Maybe we can go over to your place so I can see him." He reached over and took my hand, rubbing it suggestively between his.

I snatched my hand away and took a step backwards. "Like I'd let you anywhere near him! He'd probably bite you." Especially if I smeared some tuna juice on Ricky Ray's hand.

He took a step closer to me. "Sweet, sweet Marty, I really do miss you, ya' know."

"What about Miss Bikini, over there?" I ducked my head toward the blonde, who was watching us intently. She flashed me the perfect beauty contestant smile: all teeth, no eyes.

"Who? Oh, you mean Tiffany?" Ricky Ray glanced over his shoulder at her. "Just friends."

"Really? I saw her with you on TV at that awards show the other night. She must be some kind of friend, the way she was hanging all over you. It was pretty disgusting. Weren't you embarrassed? I mean, good grief, your grandma was probably watching!"

"Ah ha! You're jealous." He reached over and pulled my hair loose from its ponytail. "There, you look much prettier with your hair down."

The blonde's smile faded to a steely glare.

"And you know, darlin', that dress doesn't show off your assets too good. We go to your place, you can change into something more comfortable. And sexier." He looked back up into my eyes and entwined his fingers in my hair.

Zach threw the darts down and started toward us. Steve grabbed his arm and held him back.

Ricky Ray leaned so close to me that I could feel his breath on my face. "Let's go get reacquainted, catch up on old times," he whispered, his voice pure sex.

Tiffany stomped into the ladies room.

Ricky put his finger on my nose and tapped it gently, trailing it down to my lips, then began to caress my face. "Marty, sweet baby, I miss you so dad blamed much."

Zach jerked his arm away from Steve and grabbed a chair, bouncing its legs hard against the floor.

I slapped Ricky's hand away and backed up against the wall. "Stop it, Ricky! Geez, I'm not one of your little groupies, you know! I'm not your honey, baby, sweetie, darlin', sugar, or punkin' anymore! It's me, Marty, remember? The one you dumped after six years together. Three days -- three days! -- before our wedding. The one who was there through all the hard times, helping you, supporting you, loving you!

"And for what? So you could run off to Nashville with Paula Dombroski and become a big superstar, leaving me here all alone, with a seven hundred dollar wedding dress and a four-tier marble cake!" I gave him a little shove backwards.

I swiped the tears out of my eyes, angry at myself for letting them show. "Don't forget, Ricky, I know you! And I know your pathetic little games!

He stepped closer, so close that I couldn't breathe. "Marty, oh baby, you'll never know how sorry I am about all that. I love you so much, baby. C'mon, let's get out of here, go someplace where we can talk it over." He nuzzled my neck. "I'll show you how much I care."

It happened before I could even think about it. One second he was standing there nuzzling me, and the next, he was lying on the ground, holding his crotch and moaning. Mom would have been so proud of me.

# 20

I slung my tote bag over my shoulder and was out the door, in my car, and on the way to my apartment before anybody in Pilazzo's even had a chance to reach Ricky Ray.

I stopped at Kroger to get some milk, cat food, root beer, and a salad from the deli. I'd finally stopped shaking and was feeling pretty pleased with myself by the time I reached the checkout stand. I grabbed a handful of chocolate bars and scanned the headlines of the tabloids. Some woman in Alabama had given birth to an alien. And I thought my life was exciting.

Back in the car, I turned on the radio and listened to WRRR. "Bye-Bye, Baby..." was playing. Fitting. I flicked to the local rock station, pulled out of the grocery store parking lot, turned left, and drove toward my street. I was singing at the top of my lungs, sipping on a root beer, having a heck of a good time.

My road was dark because some kids thought it would be a lot of fun to shoot the street lights out with BBs. It was like being out in the country since it was so dark and quiet; I could hear the crickets singing. I was only about a mile from my apartment when I noticed the large dark car. It had pulled out of the grocery store lot right behind me and now it was following a little too close for comfort. I sped up. The other car sped up.

Uh, oh. It was right on my tail. I hate for people to play games like that.

I stuck my arm out and motioned for it to pass me. It rammed into my rear end, lurching me forward, and scaring the bejeebers out of me. I hit the accelerator and cursed. My poor little Mustang hesitated for a second. The other car hit me again, harder this time.

I gripped the steering wheel as hard as I could and floored it, trying to get away. The other car kept right on my tail, forcing me to drive faster and faster. Panic shot through me. I swung into a curve, going way too fast. I stomped down hard on the brake and steered into the slide, but lost control anyway.

The Mustang crashed into a tree. The front end crumpled in a sickening jolt. The seatbelt jerked me back, keeping me from slamming through the windshield. The radiator hissed and plumes of steam poured from the engine. I beat on the steering wheel and screamed.

Then I remembered the other car. What if they'd stopped and were coming after me? I peeled my hands off the steering wheel, unbuckled the seatbelt, and forced the door open. I shot out of the car, prepared to run. Whoever had hit me was long gone. My hands shook and I felt jittery, like I was going to faint. I sucked in some air and tried to stop trembling.

A vehicle appeared from the direction of the apartments. I whimpered, afraid that the person who had hit me was coming back to finish me off. Absolutely terrified, I hid in some bushes and waited. The car stopped on the other side of the street and the driver ran over to my car.

"Marty? Marty? Where are you? Are you all right?" He called out.

It was Zach. I almost fainted with relief. "Here, Zach, I'm over here. And I'm okay."

He came over to the bush. I was stooped down behind it, hanging onto it for dear life.

He looked puzzled. "What are you doing back there?"

I told him about the car running me off the road.

"Are you hurt?"

I shook my head. "No. I think I'm okay. Maybe a little bruised."

We went to check out my poor battered car. It was bad. I started to blubber. Zach put his arms around me and hugged me to him. I felt safe. Comfortable. Like I was home.

"It's okay, it's going to be fine," he whispered, stroking my hair. "I'll fix your car up good as new."

A car went by, its lights almost blinding me. "I guess we better call the police," I said. I'd almost stopped crying. Once we were inside Zach's car, he reached over and pulled me close to him, kissing me

The police officer pulled up a couple of minutes later. After I'd filled out the accident report and watched the tow-truck cart off the Mustang, Zach drove me up to my apartment.

Delbert was mad. Fortunately, Zach had rescued my groceries. I fed Delbert a can of Tuna-Liver Delight, then went in the bathroom to clean myself up a little. I almost cried again when I saw myself in the mirror.

My hair was a frizzy mess. My dress was streaked with dirt and other, unidentifiable, stains. And the worst thing —I smelt almost as bad as the dumpster had.

I cleaned myself up as best I could and changed into a pair of shorts and a Glenvar Police Department t-shirt I'd stolen from Tim. Zach handed me a sandwich and a glass of milk when I walked back into the living room.

"Thought you could probably use this," he said.

I smiled gratefully at him. "Thanks. For everything."

He smiled back. We stood there, grinning at each other while I ate my sandwich. "I'm so glad you came along when you did. I don't think I could have walked up here," I said.

"I'm glad too. I was worried about you after you kneed Ricky Ray and stormed out of Pilazzo's. When you weren't home, I got even more worried. And when I heard the squealing brakes and the wreck, I panicked."

"I stopped at Kroger to get some cat food and stuff. I'm glad you decided to check out the accident."

"I had such a bad feeling when I heard all that racket. And when I saw your car up against that tree, it scared me half to death. Thank God you weren't hurt."

"By the way, how is the creep?"

"Ricky Ray?" He chuckled. "Well, let's put it this way -- I don't expect he'll be doing all that jumping around he usually does on stage for quite awhile and he'll definitely be able to hit those high notes."

His eyes were twinkling away. "Guess what else? After you left, that bimbo he was with dumped a beer over his head and left with some other guy. Ol' Ricky Ray looked like he was about to cry. He slunk out of there pretty quick."

I suddenly felt much better. I finished my sandwich and stuck the plate and glass back in the kitchen.

Zach was on couch, scanning through his phone. I grabbed a couple of beers out of the fridge and took them in to him.

"Can I play this?" Zach held up his phone.

"Sure." I took a sip of my beer and showed him my speaker dock. Billy Johnson's latest song, "Living', Lying, Leaving" came on.

Delbert finished his supper and came out to visit. He eyed Zach suspiciously. Zach bent down and scratched him behind the ears.

"Hey there, Kitty," he said, "aren't you a handsome looking fella. What's your name?"

"That's Delbert McClinton Sheffield. Ricky Ray gave him to me for a Christmas present a couple of years ago. He's my best buddy."

Zach evidently passed Delbert's test. When we sat down on my skuzzy sofa Delbert hopped up into Zach's lap and settled himself down. I reached over and scratched Delbert's neck. His motor was revving.

"This has been the worst week of my life," I said. "I can't imagine what else could possibly go wrong. First the thing with Wart, then Ricky Ray, and finally, someone made me wreck my car! I think I'm just gonna stay in bed until Monday."

"I can't say I blame you. Do you know what kind of car it was?"

"No. Like I told the policeman, I wasn't paying much attention when I pulled out of Kroger's and our streetlights are out. All I know is that it was big. Dark colored. Maybe brown."

"Does anybody have a grudge against you?"

"Not that I know of. I guess it could have been Ricky Ray's bimbo or some deranged fan or something. Or maybe just some crazy who gets his kicks out of ramming into people and running them off the road."

Zach was looking at Delbert. "Or Ricky Ray himself," he said quietly.

"No way. Ricky Ray might get mad at me, but he'd never try and hurt me. Least-ways not physically. He goes in for the mental pain."

Zach put his arm around me and bent down to kiss the top of my head. "Okay. You know him better than I do."

He sat back up, pulling away from me. "Uh, Marty, I hate to ask this, but, um, well, did you by any chance get some of Delbert's cat food in your hair?"

I jumped up. "Oh God! Does my hair stink?"

He made a face. "Just a little."

"I bumped up against that nasty dumpster at Pilazzo's. I must have got some crud in my hair. Listen, you sit here, enjoy the music or watch TV, and I'll be right back. I'm gonna take a quick shower and wash my hair. It'll only take ten minutes. Fifteen tops, okay?"

The shower felt great. When I'd finished, I slipped my clothes back on and went into the living room. Something smelled delicious. Zach was in the kitchen talking on his cell. He hung up quickly, looking guilty.

"I hope you don't mind. I called to check on Mom. Dad wasn't there when I dropped her off from the funeral home and I worry about her. She gets real upset if she's alone for too long. She said to tell you hi."

"I don't mind a bit. What is that delicious smell?"

"I made some omelets. My specialty. I figured we could both use something else to eat." He handed me a plate filled with a huge omelet and two pieces of toast.

The omelet was wonderful. We cleaned up the dishes and went back in the living room. Zach fiddled with his phone, found a playlist he liked, and we sat on the couch again. He leaned back with one leg up and pulled me in so that I was leaning back against him. We sat like that for a long time, talking about our hopes, dreams, and fears. It was very nice.

At two o'clock, I woke up. I covered Zach with a quilt, kissed him gently on the cheek, and went to bed.

# 21

Tuna breath. Inches from my nose. Not the most pleasant thing to wake up to. Especially at six forty-five in the morning.

"Ugh, Delbert! Your breath smells terrible." I pushed him off my chest and sat up.

Was that thunder I heard?

I peeked out the window. It was thunder. The sky was a dismal gray and looked like it was going to open up any minute. Lovely. Twenty-seven days without a drop of rain, and now, the day of Warren's funeral, it seemed as though we were in for a deluge. Obviously, another one of Destiny's little pranks. I pressed my fingers under my eyes, trying to ward off the sinus headache that was promising to start.

Why was my shower running? Oh, yeah. Zach. Zach! I scrambled out of the bed and into my robe before venturing a peek in the mirror. It wasn't a pretty sight. My hair stuck up every-which-way. Sort of like the Christmas Angel Mom still hangs on her tree every year, even though I shampooed its hair, clipped its wings, and gave it a mustache when I was six.

I yanked a brush through my hair and tucked it up into a ponytail. Other than wipe the sleep out of my eyes, I couldn't do anything to repair the rest of the damage.

What I needed was coffee. That always helped. I headed for the kitchen to make some. My phone rang.

"Hi, Mom," I said.

"Hi, sweetie. How are you?" she said.

I didn't tell her about the accident. Some things sound a lot better in person. "I'm okay. A little tired. And, I feel like I'm getting a sinus headache. I sure wish I didn't have to go to this funeral. It's all rainy and yucky outside. I'll probably catch pneumonia."

I was hoping she would tell me to go back to bed and that she'd be over later to bring me grape juice and soup. She didn't.

"I know how you feel, but you're absolutely obligated to go. No matter how you felt about Warren, his parents are good people and it just wouldn't look right if you weren't there."

"I know, I know." Lord knows, I wouldn't want to do anything that didn't look right. I kept that last part to myself. I'm not totally stupid.

"I just called to see what you planned to wear to the funeral. Charli said you wore your gray dress to the funeral home last night. Does that mean you plan to wear that yellow dress you wore to church last week? I sure hope not. It just doesn't do a thing for you."

I sighed and sat down on the bed. Mom was on a roll. I didn't say anything, just grunted.

"You need to wear rich colors, dear. Wine. Emerald green. That yellow makes you look all washed out. Of course, it would help if you'd wear a little makeup. And do something about your hair. I know. Why don't you come on over here and I'll help you with your hair and makeup. We won't be able to do much with that hair of yours, but at least we can fix it some way other than that ponytail you always stick it in."

I looked up. Zach stood in the bedroom door, freshly scrubbed. He had on his Dockers and no shirt. I sucked in my breath and almost dropped the phone. We're talking major hormonal overdrive. I smiled at him and winked. He came over and sat on the bed, handing me a mug full of coffee. He smelled incredible. Did I mention hormonal overdrive?

"Martina? Hello? Are you still there?" asked Mom. "Are you listening to me?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm listening. What did you say?"

"I said why don't you come over here and I'll help you with your hair and makeup."

"That's okay."

Delbert jumped up on Zach's lap, and rubbed against his chest. I wouldn't have minded trading places with Delbert right then. Zach noticed me looking at him and smiled. I smiled back. He leaned over and lightly ran his finger across my lips

Mom asked me something. I have absolutely no idea what.

I faked a clicking sound. "Uh, Mom, that's, uh, that's another call waiting. Might be important. Gotta run. See you at the funeral." I didn't wait for her answer.

With the phone safely out of the way and Delbert removed from Zach's lap, we went to work on satisfying those hormones. Suddenly, Zach looked at the clock and groaned.

"Marty," he said, gently pushing me away from him, "I'd love to stay and continue this, but I gotta get to work by seven-thirty or Dad's gonna shoot me."

I snuggled against him. "Are you sure you can't stay for just a few more minutes?"

He groaned and kissed me. "I wish. But in a few minutes, I don't think we're gonna be stopping. Later, tonight, you can remind me where we left off."

"I guess that'll be okay." Who was I kidding?

It took us several minutes, but we managed to get up off the bed. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close.

"See you at the funeral," I said.

"I probably won't be there. I've got a ton of work to do. A cute little Mustang to work on. But, hey, if you want, I can take off tomorrow. Maybe we can go to my folk's cabin up at the lake. Take the boat out. Ski. Whatever."

The whatever especially interested me.

He squeezed me and pulled back slightly so he could see my eyes. "You game?"

"Absolutely. It sounds great. We can talk about it tonight. I'll fix you supper," I said. "About eight?"

"Eight it is." He kissed me again, pulled on his shirt, and left.

I leaned against the door and watched him walk away. The sixty-something year old widow from across the hall cracked her door open and peeked out.

"Psst, Marty," she whispered, "nice butt!" She winked at me and cut her eyes back around so she could watch Zach walk away.

"Hey, Rowena," I whispered back, "you ain't kidding. Don't tell my Mom, though, okay?" She nodded and we admired the view until Zach was out of sight. I grinned at Rowena and waved before going back into my apartment.

After my shower, I washed down two sinus pills with another cup of coffee, put on my yellow dress, and pulled my hair back into a loose ponytail. I was almost out the door when I remembered my car.

"Well, poop. I forgot all about it! What am I gonna do?" I asked Delbert.

He rubbed against my leg and meowed. "Good idea, buddy. We'll call John and Charli and see if I can borrow one of their cars. They have an extra one."

John and Charli have a van, an SUV, and John's pride and joy, an old beat up clunker of a truck. Hopefully, they'd let me borrow the SUV until my car was fixed.

I called Charli's number. John answered. I told him about the wreck (begged him not to mention it to Mom) and asked just as nice as you please if I could borrow the SUV for a couple of days.

"Sorry, squirt. I have to go out of town this afternoon. I'll have to take it and Charli needs the van to haul the kids around. I'll be glad to let you use the truck, though."

"I guess that'd be okay. It's a straight, right?" I tried to remember what the truck looked like. I didn't think it was too bad; certainly it wasn't worse than my Mustang. Otherwise, ONAG would have banned it.

"Right. Three-on-the-tree," he said. "Have you ever driven one before?"

"Of course," I said, figuring it couldn't be any different from driving a four speed.

"Good, it's kinda hard to shift. Charli has to stand up to do it. Hang on a sec." I could hear Charli talking in the background.

John talked to her then came back on the line. "Hey, squirt, Charli said she'll drive you to the funeral and you can pick up the truck after that. Okay?"

"That'll work. Tell her I'm ready."

She picked me up about twenty-minutes later. The rain started just as she pulled out of the parking lot. I slouched down in the gray leather seat, listening to the windshield wipers screek-scrawk and the rain pound on the sunroof while I waited for Charli to ask me about the wreck.

"Well, aren't you going to tell me what happened to your car?" she said. Charli is so predictable.

I filled her in on my run-in with Ricky Ray and the wreck, leaving out the part about Zach falling asleep on my sofa and staying the night. I didn't need to hear a lecture from Mom about 'what will the neighbors think'. I had a pretty good idea what one of them thought, anyway.

When we pulled into the funeral home parking lot I saw Nancy Winslow getting out of the green Focus. Her outfit was just like the one she'd worn the night before, only in red. She even had a red floppy hat. She held a huge orange and maroon Virginia Tech golf umbrella over her head. I wished I had one.

I told Charli about how I had spied on Steve and Nancy. She was impressed.

"Thirty-five hundred apiece?" Charli said. "I wonder what those two are up to. It sounds like drugs or something. Maybe blackmail. But who?" She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel.

"Who would have that kind of money?" she said. "Fred! That's who! Maybe he did kill Warren and they know about it and, and,...oh shoot! You don't think they're going to get my reward do you? Maybe that's it. Maybe they're planning to turn in Fred and split my reward money between them."

"Your reward money? It isn't your money. Anyway, I thought the reward was for five thousand. That would only be twenty-five hundred apiece. I know they said thirty-five hundred. Maybe what they were talking about doesn't have anything to do with the murder."

Charli shook her head excitedly, bouncing up and down in her seat. "No! I know! Collusion! That's what it is. Remember, I said that maybe Beth hired somebody to kill Warren? I'll just bet that Steve and Nancy were in on it. I'll bet they are getting a payoff! That's gotta be it!"

She rubbed her hands together and clapped them several times. "Okay. Okay, we need to get some evidence. You have your phone with you, right?"

"Of course."

"You hang close to Nancy. If she says anything incriminating, record it this time. I'll stick close to Steve and do the same."

The rain had settled down to a slow drizzle. Charli handed me a black umbrella. One of the ribs was bent, but it didn't have any holes in it. At least I wouldn't have to get totally soaked. She opened up her door and stuck a gray umbrella out and popped it open. It was brand new and a lot bigger than the one she gave me.

We dodged puddles and went inside the chapel, leaving our umbrellas dripping in the vestibule. It was steamy and warm inside the building. My hair was one big frizz. Charli spotted Mom, Dad, and John, and grabbed my arm, pulling me over to their pew. They scooted over and we squeezed in next to them. The tiny chapel was almost packed. I waved to Tim, who was about three rows in front of us, and sat back, glancing at the program.

I'd never been to a Church of God of the Living Truth's Holiness Fellowship of Man service before. I'd heard they were one of those way-out sects. Poison drinkers, snake handlers. That sort.

"Do you think we'll have to touch snakes?" I whispered to Charli.

She rolled her eyes. "For goodness sake, Marty. This is a funeral. I think they only do that at weddings."

Mom leaned over and whispered something to Charli. They both looked at me, Mom frowning, Charli smirking. The music stopped and everyone stood up while the Turners entered and sat on the front pew. I stood on my tip-toes and stretched my neck, but I couldn't see a thing. I wondered if Beth had managed to pull herself together or if she'd worn another party outfit to the funeral.

The service was short and sad. Warren's Mom sobbed through the whole thing, drowning out most of the preacher's words. None of Warren's friends or relatives spoke. A brief eulogy, a couple of hymns, three prayers, and we were adjourned to the grave side. Not a snake in sight, darn it. I'd sort of been looking forward to watching Charli faint.

# 22

I've never quite figured out why you have to go sit at the grave site and listen to another couple of prayers after the funeral, but who am I to question the rules? Charli and I picked up our umbrellas out of the vestibule and went out to her van. We joined in the procession to the cemetery.

"So, what was Mom's problem?" I asked Charli.

"The usual. She thinks you're trying to antagonize her. She said she called you this morning and you agreed not to wear that dress." She sighed heavily. "I really wish you'd stop doing stuff like that. I'll have to hear about it for days."

"Well, she should stop treating me like I'm six years old. She's always criticizing my clothes and hair. It makes me nuts!"

Charli let out another long, heavy sigh. "Marty, why don't you just do what I do: ignore her. It works, you know."

"Easy for you to say! She doesn't pick on you. You're little Miss Perfect. I'm the one that always manages to disappoint her."

Charli shook her head. "Little Miss Perfect? That's a laugh. I've never, never in my whole life, felt like I lived up to her expectations. Do you have any idea how it feels to always hear, 'your mother is so wonderful, so beautiful, so talented. And your sister! Why she's just got to be the prettiest girl in town. And she's so popular too! Homecoming queen, prom queen, yada, yada, yada,...'!"

"That's nothing! How do you think I feel, always having to hear about how smart you are. 'That sister of yours is just brilliant. And such a good mother. And so ....'"

Charli was laughing so hard that tears rolled down her cheeks.

"What's so funny?"

"We are. Just listen to us. Complimenting the heck out of each other."

"I guess we were, weren't we? You don't think anybody heard, do you?"

She laughed harder. "God, I hope not!"

Charli pulled a tissue out of her purse and dabbed at her eyes. Her mascara smeared just a little. I was going to tell her about it, I swear I was, but we reached the grave site. Nancy Winslow and Steve LeFever were standing right next to where we parked, talking.

"Let's roll!" Charli said. "Remember, don't let Nancy out of your sight!"

By the time we jumped out of the van, Steve had moved away. I stopped right behind Nancy and waited, hoping someone would come up and talk to her. No one did.

Charli maneuvered her way around to the back of the tent and tried to get close to Steve. Steve stood next to Beth Turner, his hand holding her elbow. He hovered around her during the whole short service. Charli darted first one way, then the other, but there were too many people crowded under the tent.

It was raining harder now. The clouds hung low, shrouding the mountains. The wind picked up, blowing the rain sideways into my face. The little black umbrella was nearly worthless. By the time we sang 'Amazing Grace', my dress was plastered to me. I almost went to the van, but I knew if I left my post, Charli would kill me.

Nancy didn't hang around after the service. She climbed in the green Focus and took off. I glopped through the mud over to where Mom was standing. She put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed.

"How are you?" She had on a gorgeous black London Fog raincoat and a chic rain hat. She also had on some classy looking rain boots and held a great big black umbrella. I felt like a total bumpkin next to her.

"I'm okay. My head still hurts and I feel a little wheezy. I hope it isn't serious." I tried to look really pitiful, not giving up on the grape juice and soup delivery just yet. She ignored me.

We watched Steve help Beth into the limousine. Beth looked slightly better than she had at the visitation, but not much. Steve whispered something to her. She winked at him and smiled, licking her lips seductively.

I nudged Mom with my elbow. "Did you see that? They sure look awful chummy. And not particularly mournful, I might add. I wonder what's going on?"

Mom glanced around to see if anyone was listening. She leaned close to me and said in a low voice, "Rumor has it that they've been having an affair for the last year and a half."

"Where'd you hear that?"

She shrugged. "I'm a reporter. People tell me things. What I heard is that Warren and Beth separated for awhile last summer and Steve practically moved in. When Warren and Beth got back together, I guess they didn't stop seeing each other."

Steve closed the limo door and watched as it drove off. Charli stood about ten yards behind him, looking frustrated. Steve rubbed his hands together and blew on them before getting in his own car and driving off.

Charli crossed over to Mom and me. I raised my eyebrows and nodded slightly toward her purse. She shook her head.

"What are y'all gabbing about?" she asked.

"Mom said she heard that Steve and Beth are having an affair," I said.

"I just knew there was something going on! Did you see the way Beth looked at him when he helped her into the car. My goodness! You'd think they'd show some respect. At one point, they even looked like they were going to start making out right then and there. It's disgraceful!"

Mom shook her head. "Imagine how Mr. and Mrs. Turner must feel." She looked at her watch. "Yikes! I've got to get out of here! I'm interviewing some teachers from the high school about the pay freeze. Oh, and we're going to run a biographical article on Warren next week. You two come over to the car and I'll give you copies of this week's paper."

We took the papers and tucked them under our arms. Mom kissed us and left. John and Dad hadn't attended the grave side service. Charli and I watched as the cemetery workers lowered the casket down into the vault.

Charli shivered. "Let's get out of here."

"Good idea. How about some coffee or lunch?"

When we were settled in the van I opened the paper to read Mom's article. My face took up a good chunk of the front page. I almost choked.

"Why'd she go and do that for?" I said with a groan.

Charli glanced over at it and laughed. "At least she used a good picture of you."

"That's a relief." I said sarcastically.

I read some of the article. Mom made sure that my name was in almost every other sentence. Nothing like a little home cooking.

"Herb's gonna be so thrilled, he'll probably lay down and die. This whole thing is like a dream come true for him." I told Charli about him wanting me to do the promo in the trash tote.

"That's disgusting," Charli said. "Surely he was joking."

"I sort of doubt it," I said, "but that's Herbie for ya."

We went back to Charli's house and ate a sandwich. I played with the kids for a little while, tickling Jaelyn and rough-housing with the boys. At two, I picked up the keys to John's truck. Charli and I went out to the garage.

The truck was worse than I remembered. The thing was huge. It had a dull black and paint primer finish, big rust patches, no tail gate, ripped vinyl seats.

"Doesn't ONAG give you grief about this thing?" I said.

"That's why we keep it in the garage. John would die without this old thing. He's had it since he was sixteen. He'll never get rid of it."

I climbed up in the seat. "How do I shift this thing?"

Charli gave me a brief lesson in shifting the gears and I stuck the key in the ignition. It only took five tries before it turned over. Finally, the engine caught with a low, throaty growl.

The truck trembled and shook, making me feel like I was in the middle of an earthquake. I ground around a little and finally landed in first. I had a little trouble shifting, but after a couple of miles, I got the hang of it.

There was a message on my voice mail from Herb. The evening DJ was out sick and they needed me to fill in on the air from seven until eleven. Raging hormones or not, one look at my checking account balance convinced me that I didn't have much choice when it came down to the work or date with Zach decision.

I called him to cancel our plans and find out what time he'd pick me up the next day. That taken care of, I changed into a denim skirt and a vintage Mary Chapin Carpenter t-shirt, gave Delbert some 'Kitty Grill', and headed off to work.

I got a couple of funny looks and a lot of waves on my way to the station. I grinned cheerfully and waved back, feeling like a real country gal in that big ol' black pick-up truck, George Teoria's "Country Gals Do It Best", blasting out of the radio.

# 23

About ten Thursday night, while I was on the air, Tim showed up with a couple of subs from Pilazzo's. I did a riff about good food, good friends, and good company, and thanked God for the station's "six pack of songs", which left me a good fourteen minutes before I had to talk again. I unwrapped my steak and cheese sub and chowed down.

When I finished wolfing down the sandwich, I did another short riff and then asked Tim about the investigation.

"No new leads. Well, one little one, I guess. We found out where that jersey came from. Seems like your boyfriend," he said "boyfriend" with a sneer, "had a bag of extra ones in the back seat of his car. They got to looking and, lo and behold, one of 'em was missing."

I ignored his tone. "Wow! Do you think it was Wart or the killer that stole it?"

Tim took a bite of his sub and chewed thoughtfully. "Personally, I think it was the killer. I'm still leaning toward the idea that somebody's trying to set up Fred. Make it look like he's the murderer."

I mulled that over. "Well, maybe. Or maybe Fred is the killer and he put all those things out there so y'all would be misled into thinking it was a set up."

"I don't mean to burst your bubble," he said, "but that kind of thing only happens on TV. Most of the murders in real life are pretty cut and dried and happen on the spur of the moment. Usually don't see a whole lot of planning and fancy stuff involved."

"If you ask me," I said, "this one seems to have more than its share of fancy stuff."

The song ended. I did a couple more minutes of patter, and introduced the next song on the playlist.

"Anything new about my wreck?" I asked Tim once George Teoria's "Lonely Lover's Lullaby" started playing.

"No. And, unless somebody walks in and confesses, I doubt we'll find out who did it. It isn't exactly top priority. Would you recognize the car if you saw it again?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. It was pretty dark. I noticed it when I left the grocery store. But you know how I am about cars. They get you from one place to another."

"Well, I'm just glad you weren't hurt. And that whoever it was didn't stop and come after you."

"Me too. Thank God Zach heard all the racket and came down to investigate. I was pretty hysterical by then."

Tim gritted his teeth when I mentioned Zach. "How convenient that your boyfriend was there to look out for you," he said, sneering once again when he said boyfriend. His neck was mottled red.

"Look, Tim, I don't know what the problem is between you and Zach, but get over it. I like him. I'm going to go out with him. End of discussion."

Tim opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, doing his guppy impression. "You are such a fool, Marty! That guy is gonna mess you up something awful."

I put my hand up so he'd shut up before I punched the 'live' switch so I could talk on air. I managed to come up with some patter and introduced Ricky's latest hit. As soon as the song started, I gave him down the road.

"Cut it out, Tim! I'm tired of this crap. Just what is your problem with him?"

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe he's the one that killed Wart? Did ya?"

"That's ridiculous! What's his motive? His dad's the one that had the grudge against Wart. Not him. He didn't kill anybody. He wouldn't. He couldn't."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, Tim. I do know that."

"No, you don't. And until we find out for sure, I don't want you to be alone with him."

I held up my hand, introduced the next couple of songs, and went right back to our fight.

"You don't want me to be alone with him? Well, that's just tough! We've got plans to go up to the lake tomorrow. No way I'm going to change it because of your stupid accusations."

"I don't like it. Not one bit. At least stay around here, where I can keep an eye on you."

"No! You are not my mother! I don't need anybody to keep an eye on me. I can take care of myself!"

The light on the booth phone blinked, letting me know there was a caller. I ignored it.

"Sure you can. Finding dead bodies, sneaking around spying on people, getting your car bashed in. That's really taking care of yourself."

I called him a jerk. He called me an idiot. The phone kept blinking I couldn't stand it any longer. I jerked the receiver to my ear.

"What?" I yelled to the caller.

I listened quietly, my face getting redder by the second. I slammed the phone down, turned to my control panel, stammered out a little patter, and flipped the live switch to off. My face felt like it had been par-boiled.

"That was Herb," I said to Tim.

"What did he want?"

"We were on the air. Just now. Fighting. I didn't cuss or anything did I?"

Tim dropped his head to the desk and groaned.

"The good news is, I'm not going to get fired. Herb thought it was "effing great". He said we ought to do it more often. Said it made for 'good drama'."

"Well," Tim said. "At least one of us still has a job."

"You know," I said, "it's a good thing nobody ever listens to this station. I never thought I'd say it, but thank God for lousy ratings."

# 24

I'd just finished shaving my legs Friday morning when the doorbell rang. Zach had a little pot of African violets in one hand, two cups of coffee in a cardboard tray in the other, and a small bag in his teeth. He was drop-dead gorgeous in his Cincinnati Reds t-shirt and khaki shorts. He didn't look like he was going to kill me, so maybe he hadn't heard the on-air fiasco. Who said I wasn't an optimist?

I took the bag from his teeth and kissed him lightly. "What's this?" I asked, peeking into the bag. "Yum! Bagels and cream cheese."

"I stopped at the bagel shop on the way over. They're fresh from the oven." He handed me one of the cups of coffee. "I got some sort of gourmet coffee, too. French Vanilla, I think.

"Oh, here. I brought you these." He handed me the tiny pot of flowers and took the bag of bagels. "I hope you like violets."

I kissed him again. "I love them! Thank you."

"So," I said, once we were settled at the dining table with the bagels. "What did you do last night?" I crossed my fingers underneath the table. Toes, too.

"Not much. Watched re-runs."

Re-runs. Like on TV, as opposed to, say, the radio. I unclenched my fingers and thanked God for small favors. I sure hoped Zach wasn't the only person who had been watching re-runs. After we ate the bagels, I fed Delbert, stuck a towel, sunscreen, and swimsuit in my tote bag, and off we went.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was bright -- not a cloud in the sky -- and Thursday's rain had helped to ease the humidity. I leaned my head back against the head rest and almost dozed off within the first five minutes.

Zach patted my hand and smiled at me. "Tired?"

I stifled a yawn. "A little. I didn't get into bed until about one. And Mom made her usual 'let's wake Marty up' phone call at seven forty-five this morning."

"I like your Mom. She's really funny and nice. Your Dad's nice, too."

"I guess. It's just that they don't seem to realize that I'm a grown-up. She gave me a long lecture because I didn't tell her about the wreck. Charli told her, of course. My sister has such a big mouth." I yawned.

"Why don't you go on to sleep. I'll wake you when we get there. It's about a forty-five minute drive."

"No, that's okay. I'll be fine." Twenty-five minutes later, I woke up. Zach had just pulled over to the left lane to pass a tractor trailer.

"Hey there. You doing okay?" Zach asked.

"Terrific. Are we almost there?"

"Not much further. You want a soda? There's a bunch of different kinds in that cooler back there."

I waited until he'd passed the tractor-trailer. After he was back in the right hand lane, I unbuckled my seat belt and turned around so I could reach the cooler. I dug down into it and pulled up two icy-cold drinks. I handed one to Zach and shut the cooler lid.

"What are these?" I asked, holding up an envelope of pictures I'd found lying on the seat next to the cooler. "Can I look?" I turned around to the front and re-buckled my seat belt.

Zach glanced over at the envelope. "Sure. I think they're ones we took a couple of weeks ago at the regional softball tournament. I was messing around with my Dad's old 35mm camera, which is why they're prints. I just got them, haven't had a chance to look at them yet."

I pulled the pictures out of the envelope and leafed through them. The third one in the stack was a picture of Wart, wearing an umpire's uniform and a big grin.

My mind's eye played a cruel trick on me. Instead of the nice shot of Wart, I saw the swarming flies, the blood, the hand.

I sucked in my breath sharply.

Zach looked at the picture and almost swerved off the road. "Oh man! I didn't know that was in there. Beth must have taken it. She was playing around with the camera some that day."

He took the picture and looked at it again. "It's a nice one. She'd probably like to have it for the kids. Stick it back in the envelope and I'll give it to her."

A tear slid down my cheek. "Poor Wart. It just all seems like a bad dream."

"I know. It's such a shame. I've been thinking about it all week. It just doesn't seem right that somebody our age -- somebody we know -- could get murdered. I mean, a car wreck or something is one thing, but murder. Man!" He shook his head.

"I heard that the jersey he was wearing was stolen out of your Escape," I said.

"Yeah. Dumb me, I never think to lock it. I remembered that I had that bag of extra jerseys and hats yesterday morning. We got to looking, and sure enough, one was missing. One of the hats is gone too, but they said they didn't find it."

"How's your Dad doing with all this?" I asked.

"Not great. All this stuff is so weird. The jersey, Dad's bat being the murder weapon, the fact that he didn't get along with Wart. It looks pretty bad. I'm scared to death they're going to arrest him." He kept his eyes straight in front of him. "I know he didn't do it. He just wouldn't." His voice was strained.

I took the picture from him and stuck it back in the envelope. "I know. And, for what it's worth, I don't think the police really suspect him. It really looks more like somebody's trying to set him up."

"Whoever it is better hope I don't find them out." He clenched his jaw and started driving really fast, not saying anything else.

I went back to the pictures. There was a nice one of Zach and Steve LeFever, their heads thrown back, both of them laughing.

"Did Beth take this one, too? It's really good."

Zach gave it a quick look. "Probably. She's got a real knack for taking pictures."

The next few pictures were just your basic snapshots of people playing softball and having a good time. About halfway through the stack was a shot of Beth Turner and Steve LeFever. Their heads were together and Steve's hand was on her shoulder. Something about the way they were looking at each other made me feel like I was intruding on an intensely private and intimate moment.

"Interesting picture," I said, holding it over so Zach could see it.

He smiled. "I took that one. It really captures the way they are together. Thought I'd give it to Steve."

"So I guess the rumor I heard about them is true." I put the pictures down and opened my soda. "The one about them having an affair."

Zach cleared his throat. "I hate gossip, but I guess this is all going to come out anyway. It's more than just an affair."

He took a swig of his soda. "They've been together for quite awhile. They really love each other. They were planning to get married as soon as Beth and Wart's divorce was final. I guess they'll be able to do it sooner now. Although, I'm sure they'll wait a few months for appearances sake. Wouldn't want to upset Wart's folks."

I didn't say anything about Beth's behavior at the visitation or the funeral, but it was definitely on my mind. Somehow, I didn't think Beth gave a hoot what Wart's folks thought.

"So Beth and Wart were getting a divorce? How come she slept with him Sunday night then?" I sounded just like a lawyer cross examining a witness.

Zach looked at me funny.

"Sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out like that," I said. "But it doesn't make sense to me that Beth would sleep with Wart if she was so much in love with Steve."

"She didn't. I know she told the cops that, but she's scared that if they know the truth, they'll think she had something to do with his murder." Zach flicked his signal light and swung over into a left-turn lane.

We made a left onto a narrow road. "Our place is just up here a little ways," he said.

"So what is the truth about Sunday night?" I asked. This time I sounded a lot less lawyerly.

"The truth? The truth is that Wart and Beth both wanted a divorce, but they couldn't agree on custody of the kids. Wart went over there Sunday night and they got into a huge fight about it. Beth said they argued until about four o'clock in the morning then Wart stormed out. Told her he was going over to his girlfriend's house."

"Wart had a girlfriend?" I shook my head in disbelief. "How come I never hear about these things? Who was the lucky girl?"

"I don't know," he said, "it was a big secret."

He slowed and turned down a tree-lined gravel road. "We're home," he said.

I guess I was expecting a little two bedroom cabin or a trailer with a couple of rooms built on or something. Boy, was I ever wrong. The house was huge. A stone and cedar contemporary, it sat at the top of a grassy, gently sloping hillside.

I let out a low whistle. "Nice place."

Zach grinned. "Come on, let's go inside and get our swimsuits on," he said. "I'll show you around Mom's dream house. She's got it fixed up real nice."

Real nice was an understatement. The whole house was straight out of a decorating magazine. Emerald green, wine, tons of golden oak, soaring ceilings with skylights; everything was immaculate and looked brand new. Not to mention, expensive.

There was a great room with a massive stone fireplace, an eat-in kitchen, three bedrooms, two full baths, and a loft above the great room. Shelves and shelves of books lined two of the walls of the loft. The third wall was a solid sheet of windows allowing for a spectacular view of the lake. I was ready to move in.

A screened-in porch opened off the kitchen and a wide wooden deck overlooking the lake stretched the entire length of the house. There was also a full walkout basement with a triple-sized garage. Zach said they kept the boats in there in the winter.

I went into the guest room and changed into my red and black tank-style swimsuit. I pulled my RUN! t-shirt (Disclaimer: the shirt was a freebie. I DO NOT run.) back on over my suit, tossed my towel around my neck, and went into the great room. Zach hadn't come back from changing yet, so I stepped through a pair of French doors leading from the great room to the deck.

The lot sloped down to the lake front where two boats were tied to a large dock. The Thompson's property took up the whole end of the cove. The house was secluded from the ones on each side by rows of pine trees. A large wooden building was about halfway down on the left.

The deck held an oval dining table -- one of those poly-resin kind -- with six chairs pulled up around it, and a matching sofa and love seat set. There was a built-in barbecue pit at the end where I stood. Two chaise lounges and a hot tub were at the other end. Another pair of French doors behind the hot tub opened into the master bedroom.

I walked over to the deck railing and leaned against it. The lake sparkled in the sunshine. A slight breeze rippled in the pine trees. I felt the tension from the past week drain from me.

Zach came up behind me and put his arms around me. "So, what do you think?"

I turned around and kissed him on the chin. "I think it's amazing. Beautiful! I sure wasn't expecting this. I thought y'all had a little cabin, you know, barely running water, cast off furniture, that kind of thing. But this, this is, well, wow!"

Zach laughed. "It is pretty wow. We used to have a little cabin like you described. Dad bought all the lots on the end of the cove about thirty years ago when land out here was cheap. When the prices took off a few years ago he sold the lots on each side. He made a killing. He told Mom she could build her dream house. So that's what she did. They plan to retire out here in a couple of years."

"I don't blame them. This is so incredible. Do you come out here much?" I pulled out of his arms and walked down to the hot tub.

Zach followed me. "I try to get down at least every couple of weeks. We play in a lot of softball tournaments on the weekends, but I usually manage to squeeze in a few hours. Mom and Dad don't get away nearly enough. If it weren't so far, I'd move down here."

A sail boat with a bright blue and yellow sail set off from the house next door.

"I don't blame you. I could get spoiled if I had a place like this. I'd probably never want to go to work or anything." I sat on one of the chaise lounges.

Zach unlocked a small cabinet built into the wall next to the French doors and took out a water test kit. "I'll test the water in the hot tub and turn it on. We can get in it after we ski."

"Sounds great. I'm still a little sore from the wreck the other night. A soak would be just the trick."

I helped him pull the cover off the hot-tub and set it aside. After he tested the water, he put a little bit of some kind of chemical in the tub.

He went back over to the cabinet. "The controls to the tub are in here. I won't make it too hot."

He adjusted the temperature knob and locked the cabinet back. We walked over to the railing. A speed boat went by out on the lake. It's wake reached into the cove and set Zach's boats to rocking.

I pointed to the wooden building. "What's that building down there for?"

Zach put his arm around me and rubbed my shoulder. "Just a storage building. We keep boat supplies, motor oil, the lawn mower, stuff like that in it." He ruffled my hair. "So, wanna go ski?"

"Sounds like a winner. I should warn you, it's been a couple of years since I skied, so you'll have to be patient with me." I looked up at him and smiled.

It was several minutes later before we stopped kissing and went down to the boats.

One of the boats tied up to the dock was a pontoon boat. It looked like it could hold a good crowd of people. The other one, a speedy looking little thing, was the one we were taking out. It was shiny blue with sporty white trim. I sat on the dock and watched while Zach did a bunch of stuff to it. He took several skis off the pontoon boat and looked them over. All of them were tossed aside.

Zach looked over at me. "Hey, Marty, would you run up to the storage building? There are some skis propped up against the wall just inside the door. Grab them for me please."

I stood up. "Sure. No problem. Is it locked?"

"Probably. It's supposed to be anyway. Here's the key." He tossed me a key ring. "The tarnished looking gold one."

I held up one of the keys. "This one?"

"That's the one." He turned back around and started doing some more stuff to the boat.

I made my way up to the storage building. It was larger than it had looked from the house. It was built out of weathered cedar siding. A pair of extra-wide, heavy wooden doors were clasped together. A big padlock swung from the clasp. Someone had been careless. The padlock was open.

I pulled the lock off the clasp, turned the knob, and stuck the padlock back through the hook so I could lock it back later. I tugged on one of the doors. It was stuck. I jerked and pulled. My feet kept slipping on the loose gravel path and I almost fell a couple of times. Finally, the door swung open with a loud creak.

There weren't any windows in the building, so it was really dark inside. It smelled like gasoline and motor oil. My eyes adjusted to the change in the light. I blinked. I fumbled around for a light switch, finally finding it beside the other door.

"Holy...." Obviously, I was hallucinating. That was the only explanation for the sight that greeted me.

Sitting smack dab in the middle of the Thompson's storage shed was a red truck. One with silhouettes of naked women on the door and a license plate that said 'WART1". I took a couple of steps toward it. It couldn't be. I took a couple more steps toward it. Sure enough, it was Wart's truck. I turned around to go get Zach. Just as I did, the door slammed shut.

# 25

Okay, I'll admit it: I panicked. But only for a split second. Once I got my heart started again, I went over to open the door. The darned thing was stuck again. I rattled it. I kicked it. I said a few words that would have caused me to get my mouth washed out with soap when I was a kid if Mom had heard them. I kicked some more. I tried the other door. It was stuck, too. Sweat trickled down my face and into my eyes. I pulled the end of my shirt up and wiped it across my face and neck.

Why hadn't I propped the door open with the rock I'd seen sitting by the shed? That was obviously what it was there for. I leaned my shoulder against the door and pushed as hard as I could. Still stuck. In fact, it seemed like the harder I pushed, the tighter it stuck. I pulled my shirt off and mopped my sweaty face again. I heard something crunch across the gravel. Sounded like footsteps.

"Zach, hey, Zach! Help! The door's stuck. I can't get it open."

No answer.

I pushed and shoved on the door again. More crunching and a loud thump.

"Zach! Help!"

Nothing.

Why wasn't he answering?

Crunch, crunch, crunch. Someone -- or something -- was out there. A bizarre thought occurred to me. Maybe Tim, for once in his life, was right.

"Zach? Zach, are you playing a trick on me? If you are, this isn't funny!" I pounded on the door and hollered as loud as I could. "Zach, open this door! This isn't funny!"

A shuffling sound, more crunching, two more thumps. My heart was in my throat, my mind racing. Maybe Zach was the killer. Or maybe the killer had followed us and had killed Zach. Oh God! That meant I was next!

I looked around. The shed wasn't insulated. Maybe I could knock a hole in the wall. An ax. I needed an ax. Or something. Nothing but skis. The truck. I could start it up and drive it through the wall. No keys.

I mopped my face with the shirt again. Think, Marty. Gotta think. I stared at the door, willing it to open. Wondering what I'd do if it did. Why, oh why, hadn't I listened to Tim?

The door rattled and shook. "Stupid door."

Zach. So Tim was right. He was the killer. And now, he'd come to finish me off.

I jumped up and looked for a place to hide. No. Wrong thing to do. Calm down. Gotta calm down. More rattling.

The ski. I'll hit him with the ski. Then, I'll run. Yeah. That'll work. I stood to the side of the door, up against the wall.

The door jerked open and he came in. "Marty? Are you in here? Where the heck.... OOOF!" I brought the ski down hard on his left arm.

I swung the ski back up to get leverage for another shot. This time, I leveled it out and brought it around like a baseball bat. He turned his body toward me and it caught him in the stomach. He let out a loud gasping sound and went down. He managed to get hold of the ski on his way down, and jerked hard on it, knocking me off balance. As I stumbled, he twisted the ski and wrenched it out of my hands.

No! Can't let him get the ski! I regained my balance and scrambled after it. I had to get my hands back on it. It was my only hope. Zach moaned and hollered something. I couldn't understand him, mainly because I was screaming my head off.

He grabbed my legs and yanked them out from under me. I fell on top of him. He wrestled me onto my back, grasped my wrists, and pinned my arms on the floor above my head. I bucked and tried to roll, but he was too strong for me. He perched on his knees, one leg on each side of me, his rear-end pressing my stomach to the ground.

I whimpered. "Please don't kill me. Please! I promise, I won't tell anybody about the truck. I promise. Please, please, just let me go. I don't want to die!"

"Marty! Stop! What are you talking about? Why did you hit me? Marty, please stop crying! I promise, I'm not going to hurt you."

He leaned his face down close to mine. "Marty, honey. Don't be afraid." He kissed me gently on first one cheek, then the other. "Baby, please stop crying."

I had the snuffles. "You aren't going to kill me?"

"Why on earth would you think something like that? I'd never do anything to hurt you. I care about you. A lot."

He kissed my forehead and whispered. "I think I could fall in love with you real easy, you know."

"Then why'd you lock me in here?" I really wanted to wipe my nose, but he still had hold of my arms.

"I didn't lock you in here. The door sticks. It happens all the time."

"But I didn't close it when I came in. It just slammed shut."

"It's a heavy door. It does that sometimes. See, it's closed right now."

"Then how do you explain Warren's truck?"

"Wart's truck? What? What are you talking about?"

"You know! The one that's missing. It's sitting right behind you. You didn't know it was in here?"

He let go of my arms and sat up, staring at the truck. "What the —? You thought I knew that was in here? And that I locked you in here? And that I was going to kill you?"

"Yes. When I couldn't get the door open and I heard you walking around outside the shed, I thought maybe you had something to do with the murder and you were trying to get rid of me. I panicked. That's why I hit you with the ski."

He looked hurt. "You thought that? Oh Marty. I thought you knew me better than that."

He went to look at the truck. "We'd better get up to the house and call the Glenvar police. Then I'll take you home."

I hugged him. He didn't hug back. "I'm sorry," I said. "So sorry. Please don't be mad at me."

He didn't respond.

I looked down. "Did you mean what you said? Before. When we were on the ground."

He put his hand under my chin and tilted my head back. We had one of those intense eye-locked moments. "I meant it. I thought you felt that way, too."

"I do," I whispered. "I do."

He bent his head and kissed me hard on the mouth, pulling me tight against him. "Do you think the police can wait a little while?" he whispered back.

"What did you have in mind?" I was still whispering.

He let go of me and took my hand. "Let's go up to the house. It's cooler in there. And more comfortable."

"Okay. I can't wait to get out of here."

Zach pushed on the door. No luck.

"Marty," he said, "I hate to tell you this, but the door's stuck again."

"Let's both push on it," I said, putting my arms around his waist and leaning into his back. He felt good. Real good. We shoved against the door.

"I swear," he said, "it's never been stuck like this."

"Listen!"

The crunching noise was back. Along with the thumping. But Zach was in here with me. That meant....oh, God!

"Somebody is out there," Zach said.

"That's the same noises I heard before, but I thought it was you. Did you see anybody or anything when you came up here?"

"No." He looked uneasy. "I had the boat motor running. It sounded rough, so I came up here to get my tools. I didn't see anything."

There was a loud click, followed by a rattle.

"What was that?" I asked.

He looked scared. "That was the padlock. I think we really have been locked in."

# 26

Zach beat on the door. "Hey! Let us out of here! It's hot, we're gonna suffocate. C'mon, we can talk it over and work something out."

I put my hand on his wrist. "Zach, I've got a real bad feeling about this. Whoever is out there probably killed Wart. I don't imagine they'll hesitate to kill us."

I turned around and looked at Warren's truck. I couldn't hot wire a car, but Zach was a mechanic. Maybe he could.

"What about the truck? The keys aren't in it, but maybe you can get it started anyway. Do you know how?" I wiped my face off with my t-shirt. "If we can start the truck we could just drive it through the wall."

He took my t-shirt and swiped it over his face. "Good idea. I'm sure I can. Well, I can try it, anyway."

He tossed the shirt back to me and looked at the truck. "You think it'll be okay? I don't want to mess up any evidence or anything."

"Well," I said, "the way I look at it, we don't exactly have much of a choice. If we stay in here, we might die. If I have to choose between being dead and being in trouble with the cops, I'll take my chances with the cops."

"I like the way your mind works." He smiled at me. "Let me grab some tools and we'll see if we can do it."

He got the tools and started working on the truck.

I was feeling light-headed. "Zach, we've gotta hurry. I'm not feeling well. I'm burning up and that smell is getting to me big time."

He turned around. "Fire! The shed's on fire!" He ran over and grabbed my arm, jerking me back against the tool bench.

Flames licked out from the door. Thick black smoke began to fill the shed. I coughed. The smoke boiled up and out toward us.

"Jump in the truck," Zach shouted, "I've almost got it started."

I ran over and jumped in the truck. The fire leapt from the door to the rafters. It was burning fast. I put my dirty, sweat drenched t-shirt over my face. I didn't realize it at the time, but the odd sounds I heard were my own screams.

Zach worked furiously and suddenly the truck roared to life. The dense smoke stung my eyes. I could hardly see.

Why weren't we moving?

"Drive!" I said.

Zach slumped over against me.

No time. No time. Gotta get out. I pushed him out of the way as best I could. Another rafter was burning. I jammed the truck into gear and it lurched forward. I floored it and rammed it into the wall. Too much smoke. I couldn't stop coughing.

I shifted the gears rapidly from forward to reverse, back and forth, back and forth, slamming into the wall over and over again. One of the rafters crashed down, landing on the bed of the pickup truck. I let out a huge screech.

The truck smacked into the wall again, splintering the wood. I backed up one last time and then flew forward, bursting through to the outside. I pressed hard on the accelerator and the truck flew down toward the lake. A glance in the rearview mirror. The debris in the bed was still burning. What if the truck blew up?

I slammed on the brakes as we got down near the dock and jumped out of the truck. Hooked my arms underneath Zach's shoulders and managed to pull him out. He thudded to the ground and I pulled him as far away from the truck as I could. Let's hear it for adrenaline. He was awake, but really groggy. He immediately started coughing.

"You okay?" I asked him.

He barely moved his head up and down. "I'm okay. What happened?" he said, between coughing spasms.

I heard a creaking sound and looked up in time to see the truck slowly rolling toward the lake. It picked up speed. I thought about chasing it down, but my energy was zapped.

I buried my head in my hands. "The cops are absolutely going to kill me," I said, just as the pickup rolled off the bank and landed in the water with a huge splash.

A cloud of steam rose from the lake as the fire hit it. Zach leaned up on his elbows and we watched in horror as the truck slowly sunk nose first into the lake. About the time I heard the sirens, it was almost completely under water.

I helped Zach stand up and we turned around to watch the firemen put the fire out. Surprisingly, the damage wasn't too bad. Lots more smoke than fire. But they say smoke is what kills. We were lucky to be alive. Zach put his arm around me and hugged me close.

"We made it! Thanks to you, we made it," he said. "I don't know what to say. Other than thank you. Thank you, for saving my life." He squeezed me hard.

I hugged him back. But my mind was elsewhere. All I could think about was finding whoever did this and making them pay for it.

The fire fighters were running and shouting, but it was orderly, not chaotic. Within a few minutes, the fire was completely under control. Zach and I were still standing there, our arms around one another, watching, when a sheriff's deputy came over to us.

He was about forty. GI Joe buzz cut, ruddy complexion, straining his uniform at the seams. He took out a notebook, switched a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other, and leered at me.

"So, what ya got for me?" He had a real thick drawl.

Zach and I told the story, interrupting each other, trading lines back and forth. The deputy looked pretty skeptical right from the start and downright disbelieving by the time we got to the end.

"And you say you hot-wired a truck and drove it through the walls of the building?" He made an elaborate show of looking around. "And just where is this truck that somebody so conveniently left in the shed?"

I struggled to control my temper. I pointed down to the lake. "The truck's in there. I was afraid it was going to blow up. I thought we'd better get out. In my panic, I didn't set the brake. It rolled into the lake. We need to call Detective Theresa Luray at the Glenvar police department. She's been looking for that truck. It's evidence in a murder investigation."

The man held up his hands. "Whoa, there, sweetheart. You're telling me that this truck, which just happened to be in that shed, and now, just happens to be sitting in the lake, is part of a murder investigation? You can't be serious?" He made sort of a snorting sound.

"Yes, sir. Dead serious," I said, trying not to sound defensive. "Someone locked us in that building and set it on fire. And I suspect it was the person that killed the man in Glenvar. Find the arsonist, I'll bet you anything you've found the murderer."

He scoffed. "Well, Little Miss Detective, any more crimes you gonna help us solve today?"

He narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow. "Wait a minute," he said. His face lit up in recognition. "I heard about that murder on TV. That cute little Giselle St. James was trying to interview some disc jockey. The one they think killed that guy over in Glenvar."

He looked at me hard. "You. You're the one! I thought you looked familiar. You wouldn't answer her questions."

"You misunderstood her. They don't think I\--"

"Well, well, well," he interrupted. "Now, isn't that interesting. Looks like I got myself a wacko."

He made the snorting sound again. "I've heard about people like you. Call it a Hero Complex. You kill the guy, then find the body. Set the fire, then act like somebody is out to get you. You get off on that kind of thing. That's it. You have that look around the eyes."

I protested, but he just kept talking.

"Thought you was gonna get away with it, did ya? Well, you sure thought wrong. You didn't count on running into me, did ya?" He flipped the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. "All right, Little Missy, let's get you down to the station. We're fixing to put you away for a long time."

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. Never in my wildest dreams had I expected anything like this to happen.

Zach shook his head vigorously. "Listen here! You are so far out of line, it's not funny. This woman is not a wacko. She's a fine, well-respected member of the community. She didn't — she couldn't — have done it. I should know. I was with her in there. No way she could have locked us in and set it on fire. Besides, somebody else was out there. I heard them."

The deputy shrugged. "How do I know you aren't a wacko, too. Maybe y'all are in this together. Some sort of kinky wacko game y'all play." He pulled his handcuffs out. "Guess this is my lucky day."

He roughly grabbed my arms and yanked them behind my back.

"Ouch! That hurts!"

The deputy laughed. Zach decked him.

The deputy blinked and stared at Zach. "Boy, you're fixing to regret that little move."

I have to give him credit, he was quick. He grabbed Zach and spun him around, putting him in a choke hold.

"Stop that! You're going to kill him. He's suffering from smoke inhalation." I tried to pull his hands away from Zach's neck.

Unfortunately, the next thing I knew, we were both handcuffed, tossed in the back seat of the deputy's car, and hauled off to the local jail. Talk about humiliation.

When we got to the tiny sheriff's office, they separated us. Accompanied by a female deputy -- evidently to make sure I didn't flush myself down the commode or something -- I was allowed to use the restroom. One look at myself in the mirror, and I figured out part of the problem.

My eyelashes were singed off. The knot on my head was greenish-yellow. My face was covered with streaks of black. My RUN! t-shirt, which we'd wiped our sweaty, dirty faces on, was just plain filthy. And, my eyes did have sort of a wild look to them. I'd probably have arrested me too.

I wet a paper towel and tried to scrub the worst of the soot off my face. It just made it look worse. I gave up. When I came out of the ladies room, a bright light flashed in my face.

"Ms. Sheffield, is it true that you're under suspicion for the murder of Warren Turner, the man who was killed this past Monday and whose body you reported finding?"

Gee, who'd have guessed?

"Hi, Giselle," I said, "stolen any condoms lately? I heard you like colored ones. Red, scented ones. With ribs."

"Marty Sheffield, how dare you! I did not steal them!" She realized what she'd said and clapped her hand over her mouth. "I'll get you for this. You just wait!"

"Ms. St. James," the deputy said, "you know you aren't allowed back here."

Giselle and Rockin' Robbie went to the lobby. He asked her what I was talking about. She told him to shut up.

"You can use the phone, now," the deputy told me.

I debated on who to call to come bail me out. First choice: Tim. After all, he is a Glenvar policeman, could vouch for the murder story, and also for my impeccable character. He didn't answer. Of course not, he was working. I wished I was at work. Or, any place else, actually.

I called the Glenvar police station and asked the dispatcher to put me through to Tim.

Sorry, Officer Unser was out on patrol, but she'd be glad to relay a message and have him call me. No, she couldn't promise how long it would be. He was pretty busy. Detective Luray? No, she was out of the office. Couldn't say when she'd return. Would I like to leave a message for her? Okay, she'd leave both of them messages.

I tried Charli. No answer. I called Dad. He didn't answer his page. The station. Herb was out. Our priest. Out. My fourth grade teacher. Out. I gave in and called Mom. Chock another one up for those merciless Madams of Mischief.

# 27

They stuck me in a small room with a long wooden table, three uncomfortable wooden chairs, and a one-way mirror that served as a constant reminder of how awful I looked. I paced around and around, made faces at myself -- and whoever was on the other side -- in the mirror, sang 'nobody knows the trouble I've seen', and counted the ceiling tiles. I knew what they were up to. I watch all those cop shows, too.

The way I figured it, the woman deputy was going to be the good cop, the jerk from before, the bad cop. Well, I'd just show them. They could lock me up, but they weren't gonna break me.

About a week later, or so it seemed, the woman poked her head in and told me to come with her. When we went out in the hallway, I checked the big clock over the reception desk. I'd only been sitting in the room for an hour and a half? No way. They'd probably changed the time on the clock. Try and fool Marty Sheffield? Not a chance.

She led me down the small corridor and knocked on a door. A man's voice boomed out for us to come on in. She pushed the door open and stood aside so that I could enter. Mom sat in a vinyl chair on one side of a metal desk. She looked like Michelle when she was in that movie with Clooney, only better; her pink silk dress probably cost more than everything in the room put together.

Across the desk from her sat a grandfatherly looking man wearing a sheriff's uniform. His hair was gray and neatly combed. Silver wire-frame glasses fronted kindly brown eyes. Gray stubbles poked through on his chin, giving his tanned face a silvery sheen.

The office was small and orderly. Besides the metal desk, there were two green metal file cabinets and a small table with a computer on it. A window with a green shade was directly behind the desk. Two pictures of an ample-figured, gray haired, grandmotherly looking woman sat on the window sill. A large standard-issue family portrait of the man and the woman, about twenty years younger, and a couple of generic looking kids hung on the wall right beside the door.

He stood up when I came in and motioned for me to sit in the chair next to Mom's. The deputy nodded to him and closed the door. Once I slid into the chair, the sheriff sat back down. Mom glanced over at me and looked absolutely horrified. She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"Oh, Martina!" she mumbled under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

"Miss Sheffield," the sheriff said, the brown eyes not quite so kindly looking anymore.

I gulped and sat up as straight as I could. He reminded me of the principal from elementary school. "Yes, sir?" I stuttered out. That idiotic sounding high pitch was back in my voice. I definitely needed to do something about it. Imagine if I did that over the air.

"Miss Sheffield, I've decided to release you into the custody of your lovely mother. I've spoken with Detective Luray of the Glenvar police department and based on the information she provided, we've decided not to charge you with anything." His voice was rich and resonant, like a preacher at a revival meeting.

I leaned back my head and sent a small prayer heavenward. "Thank you," I said to the sheriff.

I looked over at Mom. She raised her eyebrow. "Sir." I quickly added.

He looked at me sternly. "I hope I don't see you back in here. For any reason. Next time, I might not feel quite so generous and forgiving."

"Yes, sir. No, sir. I mean, well, I won't be back, sir. I promise. Thank you. Sir."

The sheriff stood up. Mom stood up and reached across the desk to take his hand. He smiled warmly at her.

"Mrs. Sheffield, I must say that it has been simply delightful to meet you," he said to her, his voice changing to a softer pitch.

Mom flashed her most dazzling smile and placed her other hand so that his hand was clasped gently between both of hers. His face flushed bright red.

"Well, Sheriff, I just can't thank you enough for all that you've done for my daughter. I hope that we didn't cause you good folks too much trouble." Her drawl was a little thicker than normal, her voice smooth as honey.

I almost gagged.

She let go of his hands and turned to me. "Martina, dear, let's get out of this nice man's way now. We've been enough of a problem already."

We turned to go just as some sort of commotion started up out in the hallway.

The woman deputy shouted, "Sir! Stop! You cannot go in there. Sir, I said stop!"

Fred Thompson's voice, roared through the door. "I most certainly am going in there. I'm gonna go get my kid outta this place."

I stepped backwards and bumped into Mom as the door to the office burst open. Fred stalked into the room. His face was beet red and his breathing heavy and labored.

He pointed at the sheriff. "What do you mean, locking my son up like some sort of common criminal? Are you outta your freakin' mind? So help me God, I'm gonna sue the pants off of everybody in this God-forsaken hell-hole!"

The deputy rushed through the doorway. "I'm sorry, Roland. He took me by surprise," she said.

The sheriff's voice went steely and hard. "Mr. Thompson, if you don't want to be joining your son in his cell, I recommend that you get a hold of yourself right now. We don't take too kindly to threats around here."

Mom grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the door. "Let's go." she whispered. "Let's get out of here before he changes his mind and tosses you in jail, too."

I jerked my arm away. "No! I can't leave now. I want to make sure Zach is okay."

She grabbed my arm again and dug her nails in, almost breaking the skin. "Martina Gayle, I said, let's go! Now!" I hadn't heard that tone of voice since I'd told her I was going to quit college and become a DJ.

I learn from my mistakes. I went.

Fred and the sheriff were still arguing loudly when we left. Well, Fred was, at any rate.

The sheriff was simply repeating over and over again, "Mr. Thompson, your son is under arrest for assaulting an officer of the law. I intend to throw the book at him. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

I glanced back toward the little office right before we walked out of the building. Two deputies had hold of Fred's arms and were forcibly removing him from the office. He was still hollering, threatening to sue everybody.

Poor Zach.

I was sort of surprised that Giselle wasn't in the lobby waiting for me. I shouldn't have worried. She was outside, standing by Mom's car.

"Condoms, condoms, condoms. Giselle stole some condoms. Red ones, blue ones, purple-speckled ribbed ones," I sang.

It distracted her long enough for us to get in Mom's car and lock the doors.

"What on earth was that all about?" Mom asked.

"Just a little diversion tactic. See, Giselle stole some condoms from one of those convenience stores when we were in high school. It occurred to me the other day that she wouldn't want to use anything like that on the air. Too embarrassing for her. Now, every time I see her, I bring up some embarrassing incident from high school. Believe me, there's a bunch of them, too. Pretty smart thinking, wasn't it?"

Mom didn't say anything. I guess she was overcome with awe at my brilliance. The two deputies, with Fred in tow, came out of the station. Giselle's cameraman filmed them.

"Let's go," I told Mom. "Quick, while they're busy filming Fred."

We were out of the parking lot and headed toward home faster than you could say red ribbed condom.

The sun was blinding. I reached for my tote bag to get my sunglasses. Well, shoot. My stuff was still up at the Thompson's lake house. I started to ask Mom to go over there so I could get it, but I thought better of it. She looked very unhappy, sort of like she'd looked when I was a high school sophomore and got caught trying to wrap toilet paper around Salem High School, Glenvar High's big football rival. It would be way easier just to figure out how to manage without my phone and wallet than to give her something else to be angry about.

I waited for her to let loose on me, but she never said a word. That concerned me. Two bright red spots inflamed her cheeks and her hair actually looked slightly rumpled. Every few seconds she took a deep breath and let out a sigh that pretty much said it all. And what it said wasn't good.

I sat quietly, reflecting on the whole stinking day, wondering how many more tricks Destiny had in store for me. Thinking about Zach. Wondering if I'd ever see him again. We zipped down the road, passing cars and boats headed for the lake.

My mouth was dry as cotton. I gathered up my courage and meekly asked Mom to stop at one of the little grocery stores so I could get a soda. She did, never saying anything. When I asked her for some money, she silently reached in her purse and handed me a five. I went into the store and bought a couple of sodas. When I went back out to the car I got a big surprise. Mom was crying.

I put my arm around her. "Mom. Please. Don't cry. I'm really, really sorry."

She grabbed me and pulled me to her. "Martina, baby, it's okay. I'm just so relieved that you weren't hurt," she said when her sobbing was under control. "The sheriff told me about the fire. You could have been killed. I can't believe how close I came to losing you."

Talk about being shocked.

"You aren't mad at me?"

She kissed me on the cheek and pushed me away from her. "Well, of course I'm mad at you. You behaved very irresponsibly. Attacking police officers. Whatever were you thinking? It's so embarrassing."

"Mom," I said, my voice just a little whiny. Okay, a lot whiny. "I'm sorry. I never meant to embarrass you. But, you weren't there. You didn't hear what that deputy said about me. He accused me of killing Warren. And of setting the shed on fire. He was really, really mean." I told her about the rogue deputy.

She was livid by the time I got to the end. "How dare he? After all you'd been through. I should go back down there and give him a piece of my mind. Talk to my kid that way? Who the hell does he think he is?"

"I guess it's a good thing you didn't know all that stuff when you talked to the sheriff. Otherwise, we'd both be locked up in the cell next to Zach."

She smiled a little. "I suppose you're right. Come on. Let's go home." She started the engine and pulled out onto the highway.

I sipped on my drink and watched her drive. "Hey, Mom?"

"What, honey?"

"Thanks for bailing me out. You were great. You had that sheriff wrapped around your little finger."

She smiled, back to her old self. "I guess I did, didn't I?" she drawled.

Michelle Pheiffer might be the one with three Oscar nominations, but she ain't got a thing on my mom when it comes to acting chops!

# 28

Home, sweet home. I've never been so glad in all my life to see the "Glenvar City Limits" sign. In fact, I got a lump in my throat when we passed it. Gasoline Alley and the Thompson's place. Winslow Automotive. Pilazzo's. The library courtyard and the police station. Even Kroger's looked beyond beautiful.

I planned to climb in the bed, pull the covers over my head, and stay there until time to go to work Saturday night. You'd have thought I would have known by then that Destiny and the gals had other plans for me, now wouldn't you?

When we turned down the street toward my apartment complex Mom said, "I want you to go inside and pack some clothes. I'm taking you to Charlene's house to spend the night. John is still out of town and she's there all alone with the children."

"Thanks anyway, but I'll just stay at my place. I'll be fine."

"Martina, please. Someone tried to kill you today. I don't want you girls to be alone. Daddy and I have to go to his boss's house for dinner tonight and I'll worry myself sick if you two are by yourselves. In fact, I'll feel a lot better if we get Timothy to come over and stay there, too. I want you to call him as soon as we get inside. He's left three messages on my phone, wanting to know if you're okay."

I knew better than to argue. "Yes Ma'am," I said.

She parked in front of my building. I was surprised when she got out of the car and started up the steps.

"You don't need to come in," I told her, "I'm okay. I'll just be a few minutes."

"Nonsense," she said. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. If someone wants to hurt you, they'll have to go through me first."

"Oh." I got my spare key out from under Rowena's doormat and unlocked my apartment door. Delbert was sitting just inside the door, meowing loudly when I went in.

He immediately zeroed in on Mom's ankle.

I picked him up and took him in my bedroom. "Delbert! You know better than that. She's scared to death of you. You'll have to stay in here until she leaves."

He squirmed and wriggled, trying to jump out of my arms. He was determined to get back to Mom. It's like the more she tries to avoid him, the more he loves her. He's so male sometimes. It really makes me nuts.

When I went back in the living room, Mom was standing rooted in her spot, her nose wrinkled in distaste at my furniture.

"Mom, if you're going to stay, fix yourself a soda or a glass of tea and sit down, for goodness sakes. You aren't going to catch anything. Since we're here, I'm going to take a shower."

"I thought you were going to call Timothy."

"Good grief! I said I'd call him. Geez! All I want to do is get out of these stinky clothes. He can wait that long. It's just Tim, it's no big deal. Geez!"

"I don't know why he lets you treat him like that. Well, I guess I do. But, for the life of me, I can't understand it."

"What's to understand? I treat him nice. He's my best friend. I'm real nice to him." Okay, so I sounded just a tiny bit defensive.

She shook her head. "Nice? You walk all over him. You treat him like a lap dog. You treat that cat better than you treat him. And he just keeps running back for more. I used to think he'd get over it, but I guess he's too far gone."

"What do you mean, too far gone?"

"I mean the poor boy is hopelessly, totally, head-over-hills in love with you. And you encourage it. You shouldn't do that. One of these days, he's going to wake up, and then you won't have a friend anymore."

My mouth dropped open. I stared at her and started to laugh. Tim in love with me? That was without a doubt the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard. So why on earth did everyone keep saying it?

I left Mom standing in the living room and went to take my shower, still laughing my head off. One look at myself in the mirror sobered me up. I'd actually been running around in public looking like that, too. I stood in the shower until the water ran cold. My hair still smelt a little smoky, but there didn't seem to be any permanent damage.

Well, maybe the bathing suit and RUN! t-shirt. I wound them in a ball and dropped them into a plastic garbage bag. I didn't think they were salvageable, but I hated to toss them without sending them through a couple of laundry cycles.

I was feeling a little light headed. I realized that I hadn't eaten since the bagel and coffee from early in the morning. I wrapped a towel around my hair, put on my robe, and went out to the kitchen to get something to eat. Mom had finally decided to sit. She was at my dining table, leather purse in her lap, making notes in her leather-bound steno pad.

"I called Charlene. She's expecting us." She closed the notebook and stuck it and her expensive gold pen back in her purse. "Go get your stuff together. She said you could bring the cat."

After eating a sandwich, I dressed, found the copy of my driver's license I'd made after I'd lost, then found, my wallet a few months back, packed my stuff, put Delbert in his kitty carrier, and we headed over to Charli's. It took a lot of fast talking, but I finally convinced Mom that I needed to drive myself to Charli's house.

"Mom, I'm supposed to play in that celebrity softball tournament tomorrow. You know, the one to benefit the Special Olympics. Anyway, I've made plans to meet some people at the Civic Center ball fields at eight tomorrow morning. We're gonna practice a little so we won't be humiliated in front of everybody. If I don't take the truck to Charli's, I'll have to get her to drag the kids out and take me over there."

"We-ell. I suppose it'll be all right. But you make sure you stay right behind me. I don't want you out of my sight for one minute."

"Okay." I held up two fingers. "Scout's honor."

I climbed up into John's big old truck and started it. It growled and rumbled, doing its mini-earthquake bit. I cranked the radio volume way up and threw it into reverse. I waited for Mom to pull out of the complex parking lot, ground around until I found first, and followed her.

For some reason -- I suppose she wanted to make sure I really followed her -- she only drove about five miles an hour. I beeped the horn at her after a few maddening minutes of it. She didn't take the hint. Instead, she putt-putted her way down to Main Street.

We were briefly separated at a traffic light, but she pulled over to the curb and waited for me to catch up. When we passed Pilazzo's I took a quick peek to see if I recognized any of the cars. I didn't. A couple of blocks later we reached Willow Wisp Street, the main road into The Oaks at Stableford Manor. Mom flipped on her turn signal and waited for the light to change.

I hummed along to the radio and watched the traffic go by while we waited. A guy in a Denali had a life-size cutout of John Wayne riding shotgun. It almost caused me to miss the big maroon car with a mottled vinyl top and a bashed in front bumper that was making a turn onto Main from Willow Wisp. It looked really familiar. For some odd reason, Nancy Winslow's floppy hats popped into my head.

Of course! There was only one hat. A red one. The lights at Pilazzo's had made the hat look rust colored. I'd thought the car that hit me was brown. Maybe it was like the hat. Maybe the lights had only made it look brown. Maybe, just maybe, it was another color. Maybe maroon?

The light turned green and Mom made her turn. I jammed the truck into gear and stepped down hard on the accelerator, continuing down Main Street. It was the only thing I could do. I had to follow the maroon car and find out if it had been the one that had smashed into me. Mom would certainly understand that.

I managed to stay about two cars behind it all the way through town. Just past the high school the maroon car made a left down a winding slightly rural road called Lewistown Lane. The road Beth Turner and Nancy Winslow live on. Right across from each other. My heart was pounding a mile-a-minute. Could it be one of them?

The car pulled into Nancy's driveway and stopped. I should have guessed. She must have found out somehow that I'd spied on her and Steve. I went about a quarter mile past Nancy's house and turned around in the parking lot of a little white clapboard church. I needed to look at that car close up, make sure I was right about it being the one that had hit me before I called the police.

I pulled in Beth's driveway and stopped the truck. I couldn't see Nancy's house too well. A row of pine trees planted in the Turner's yard shielded their house from the street. Good cover for me. I climbed out of the truck and crept up to the corner of the lot, directly in front of Nancy's. Standing behind one of the pines, I had a pretty clear view of the car and Nancy's house.

The car was empty. I caught a glimpse of someone moving around toward the back of Nancy's house. Perfect opportunity for me to check out the car. I ran across the street.

The car was an old Thunderbird, big and bulky. I was almost positive it was the one that had hit me Wednesday night. I walked around to the front. A distinctive streak of red paint on the crumpled silver bumper confirmed my suspicions. So it was Nancy after all.

I dashed around the side of the house toward the back, determined to confront her and tell her she was going to have to pay for the damage to my Mustang. Her house was a small brick one story, about thirty years old. The driveway stretched into the back yard ending at an eight by ten foot storage building. The yard was shaggy and weed-filled. A sad looking window box with half-dead geraniums in it sat on the small back stoop.

I went up the three concrete steps and started to knock on the back door. I caught myself just before my hand hit the door. Nancy was big. And strong. A whole lot bigger and stronger than little old me. Confronting her around front, where people driving by would see us in case she decided to try and sit on me or something, seemed like a good idea. A very good idea.

I turned around and started back down the stairs. I'd just stepped on the crumbly concrete walkway when I heard the door open. I turned around and let out a loud shriek.

I was nose to nose with a particularly nasty looking gun. And whose slightly shaking hand was pointing it at me? Nancy Winslow's? Nope. Vanessa Young's.

# 29

Vanessa looked as if she'd been through the ringer — again. Her hair was greasy and spiky, as though she'd been running her hands through it. Her clothes were not only too big, they were also dirty and wrinkled. It appeared she hadn't slept since I'd seen her Wednesday night at the funeral home. She held the gun in her right hand and a shoe box, bulging with papers, in her left. She darted her eyes around wildly and licked her lips.

"What are you doing here?" she yelled. Her voice shook.

I was dumbfounded. It's not every day that somebody points a gun at me. Especially one as wicked looking as Vanessa's.

She gestured with it. "Answer me! What are you doing here? Why are you following me?"

"I, I, I didn't know it was you. I just wanted to find out who hit my car." Sweat popped out on my forehead. "Here give me the gun. I won't even tell anybody it was you. I'll pay for the damage myself."

"Hit your car? What are you talking about? I didn't hit your car. You think this is about your car? God, Marty, you are so self-centered sometimes."

"No. Of course not. Why don't you give me the gun and tell me what it is all about." I reached my hand out.

She shrieked out at the top of her lungs. "Stop it! Don't you move. Not even an inch. I swear to God, Marty, I'll shoot you if I have to."

I lowered my hand. "Okay, okay. Calm down. I'm not doing anything. See. I'm just standing here." My Band Perry t-shirt was soaked clear through.

I didn't think she was going to shoot me. At least not on purpose. Still, I decided I'd better not take any chances. I willed myself to stay calm. It wasn't easy.

"I gotta think. I can't think like this." She let out a low moan.

"It's okay. I promise. I'll just forget all about this. Why don't you just put the gun down." I forced a smile.

Her hand wavered slightly. "I can't," she whispered, "I can't do that."

"Sure you can. Come on, Nessa, please. Just give me the gun. I can help you, whatever the problem is, I can help." I made my voice sound as sweet and loving as possible.

She jerked her hand back up, straight and steady. "No! You're just trying to confuse me. You just shut up." Her voice had taken on a new tone. Wild. Scary.

She glanced around the yard. Her eyes lit on the little storage shed. "Here. Come over here." She pushed me and gestured toward it with the gun.

"No. I don't want to. Please. Don't do this. It isn't worth it."

She nudged me along, pushing me toward the small building. When we reached it, she told me to open the door and go inside. I choked back a sob and reached for the door. It wasn't locked. The building was haphazardly built, sheets of thin plywood nailed on a frame. The roof was made of green corrugated plastic. A spider's web hung in one corner of the door frame.

I jerked open the door, knocking the web loose. The inside of the shed was piled up with junk. Something scuttled across the dirt floor. Beady red eyes stared at me from the rear. Another spider's web hung just inside the door. A big, ugly looking spider sat right in the center of it. It was going to be a cold day in hell before she got me in there.

She tapped the gun gently against the back of my head. "I said go in."

"No. Don't make me go in there. I was locked in a shed earlier today and almost died. I don't think I can deal with this right now." The beady red eyes had multiplied; now there were three sets looking at me.

But maybe Vanessa already knew that. Maybe she was the one who had locked us in the shed up at the lake and tried to kill us. Maybe she was the one who had killed Warren and stuck him in the trash can. I hadn't heard a gunshot, but maybe she'd killed Nancy, too.

"Vanessa, where is Nancy? Did you shoot Nancy?" I tried to keep my voice steady.

"Nancy?" she sounded confused. "Why would I shoot Nancy? She's not even at home. She's down at her car lot. I know. I checked."

She rapped the gun against my head again, harder this time. "Get in there! I'll shoot you if you don't."

I looked at the spider and the beady red eyes. I thought about the gun. Like I've said before, my momma didn't raise no fool. I went in the building.

She banged the door shut behind me. Almost immediately, she opened it back up. "This isn't going to work," she said. She pointed the gun toward my heart and looked around the shed. "Give me your phone, then get that rope over there. There, behind you."

I looked around and saw a length of coarse yellow rope lying on top of a box. I picked it up and handed it to her. "I don't have my phone. It's out at the lake. At Zach's folks house."

She narrowed her eyes, evidently trying to decide if she believed me. "You'd better not be lying to me, Marty."

"I'm not. I swear."

She patted me down. "Okay, then, get down on your stomach and put your hands behind your back. Yes, like that."

She knelt, putting the shoe box on the floor beside her. She made a loop with the rope, forced it around my wrists, tying it in a tight knot. I thought about trying to make a sudden move so I could escape, but she still had the gun and the last thing I wanted to do was hear it go off.

The rope bit hard into my arms. The dirt floor was cool and it smelled musty and earthy. I sneezed. The little beady eyed critters scurried around. It sounded like there were a million of them. Vanessa laid the gun beside her. I couldn't get to it with my hands bound up. She grabbed my legs and jerked them up toward my hands.

I yelped. "Ow! Stop! That hurts. I'm not a gymnast, you know. Why are you doing this to me?"

She screamed at me. "Shut up! I said shut up and I mean shut up! I swear, I wish I had something to stuff in your mouth."

She wound the rope round and around my ankles, pulling it so tight that it cut my circulation off. I felt like a trussed chicken. I imagine I looked like one, too.

"Okay. I'm out of here," she said when she'd finished binding me up. "That ought to keep you for a while." She brushed the dirt off her hands and picked up the gun and the shoe box.

I tried one last time. "Please, Vanessa! Whatever the problem is, don't make it worse by doing this. I swear, I can help you."

She slammed the shoe box own on some sort of cabinet. Several papers flew out of it. "That does it! I told you to shut up." She looked around and found a box of old clothes. She pulled out a threadbare silk scarf.

"No! Don't stick that in my mouth. Come on, Vanessa, you know how I am about germs. I don't even drink after people. Ple..."

I gagged and spit and flailed around, but she still pushed it between my lips and tied it around my head.

"Bye," she said.

She picked up her shoe box, stuffed the papers back in it, and left. The door slammed shut, leaving me all alone with the little beady-eyed monsters.

For the second time in one day I found myself locked in a hot, smelly, scary building, wondering if my next breath would be my last. I looked over to where the critters had been hanging out. I could hear them, but I couldn't see them. I hoped they weren't hungry.

At least the shed would be easier to get out of than the garage had been. I was pretty sure that it wasn't locked. Of course, I had to get out of the ropes first. I hoped Vanessa hadn't done very well at Scouts. As long as she didn't set the place on fire, maybe I'd make it.

My ankles, arms, and back were killing me. I fumbled around, trying to pick at the knots, but my hands were in the wrong position. I rocked from side to side, swinging a little farther each time. Finally, I rolled far enough and landed on my right side. No good. My arm was underneath me and it hurt like the dickens.

I rocked further and landed on my back. That hurt even worse. I lifted my butt up, sort of like one of those yoga poses Charli's so good at, and it helped a lot. Until my legs started shaking, that is.

The rope burns really stung, I could hear the rats scampering around, and to be honest, I was about as mad as I've ever been. The scarf wouldn't come out of my mouth, either. I walked my feet closer to my hands, which added a whole new dimension to the exercise, but also proved to be fairly effective.

Luckily for me, Vanessa wasn't going to be getting any merit badges for knot-tying. I managed to get my ankles free pretty quickly. Once I did that, I was able to get to my feet. My knees were wobbly, and my ankles tingled, but I was in a heck of a lot better shape than Warren.

I stuck my head in the spider web, which gave me a few seconds of panic, but I calmed down when I realized that the spider wasn't on me. Good fortune smiled on me again when I leaned against the door and gave it a nudge with my shoulder. It swung open.

I had to get that scarf off. The thing was, I couldn't get my hands around to the front without dislocating my shoulders. A nail protruded from the door frame, giving me an idea. I scrunched down and hooked the thin cloth on it. I yanked my head back and heard a satisfying rip. A couple more pulls and the gag fell to the ground.

On my way out the door, I stepped on a couple of pieces of paper. Vanessa must have overlooked them when she'd picked up the ones that had fallen out of her shoe box. I squatted and picked them up. I tried to look over my shoulder and see what they were, but couldn't get my hands out far enough to read them. They'd have to wait for later.

I stuck them in the back pocket of my shorts, said adios to the rats, and high-tailed it across Nancy's yard. I kicked her back door. Nobody answered. I decided that she wouldn't mind, given the circumstances, if I broke into her house. Hopefully, she still had a land-line. Thank God the door was unlocked.

The inside of Nancy's house was filthy. Newspapers and magazines were piled up everywhere. The kitchen sink and all the counter space around it was piled high with food-encrusted dishes. It smelled about as pleasant as the dumpster I'd hidden behind at Pilazzo's. I looked around for a phone. Luckily, there was one, but it was an old avocado green wall mounted one. With my hands still tied tightly behind my back, I couldn't reach it.

I went in the living room to see if there was a regular table-top model. If possible, the living room was in even worse shape than the kitchen. More newspapers and magazines. Clothes strewn everywhere. And, worst of all, piles of cat poop all over the floor.

"Nancy?" I called out. "Are you in here?"

No answer. I didn't much want to, but I figured I'd better make sure she wasn't laying somewhere bleeding to death. Besides the kitchen and living room, the house only had two bedrooms and one bathroom. I took a quick look around, but all I found was more mess, three enormous cats, and lots of cat poop.

I went back in the living room, found the other phone, and knocked the receiver off the hook. It was slow going, because my hands were still behind my back and I had to dial by feel rather than sight. I managed to punch in Tim's number. I knelt down and used my shoulder and ear to get the receiver into position. Tim answered on the second ring.

"You answered! Thank God!" I closed my eyes with relief. "Listen, you've gotta help me. I'm at Nancy Winslow's. No wait. Beth's. Meet me in front of her house."

"Marty? Is that you? What's going on? Your mom is looking everywhere for you. You better call her. She's over at Charli's. She's really worried."

"Never mind that. I'll talk to her later. Just get over here. Hurry. It's an emergency."

"Well, okay, I was going to get in the shower. But I won't. I'll just toss on some clothes. You said Beth's? What are you doing there?"

"Tim, shut up! Just get you butt over here. Now!"

"Okay, okay, I'm on my way. Be there in ten minutes." He hung up.

I left the phone off the hook, went out the back door, and crossed the street. Beth's driveway was still empty, except for John's truck. Every time a car went past, I scrunched down behind the truck and hoped like crazy that it wasn't Beth. When Tim finally pulled up, I almost cried. It had only taken him eight minutes to get there, but it felt like hours.

"Get this freaking rope off me," I said, as soon as he cut the engine.

He took his time getting out. He had on a pair of raggedy looking shorts that showed off his knobby knees and a gray t-shirt that said 'Property of Glenvar PD'. He pulled a Glenvar High baseball cap off and ran his fingers through his hair. It didn't help; he had a serious case of 'hat-hair'.

He shot me that lopsided grin of his. "Hey, Marty, what's up?"

I felt like screaming, but I knew better. I turned my body around so he could see the ropes. He did his guppy impression, opening and closing his mouth without saying anything.

"What the...?" he finally managed to get out.

"Hurry up! Untie me! The stupid rope's cutting off my circulation. I'll tell you what happened while you work."

I told him the whole sordid story, starting with my decision to follow the T-bird. I finished just as the rope dropped to the ground. With a huge sigh of relief, I pulled my arms around front and massaged my wrists.

"We've gotta find her. She's lost it," I said. "No telling what she's gonna do next."

Tim reached over and brushed some gunk out of my hair. "Where do you think she went?"

"I don't know. She should be at work. She works that weekend schedule. Judging by the state she was in, I pretty much doubt it, though."

"Do you want me to call this in?"

"No! I want us to find her and get her some help. She needs help, Tim. I don't want her to feel any more cornered than she already does."

We looked at each other for a long time. "Tim, I'm scared. What if she, well, what if she hurts herself?"

He shook his head vigorously. "Don't even think about that. Not now. We need to be positive."

I agreed with him, but I couldn't seem to get those horrific thoughts completely out of my head. "We need to get going. You run by her house, I'll go to Charli's, see if she's heard anything. I'll call the hospital, too. See if Vanessa's there or if she called in."

He brushed at my hair some more. "What'd you do, wallow around in a spider web?"

We hopped in our vehicles and took off. I drove fairly slow, looking in all the parking lots and down every street for the maroon T-bird with the smashed in front bumper. The tears spilling down my face didn't help much.

# 30

As soon as I explained what happened, the Sheffield family swung into action. It was a sight to behold. Mom called Dad and told him to cancel their dinner plans. Charli had already started making calls, too. The first one, to the hospital, confirmed that Vanessa hadn't gone in to work. After that, we all began calling everybody we could think of who knew Vanessa. We had decided not to let on that there was a problem, so Mom came up with a lame story about Vanessa's toilet springing a leak and flooding her downstairs. No one questioned it.

The last person who'd seen her, before me, was her baby-sitter. Vanessa had taken her kids over there a couple of hours early, but the woman hadn't seen or heard from her since. She promised Charli that she'd call if she heard from Vanessa.

Mom, Dad, and Tim each took their cars and I took John's truck out to search around town. The four of us spent the rest of the night driving around and around, looking everywhere we could think of. By three A.M., we all converged back at Charli's

Absolutely exhausted, but unable to sleep, we sat in Charli's cozy family room and talked the rest of the night, trying to make sense of the senseless. Mom, Dad, and Tim resumed the search as soon as it began to get light out Saturday morning.

I slugged down another cup of coffee, used Charli's landline to call the guy in charge of our team, and told him I wasn't going to be able to make it to the charity softball event. After I bailed out of the game, I resumed my search for Vanessa. No sign of the maroon T-bird anywhere. I did see Fred Thompson unlocking the door to his shop, though. I wheeled into his lot and followed him inside, anxious to hear if Zach had gotten out of jail. Fred stood beside the desk, looking at some mail. He didn't seem to have heard me open the door.

"Hey there, Mr. Thompson. How's it going?" I said.

He turned around, startled. "Why, hello there, Marty. How are you doing? What brings you by?"

He folded the letter he'd been reading and stuck it in his shirt pocket. His hand trembled a little.

"I just wanted to check on Zach, see how he's doing. Is he still over at the lake?" I couldn't bring myself to mention the jail.

Fred looked pretty tired, like he'd been up all night, too. When I mentioned Zach, his eyes hardened and he clenched his jaw. I could see the cords of his neck straining against his green work shirt.

"Zach's gonna be all right," he said. "That worthless sheriff is keeping him locked up all weekend, but I've got my lawyers working on it. He'll get out first thing Monday morning. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it. Okay?"

I hated being patronized, but decided to let it slide. "Okay. Just tell him I'm thinking about him."

"Sure thing." He pulled the letter he'd been reading out of his pocket. He looked like he was anxious to get back to it.

I said good-bye, and started for the door. He told me to wait. "I almost forgot. I brought some stuff of yours down from the lake house," he said. "Some clothes and your purse. Figured you might need it. I know how you women are about your purses."

I let that one slide, too. Sometimes, I'm just too darned nice. "Thank you, I really appreciate your doing that." I waited for him to get my stuff.

He kept standing by the desk, holding the folded up letter.

I cleared my throat. "Uh, Mr. T? If you tell me where the stuff is, I can grab it and get out of your hair."

"Of course. Sorry. It's out in my trunk. Here, let's go get it." He stuck the letter back in his shirt pocket and went outside. I followed him to his car.

He opened the trunk. "Here you go."

I picked up my tote bag and clothes. "Well, I better run. Tell Zach I'll talk to him Monday."

Fred pulled the letter out of his pocket again and immediately opened it. Must have been the one notifying him he'd won the ten million dollar sweepstakes.

My phone, of course, was completely dead and my car charger was nowhere to be found. I stuffed it back in my bag and drove around to the side of the building to turn around. A blue van sitting behind Nancy Winslow's used car office caught my eye. I pulled over to where the van sat and parked next to it. I tried the van's doors. They were all locked. I shaded my eyes and peered inside. It was empty. I walked all around it.

"You looking to buy a van, Marty?" Nancy Winslow's gravelly voice came from behind me.

"Uh no, not really." I turned around to look at her.

I wondered if she knew about me and Vanessa being inside her house. "It's just that this one looks like Vanessa Young's. You haven't seen her by any chance, have you?"

Nancy studied me before answering. She wore khaki pants, a pink polo shirt, and that red floppy hat she'd been wearing a lot lately.

"No, haven't seen Vanessa since she brought this van in Wednesday and asked me if I'd buy it from her."

That took me by surprise. "Vanessa sold you her van?"

Nancy sucked on her lower lip and made sort of a half smile/half grimace. "Yes. I don't usually do stuff like that. Buy outright from folks, I mean, but she was really desperate. I felt sorry for the poor kid, so I gave her a good price for the van."

"What's she planning to do for a car?" I asked.

"I gave her a seventy-seven T-bird as part of the deal." Nancy dropped her eyes for a split second. "Hated to see her without transportation, you know."

"I'm sure she appreciated it. Listen, if you happen to see her, could you tell her I'm looking for her?"

"Sure thing." She waved as I left, the rings on her tiny hands sparkling in the sunlight.

I was almost all the way to the street when I realized she'd said Vanessa had sold her the van on Wednesday. I turned around and went back.

She was standing by her office door, watching me. I didn't get out of the truck. It was probably the only way I'd ever have a height advantage over her. She gave me a quizzical look.

"Nancy, you said Vanessa sold you the van on Wednesday. What time was that?"

She dropped her eyes down for a split second again, and then looked straight into mine. "It was right after Warren's visitation at the funeral home. Actually, we discussed the deal there at the visitation and then right after it ended, we came over here and made the trade. Why all the questions?"

So, it had been Vanessa who'd hit me. But why? Had something happened during the visitation that had made her go off her rocker?

"Just trying to figure what time it was that you last saw Vanessa."

"Is she missing?" Nancy asked. "Are you saying nobody's seen her since Wednesday night?"

"Oh no, nothing like that. It's just something personal between Vanessa and me, that's all. Don't worry about it," I said. "Thanks, Nancy, I gotta run. Talk to you later."

I drove off before she could ask me any more questions. I tried to keep looking for Vanessa after my talk with Nancy, but I could hardly keep my eyes open. I went back to Charli's instead, hoping one of the others had good news.

Charli, her three kids, and Vanessa's two were in her dining room staring up at the top of a tall antique pie safe. Two chairs lay on their sides, the centerpiece from the table was upside down on the floor, and two broken candlesticks lay beside it. Delbert perched on top of the pie safe, eyes half closed, watching Charli and the kids watch him.

"Hey, what's up?" I asked.

Charli glanced around at me. "He won't come down. We've tried everything. I even climbed up on a chair and tried to pick him up, but he hissed and swatted at me." She held up her arm and showed me the damage Delbert's razor sharp claws had done."What should we do?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? You mean just let him stay up there?"

"He'll come down when he gets hungry." Or, judging from the path of destruction, when the kids were at a safe distance. Like say, maybe, Mars.

I picked up Jaelyn and gave her a kiss. "Any news on Vanessa yet?"

Charli shot me a warning glance and put her finger to her lips. "Shh! Hey, y'all go out in the back yard and swing. Play nice, and we'll go to the pool after while," she said to the kids.

They tore off running, screaming at the top of their amazingly loud little lungs. Charli scooped Jaelyn up. "Not you, sweet-pea. You stay here with me."

Once the kids were outside, she told me there hadn't been any luck in finding Vanessa.

"Tim did find the car, though. It's parked down at the Glenside shopping center in front of Kroger's. He's taking turns with Dad and Mom watching it, hoping Vanessa decides to come back to pick it up."

"How come you have her kids?" I sat down on one of the dining room chairs.

"Her sitter had to go to a wedding today. I told her I'd keep them until Vanessa gets back." She sat down next to me, snuggling Jaelyn into her lap.

Delbert jumped off his perch and nuzzled my leg, meowing loudly. "See, told you," I said. I went in the kitchen to fix Delbert some food. Charli followed me.

While I opened the can, I told her about seeing Fred and about my conversation with Nancy.

"Nancy lied," Charli said immediately. "I saw Vanessa driving her van Thursday morning. When I came over to pick you up for the funeral, she was sitting at the stop light right behind me."

"She lied? I wonder why?"

"Obviously, she wants you to think that Vanessa was the one that hit you. Which means Nancy probably did it."

"You think she knew I was spying on her and Steve?"

"That's exactly what I think. I think she believes you know something incriminating about her and now she's out to get you." She looked worried. "Be careful Marty. Nancy's pretty scary. Plus, she might have been the one that set the fire. And killed Warren."

"I will. Be careful, I mean. Too many bad things have been happening the last few days." I yawned and stretched. "Listen, do you mind if I take a nap here? I've gotta work six to midnight tonight and I'm beat. I don't want to fall asleep on the air."

"Six to midnight? I thought you go on the air at seven."

"I do. I gotta be there at six, though. Prep time."

"Tell you what. I'll take the kids swimming, get them out of your hair. John's not due back until tonight. You'll have the place all to yourself."

After they left, I wandered around for a few minutes, trying to find the best place to lay down. Charli's house is like everything else in her life - perfect. I wandered into the master bedroom, turned the radio on and adjusted the volume so that it was playing softly, kicked off my shoes, and stretched out on the bed. Within seconds, I was asleep. About two hours later the kids burst into the room and woke me up.

"Aunt Marty, guess what," Mark screamed directly into my left ear, "it started fundering so we had to leave. Mom tooked us to get ice cream! We bringed you back some. And we rented a movie, too!"

The other four climbed up on the bed and started bouncing and screaming. I groaned and sat up.

Charli stood in the doorway, calmly watching. "Ice cream is in the freezer when you get hungry." She clapped her hands together with some sort of cupping action. Bomp! Bomp! "All right you little monkeys, let's go put that movie on. Aunt Marty needs to rest."

"Sorry we woke you up," Charli said, after they left. "I'm going to do a load of laundry. Do you want me to wash those clothes you had on last night?"

"That'd be great. Let me go get them." I got my shorts and the t-shirt I'd had on when Vanessa locked me in the shed and handed them to Charli. A few cobwebs clung to the shirt.

"Wait," I said, "there's some papers in there! In the back pocket of my shorts.

Charli pulled out the two pieces of paper. She glanced at the first one and handed it to me. "Where'd you get these?" she asked.

"They fell out of that shoe box Vanessa was carrying when she pulled the gun on me." I looked at the paper she'd handed me. "What are all these numbers on here?"

Charli held up her hand. She was reading the other one, a newspaper clipping. She sat down on the edge of the bed and began shaking her head while she read. Suddenly, her eyes got wide. "This is incredible. Here, read it." She handed me the clipping.

I sat down next to her and read it. She watched me anxiously, barely able to contain herself from talking about it. When I finished reading it, our eyes met and we just sat there staring at each other, shaking our heads, not quite believing what we'd learned.

# 31

"This is too wild." I said. "I can't believe it. No wonder Vanessa is running around with a gun, locking people in sheds. Do you think he's still alive?"

Charli brushed at the tears slipping down her cheek. "I don't know what it means. I sure hope we can find Vanessa soon, though. I'm terribly worried about her, especially after reading that."

According to the article, O'Del Young, Vanessa's husband had been in a car accident up in Michigan eight and a half months ago, but he hadn't even been hurt in the wreck, much less killed.

I re-read one part of it out loud. "When police arrived at the scene of the minor accident, they discovered that the driver of the car, Mr. Young, was not wearing any pants. The seventeen year old female passenger, who has an extensive police record for prostitution, protested that they were conducting a scientific experiment. Mr. Young was charged with public nudity. Other charges are pending." There was a small picture of O'Del below the headline.

A few minutes later, Mom came by to tell us that they hadn't had any luck with the stake out and had pretty much decided to hang it up. We showed her the newspaper clipping. She was stunned, too.

"That poor child," Mom said, "I wonder where she got this?"

"I don't know, but the shoe box she had was full of papers. Another one fell out too. I'm not sure what it is."

I handed the other piece of paper to Mom. "Ever seen anything like this?"

"I think it's a betting slip," she said. "Although I've never seen one that looks like this. We should ask your Dad or John. There's always betting pools and stuff going around out at the tire plant."

"Do you think we should turn these over to Tim?" Charli said.

"No way," I said. "I don't want him to go into his 'cop mode'. Let's find Vanessa first, find out what's going on."

"I agree. To a point," Mom said. "But if we don't find Vanessa by tomorrow morning, we really should bring in the police. I'm starting to get very frightened."

"Okay," I said. "I'll go along with that."

I had to go to work -- my regular Saturday night show -- but I knew it was going to be a tough shift. My mind was definitely not going to be on my work.

Normally, Saturday's show is my favorite. I play the regular hot hits for the first hour, do a request line for a couple of hours, then play old stuff -- Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn, George Jones, 'Whispering' Bill Anderson, Kitty Wells, The Carter Family -- all of the great artists who made me fall in love with country music, for the rest of the shift. I figure one of these days, Georgina is going to get with the times and kill the show, but for now, it was the bright spot of my job.

I spent about forty-five minutes prepping before time to go on the air. I'd just grabbed a couple of candy bars and a soda from the break room and was heading for the booth when I saw Herb coming toward me like a man possessed. Exactly who he was possessed by, I couldn't be sure, but I don't think it was Elvis.

Unfortunately, there wasn't any place to hide. He stuck his hand out and grabbed my arm. "Marty, doll! Effing brilliant!"

Spit flew from the corners of his mouth. "This stuff just keeps getting better and better. I mean first that dead guy thingie, then coming up with a fire! It's just great, effing great!"

He'd apparently visited the pizza place for another dose of double garlic and anchovy pizza. I backed up. He put his other hand out and grabbed my shoulder, keeping me too close for comfort. Tonight's ensemble, evidently chosen for a special occasion, consisted of a purple and green jacket decorated with music notes, purple pants, also heavily decorated, green snakeskin boots, and a green and purple striped bolo tie with a clasp shaped like a note. He was so excited the bolo was swinging from side to side, undulating like a cobra's head.

"Uh Herb, I hate to break this to you, but I didn't exactly 'come up with' a fire. I almost lost my life in that fire. I'd really rather not talk about it, if you don't mind." I tried to break free so I could get out of the spit firing range, but he had my shoulder in a vise-like grip.

He looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "So. It don't effing matter who come up with it. Fact is, it's brilliant. Just plain brilliant."

He let go of me and danced a little bit of Ricky Ray's line dance from the 'Hot Blooded Woman..." video. "Lemme see you do that." He looked at me expectantly.

"What?" I asked, backing up so he couldn't grab me again.

"That dance. The one I just did." He kindly demonstrated again. "Lemme see you do it."

"No. I don't dance." I backed up a couple more steps. He moved closer.

"Aw, come on. It's easy. See." He did the moves again, this time grabbing my hand and pulling me toward him.

I jerked my hand away. "I said no. I don't like to dance. Listen, I've got to get on the air. Maybe we can finish this later."

He stopped dancing and glanced at his watch, also shaped like the music note. "Nah, you got plenty of time. Just hear me out. Here's what I'm thinking."

Herb, thinking? Now that was a scary proposition.

"I'm thinking we can parlay this effing fire thingie onto the dead guy thingie and really get us a heavy duty marketing theme."

I started shaking my head as hard as I could. "Oh no, no, no, no! This is not going to be turned into one of your lame publicity stunts. I will not do anything crass and unprofessional."

He held up his hands in front of him. "Now, now. Just bear with me a minute. You been wanting that three to seven drive shift something awful, ain't you?" He winked at me.

"Just hear me out, doll. I might be able to pull a few strings. You know what I mean?" He winked again. "You sure you can't dance? All right. I'll figure out something else. Let's see."

He shook his body around from side-to-side. Everything jiggled. "Yes! I got it." He used his fingers to draw a TV screen in the air. "Picture this. You, in a bikini, standing in one a them green trash thingies, fire licking up all around you. We'll get permission to use "Hot Blooded Woman" \-- you can sweet talk Ricky Ray into it -- for the background. Then, in your sexiest, take-me-I'm-yours voice, you say, 'WRRR, Hoooot Hits to Heeeat You Up'."

"Are you out of your ever lovin' mind? For Christ's sake, Herb! That's the stupidest, tackiest, thing I've ever heard you say! Not to mention the fact that I've already told you, I'm not putting on a bikini. End of conversation!"

He looked hurt. "What? You don't like it? Listen, babe, if it's the choice of music, we can work something out. It don't gotta be 'Hot Blooded Woman...'."

"It's not the music! It's the whole ridiculous thing! Don't you get it, Herb? Are you that far gone? You're talking about exploiting a murder. One person is dead. He had a family. People who loved him. Two other people -- including me -- were almost killed in that fire. These are real, Herb. Real tragedies. Not schemes dreamed up for the purpose of promoting a radio station!"

I took a deep breath. "No more. I can't listen to any more of this crap. I gotta get on the air."

He wasn't listening. He'd started doing that bizarre shadow boxing thing he does to help him 'think'. "Okay," he said, "don't get your effing tush in a tangle. I'm thinking. I'm thinking. Let's see. Songs. What other songs are there that might fit? What's the angle. Fire. Trash cans. Hmmm."

I scooted around him and dashed down the hall to the broadcast studio. I slid into the on-air chair with four seconds to spare.

# 32

I'd never fallen asleep on the air before -- it's sort of a DJ's nightmare kind of thing -- but I guess there's a first time for everything. I still can't believe it happened. The worst part about it? Dead air for several minutes. It's a good thing I'd forgotten to put my phone on silent. Otherwise, I might still be sleeping, snoring away.

I puched some buttons, pattered on randomly, and got the station on the air. My cell stopped ringing, but the booth phone light was blinking. I braced myself, figuring it was Herb, calling to yell at me for the dead air.

"Hello. Uh, I mean, WRRR, this is Magnificent Marty. Talk to me." I said.

The voice was muffled. "Stop messing where you ain't got no business, or you'll be sorry." Whoever it was hung up right away.

I didn't think a whole lot about it. At least at first. DJs get crank calls all the time. When the second one came in, I started to get an uneasy feeling. By the time I hung up from the third one, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was more than just a prank.

I jotted down the number off the caller-id screen. We've been begging Herb to put in a better security system, but he says Georgina doesn't want to lay out the bucks. Sadly, he's probably right. I put on the next song and called Tim.

He answered on the third ring. "You want me to check it out?" he asked, after I'd told him about the phone call.

"Please." I gave him the number.

"You staying at Charli's again tonight?"

"Yes. Will you come over here and follow me to her house? I'm really scared."

"It's about time you got scared," he said roughly. His voice softened. "Of course I'll come over. Wait for me inside."

Somehow, I made it through the rest of the shift. When I turned over the chair to the overnight guy, I felt completely drained. I grabbed my bag and went out to the lobby. Tim was just outside the entrance door, leaning against the wall, his hands jammed down in his pockets. He had on a pair of shorts, a faded blue t-shirt, and a GPD hat pulled low over his eyes. He grinned when he saw me.

I went out the door. "Thanks, pal."

He tilted the hat back on his head so I could see his eyes. "No big deal."

I grabbed him and gave him a quick little hug. "Yes, it is a big deal. I mean, it seems like every time I turn around, I'm having to get you to come rescue me. I just want you to know that I really do appreciate it. You're a real good guy. I don't know what I'd do without you."

I stood on my tiptoes so I could kiss him on the cheek. Just as I moved in to kiss him, he turned his head and the kiss landed on his lips. I pulled my head back and looked at him. He blushed.

"Sorry. Accident." he said, stammering. He jerked away and backed up.

I fiddled with the straps of my bag, not able to meet his eyes. "So, you wanna follow me or should I follow you?" What else could I say?

"You lead; I'll follow."

When we got to Charli's house, I went inside and grabbed a couple of bottles of beer and a bag of chips. Tim waited on her front porch. Charli's house was dark, except for the porch light and a light over the kitchen sink. She'd left a note for me on the counter, telling me I could sleep on the sofa bed in the family room. I tip-toed back outside.

"Here." I handed Tim one of the beers and sat on the steps next to him.

It was a steamy, sultry night. The neighborhood was quiet. A light foggy haze around the street lights diffused the glow. I leaned back on my elbows and looked up at the sky. I picked out the brightest star and squeezed my eyes shut. "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight," I chanted, "please let Vanessa be okay."

I opened my eyes and looked over at Tim. He was peeling the label off his beer bottle.

"I hope we find her," I said.

"Me too. I'm going to file the report first thing in the morning."

"Sounds like a plan." I took a sip of my beer and looked back up at the sky. A few clouds partially obscured the stars. It didn't look like rain.

"I almost forgot to tell you," Tim said. "Those phone calls, they came from a disposable cell phone. One of those you get at the convenience store."

"Well, poop. I was hoping you'd find out who made them."

He ripped open the bag of chips and scarfed down a handful. "Sorry."

"Me too." I stifled a yawn. "I'm going to have to get some sleep."

"Sure thing. I'll see you tomorrow."

I drained the rest of my beer and stood up. "Thanks for coming to my rescue. Again."

He stood up and handed me the bag of chips. "Anytime. Uh, Marty, uh, about that, uh, about, you know, before..."

I waved my hand. "Don't worry about it. Accidents happen. I know it didn't mean anything."

He did the guppy impression, looked down, swallowed hard, then looked back up at me. "Yeah. Sure. Okay. So long as you know that. G'nite."

I stood inside the front door and watched him drive away. In fact, I stood there for a long time after he disappeared from sight. Watching. Wondering.

It started at five thirty in the morning. First, little Jaelyn woke up. I have to admit, she was pretty sweet. I could hear her chattering to her dolls for about forty-five minutes. At six-fifteen, it stopped being cute. Some sort of internal alarm apparently went off.

"Up!" she yelled. "Momma, want up. Daddy, want up. Up! Want up!"

I pulled the pillow over my head and tried to ignore her. Delbert, sensing a serious possibility of getting food, hopped up on the bed, meowed loudly, and batted at my head. All the noise woke Kevin, Mark, and Vanessa's two kids. They clamored down the hall and into the family room, hollering in their high-pitched, kid voices. All four of them piled on top of me and started tickling..

"Off! Get off! All of you. Right now!" I couldn't stop laughing.

Charli stuck her head around the doorway. "Hey! Y'all settle down. Geez, Marty, did you have to get them so wound up so early in the morning?"

I threw my pillow at her. She ducked back out in the hallway, laughing. I randomly tickled a kid or two, tossed back the covers, and escaped from the wriggly, giggly tangle of kid arms and legs.

Charli was in the kitchen making a pot of coffee. She gave me a big smile. "I probably should have warned you about my littlest angel."

"She gets up this early every morning?" I asked.

"Every. Single. Morning." She poured us each a glass of juice. "Are you going to Mass with us this morning?"

"I don't think so. I'd probably fall asleep. I'll go to the eleven o'clock service." I sipped my juice. "Did John make it back?"

"No. He had a late meeting. He should be back sometime this afternoon." She handed me a pesto bagel slathered with cream cheese.

"Tim's going to file a missing persons report on Vanessa this morning. I guess we have to tell him about that newspaper clipping and that other piece of paper I found. Did Daddy know what it was?"

"He said Mom was right. Said it was some sort of betting slip. Where do you suppose it came from?"

I shrugged. "I don't have a clue."

The kids were running around squealing and yelling, as usual. I don't know how Charli can stand all that noise all the time. My head was killing me. She settled the five of them around the table with bowls of cereal and juice in spill-proof cups. I downed the rest of my bagel and poured another cup of coffee.

I desperately needed ibuprofen. I went in the family room and dug down in my tote to find some. It was like looking for a logical thought in one of Herb's marketing schemes. I ended up dumping everything out on the bed.

Zach's pictures lay in the midst of all my junk. "Shoot! I must of stuck those in by mistake," I said to Delbert.

I pulled the pictures out and looked through them again. The one of Steve and Zach depressed me. Zach looked so happy and carefree. I hoped that he was okay. I decided to call Fred later on and check.

There were several pictures that I hadn't looked at before. They were mostly group shots: team members clowning around, accepting their trophy, that sort of thing. All except the last one, that is.

"Charli. Hey, Charli, look at this."

She leaned against the counter, sipping her coffee and watching the kids eat. "You look like you won the lottery or something. What's up?"

"Here. Look at this picture." I handed her the snapshot.

Her eyes bugged out. "Where did you get this?"

"Zach's car. When we were going up to the lake. I was looking at them but we got to their place before I got all the way through the stack. I stuck them down in my tote bag by accident."

Charli was still staring at the picture. "Zach took this? I find that hard to believe."

"No. He said Beth was using his camera some that day. She probably took it." I pulled the picture out of Charli's hand and looked at it again. "Do you think that Fred and..." I couldn't finish the sentence.

Charli chuckled. "Well, I wouldn't want to make any bets based on this, but they say a picture is worth a thousand words."

"That's what I think, too." I took the picture back from Charli. "Do you think I oughta ask her?"

"I don't know. Why don't you run it by Tim, see what he thinks."

"No. You know Tim. He'll want to turn it over to Detective Luray. I don't want to do that yet. I mean, it might not be what it looks like."

We finished drinking our coffee and discussed the amazing photograph. The one of Nancy Winslow and Fred Thompson sharing a passionate kiss.

# 33

By the time Charli and the kids left for church I felt like I'd ran a marathon and rode in the Tour du France all in the same day. As soon as they were all in the van I collapsed on the sofa for about an hour, trying unsuccessfully to sleep. Nothing doing. Not with Vanessa still missing and that photo of Nancy and Fred on my mind.

I decided to go home, change clothes, and then see if I could find out if Nancy and Fred were having an affair. How I was going to find out, I didn't know, but surely I'd think of something. The drive home was uneventful. No wrecks, no fires, no good songs playing on the radio.

I parked the big black pickup in front of my building and picked up the kitty carrier. Delbert seemed pretty happy to be getting away from all the kids. He'd been rubbed and petted a whole lot more than normal the last couple of days and had developed a nervous twitch whenever he heard Jaelyn's voice. I shifted his carrier to my left hand and unlocked the apartment door.

It looked okay, nothing really out of place, but it definitely made me feel uncomfortable when I realized that my shower was running. I certainly hadn't left it that way and, as far as I knew, Tim was at work and Zach was still tucked away in the Lake County jail.

I know I should have called Tim, but the water cut off just then. I set Delbert's cage down on the floor and rummaged around in the coat closet for a weapon. The only thing remotely suitable was an old warped tennis racket.

My heart pounded and my knees shook. I crept over by the bathroom door and positioned myself for attack. This stuff was really starting to get on my nerves. I heard the water faucet in the sink come on and the sounds of teeth being brushed. The water went off. A few seconds passed.

The doorknob turned. I held my breath and raised the tennis racket. The door creaked as it swung open. I let out my breath and got ready to bean whoever came out. The tennis racket just missed her.

"Vanessa! It's you! We've been looking everywhere for you!" The tennis racket clattered to the floor.

She jumped back and screamed. "What the heck, Marty! You scared the crap out of me!"

She wore one of my t-shirts -- my favorite George Strait one -- and a pair of shorts, which she'd cinched up with a belt. She looked exhausted.

"You've been here the whole time?"

"No. I was going to leave town, but that piece of crap car Nancy gave me started acting funny. I left it in the Kroger parking lot and came up through the woods. I was just so tired and I didn't know where else to go. I sort of thought I might hide out in the clubhouse for awhile. When I realized you weren't home, I got your key out from under Rowena's mat and let myself in."

She looked around nervously. "Is anybody with you? Tim, Charli, your mom?"

"Just Delbert. Weren't you afraid I'd come home and find you here?"

"No. I, look, I'm sorry about everything, but I gotta get out of here." She pushed past me and went in the bedroom.

The gun. She had a gun. Where was it? I followed her in the bedroom. She sat on my bed and put on her tennis shoes. The gun wasn't anywhere in sight. Her purse was on my dresser, next to the shoe box. I slowly circled over toward it. She leaped off the bed and beat me to it. I was surprised when she grabbed the shoe box and left the purse sitting there.

I picked up the purse and looked in it. No gun.

"What on earth do you think you're doing, Marty?"

I turned around to face her. "Where's the gun?"

"Gone." A nervous glance around the room.

"Gone? Gone where?"

"Just gone. Look, thanks for everything, I'm sorry about all the trouble, but I've really got to scoot."

"What about your kids. Aren't you worried about them?"

Tears welled up in her eyes. "Of course I'm worried about them. What kind of person do you think I am? It's just, well, I need some time to figure some stuff out. I've got problems, big problems, that I need to solve. Once I take care of everything, I'll make it all up to them."

"What sort of problems?"

"Just problems. Listen, Marty, this is none of your business, you know?"

"Yes, Vanessa, it is my business. You've made it my business." I put my hand on her arm. "Honey, please. Let me help you."

"No. No one can help me." She shook her head sadly. "No one."

"Why don't you let me try? I'm a good listener."

She shook her head again and walked over to the door.

I was getting desperate. "Is it about O'Del?"

She turned around and glared at me. "O'Del? How could it be about O'Del? He's dead."

I pulled the newspaper clipping out of my tote bag and unfolded it. "No. I don't think so. I don't think O'Del is dead."

I held the clipping up so she could see it. She sank to the floor, looking defeated. "How much?"

"What? How much? What are you talking about?"

"How much do you want to keep quiet?"

"Oh, sweetie, no. I don't want anything from you. I just want to help you. Why would you think I'd want money?"

"Everybody else does."

"Everybody else? Like who?" I went over and knelt down beside her. "Who, Vanessa? Who wants money from you?"

No answer.

"Vanessa," I said again, louder this time, "who wants money from you?"

"I can't tell you," she whispered.

"Please, Vanessa. You've got to tell me. What is going on?"

She hugged the shoe box to her and just sat there staring at the floor. Finally, she looked at me and started talking. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"It all started when O'Del lost his job. He looked real hard at first, but after a couple of months he got really discouraged. We fought constantly. He'd hang out on the couch all day, watching TV, eating junk food, and not doing a thing to help with the kids. I guess it was about six months later that I realized he was gambling."

She shook her head. "I don't know, maybe I should have noticed it earlier, but that's when it started getting bad. I tried to use a credit card to buy some shoes and they wouldn't accept it. I tried another one. Same thing. I started checking and found out he'd maxed out all the credit cards getting cash advances. Cashed in our insurance policies. Used all our savings. Even the kid's savings bonds. We'd gotten an equity line on the house when we bought the van and he even maxed it out."

Her voice grew louder with each word. I sat down on the floor beside her and leaned back against the wall.

"He ruined our credit rating. Spent everything we'd worked so hard for, and when I confronted him, he had the nerve to blame it all on me. Can you believe it?"

I didn't say anything, just waited for the rest.

"Anyway, there I was, working my butt off, taking care of the house and the kids, and he starts this crap. Calling me frigid, screaming at me all the time. Stuff like that. I finally told him to either shape up or get out. I even went to see a lawyer.

"That seemed to shake him up. He found a job. It wasn't much -- he was going to be selling industrial cleaning supplies on a commission only basis -- but it was a start. He went up to Michigan for training. At least that's what he told me."

She stopped and stared down at the shoe box for a long time. "That's when it happened," she said, so quietly I could barely hear her.

"What happened, hon?"

Tears dripped down her face. I went in the bathroom and grabbed a box of tissues. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

I asked her again. "What happened, Vanessa?"

"You know."

"The only thing I know is what you've told me and what I read in that article," I said.

"Promise you won't tell anyone. Please, Marty! You have to promise."

I didn't want to promise, but what choice did I have? "Okay. I guess I promise."

"Well, you know about the wreck. O'Del wasn't even hurt, much less killed. The police arrested him, but he pretty much got off with a slap on the wrist. I went up there. Tried to talk to him. And you know what that worthless piece of crap did? He ran off with that seventeen year old hooker. I didn't know what to do. Then I thought about just killing him off.

Shock. "You what?"

"Not literally. I don't even know where he is. I just came back here, told everybody he'd been died, and had the memorial service. No one asked any questions or anything. It was perfect. The way I figured it was, that if I could pull it off, the kids wouldn't find out what a louse their daddy turned out to be."

She wiped at her eyes with the tissue. I took one from her and wiped mine too.

"Anyway, it was okay for a couple of months. I kept waiting for somebody to find out. I couldn't believe no one ever checked my story. It took a while, but I started to feel safe. I was really struggling with all the bills and everything, but I was making it. I thought it was all going to work out okay. Was I ever a fool."

She shredded her tissue. "It was back in June. One night Warren showed up at the house with this shoe box full of stuff. He made a great production out of it all. Betting slips, IOUs, pictures of O'Del getting coked up. Then he pulled out the newspaper clipping. Wouldn't you know it, his Grandma Turner used to live in that little town in Michigan and she still took the paper so she could keep up with all her old friends. He knew everything, Marty, absolutely everything.

"It started off small. At first, he just came over to talk. Then he started wanting sex. Eventually, he demanded money. Lot's of it. More than once, I thought about just telling everybody the truth. But I couldn't. I just couldn't."

"Of course you could have. Nobody would have blamed you." I regretted those words as soon as I said them.

She snorted. "Get real, Marty. Everybody in town would just ignore the fact that I pretended my husband was dead, held a memorial service, and went around pretending to be a widow. I don't think so."

She had a point.

"So, Wart was blackmailing you." I tried to think of a delicate way to ask her if she'd killed him. Finally I just blurted it out.

She looked appalled. "Kill Warren? You think I killed him?" She stood up and paced around the room.

"God, what a mess. What am I gonna do? If you think I killed him, everybody else will too!"

"But you didn't."

"No. I didn't." She sat down next to me and grabbed both my hands. "Marty, you have to believe me. Please."

I believed her. I told her so.

"Thanks. I really needed to hear that."

"The thing is, if you didn't kill him, who did?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. To be honest, I don't really care. I know that sounds cold, but I'm glad he's dead. He made my life even more hellish than it already was. I ended up having to sell my furniture to pay him off. And it didn't stop. The more I paid, the more he wanted."

"Is that why you took the watch?"

"That's part of it. He owed me, you know. At least that's the way I saw it at the time. I mean, I barely had enough money to feed my kids and there he was wearing a fancy Rolex watch. I gotta tell you, when I looked in that trash can and saw that it was Warren, I felt so relieved. It didn't last though."

"Why? What happened?"

"Nancy cornered me at the funeral home the other night. She said she had something to talk to me about. I couldn't imagine what it was. We walked out to the cemetery and she said that she had found something that might interest me."

"The box?"

"Yes. She wanted seven thousand dollars to keep it all a secret. I flipped out. I didn't have seven thousand dollars. She said she'd work something out."

"Your van! That's why she has your van."

"That's why she took my van. She gave me that raggy old T-bird."

"When did you make the trade?"

"Thursday morning. Before the funeral."

So Charli was right; Nancy had lied. No surprise there.

"That's why you were at her house Friday? So she couldn't blackmail you anymore?"

"She came over Friday morning and demanded that I give her another five thousand dollars, otherwise, she'd go public. She said she was going to give it all to Giselle St. James. I decided to try and find it. It was pretty easy. She left her back door unlocked. The box of stuff was in her bedroom closet. Along with the gun."

"But I still don't understand why you ran off."

"I couldn't take the chance that Nancy would find me and get the box back. That's why I took the gun. She scares me. I think she killed Warren." She hesitated. "Are you mad at me for locking you in the shed?"

"Weren't you afraid Nancy would come home and find me in there?"

"Come on, Marty. I didn't tie you up that tight. I figured you'd be out of there in about ten minutes. All I wanted was a head start. Forgive me?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. I guess I forgive you."

She smiled. "That's all I can ask for."

I stood up and reached down toward her. She took my hand and I pulled her to her feet.

"Come on in here and I'll make some coffee. Maybe we can figure out how to get you out of this mess."

I let Delbert out of his cage and went in the kitchen. She sat on my sofa, absentmindedly rubbing Delbert's head while I made the coffee. I stood in the doorway and watched her while it brewed.

"Are you hungry?" I asked.

"Starving."

I scrounged in my freezer and found some frozen waffles. I toasted them, dumped some syrup over them and took them in to her.

"Here you... "

Vanessa pointed the gun at my chest. "I'm sorry, Marty. I really hate to do this, but I've got to go. I need to take care of this once and for all." She grabbed one of the waffles off the plate and stuffed it in her mouth. "Remember, you promised not to tell anybody."

I guess all those years of hanging around Tim finally sunk in. I opened and closed my mouth several times, not able to say a thing.

"Give me your keys," she said.

I shook my head.

She bobbed the gun up and down. "Give me your freaking keys. And your cell phone."

I handed her the keys to the truck and my phone.

"Thanks for listening," she said. "You helped me figure out what I need to do. And, tell the kids I love them. I'll be back as soon as I get this mess all straightened out."

She backed out the door, then turned and ran down to the truck. I finally got my brain to make a connection to the rest of my body and ran over to the phone to call Tim, once more grateful I still had a landline. He didn't answer. I tried Charli. Ditto. I ran out the door. John's truck disappeared out of sight.

"Damn! Damn, damn, damn!"

I turned to go back inside.

"Hey, Marty," Tim called out.

He pulled into the parking space the truck had been in. I ran over and jumped in the passenger side. "Drive!"

"Drive? Where?"

"Go out to Main Street. Look for John's truck."

He backed out and drove toward Main. I told him what had happened. Sort of. In spite of everything, I'd made a promise to Vanessa, and besides, Tim is a cop. No sense making things worse.

"See if you can catch up and follow her."

When we got to Main, the truck was nowhere in sight.

"What do we do now?" Tim asked.

"I don't know," I said. "I just don't know."

We spent a couple of hours driving around, looking for Vanessa. She wasn't at Nancy Winslow's. Neither was Nancy. Beth Turner said she hadn't seen Vanessa since the funeral home visitation. Vanessa and the black truck seemed to have disappeared into thin air. It looked like we were back to square one. Or maybe negative one.

One good thing did happen, though. I yelled at Tim for not getting to my place sooner. He yelled at me for leaving my apartment key in such an obvious place. Things between us were blessedly back to normal.

# 34

John wasn't even mad at me for losing his truck. Charli, on the other hand, was royally ticked off at me for losing Vanessa. I hadn't told the whole story -- after all, I'd promised Vanessa -- but I did say that I'd spoken to Vanessa and that she'd sort of 'borrowed' John's truck for a 'little while'.

"Why on earth did you let her go? She's obviously unstable. We really need to get her some help. Come on, Marty, how could you be so stupid?"

"I'm not stupid! For goodness sake, Charli, she had a gun!" Oops. Just as I spit that out, the phone rang.

It was Vanessa. She talked to Charli. She talked to her kids. She talked to me. She talked to Charli again. In the end, Charli agreed to keep Vanessa's kids for a few days and Vanessa promised not to do anything foolish. I sure hoped her definition of foolish was at least in the same neighborhood as ours.

We were still worried, but we realized we were going to have to let it go for the time being. Tim said she was no longer missing, she hadn't committed a crime, (unless I wanted to have her arrested for locking me in the shed at gun point or for stealing John's truck. I didn't) and, after all, she was an adult.

That night, Tim took me to work, picked me back up when I finished my shift at midnight, and then took me home and slept on my sofa. He woke me up at six thirty Monday morning to tell me he was leaving for work. At nine, the doorbell rang. I put my pillow over my head. It kept ringing.

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Keep your pants on."

It was Zach. He looked good. Virginia Tech t-shirt, khaki shorts, Tevas, and a big, twinkly smile. So, so good.

After a few minutes of enthusiastic greetings, we went inside and sat on the sofa.

"You survived," I said. Real astute.

"I did. They were pretty nice to me, actually. I'm supposed to go to court in a couple of weeks, but we might plea bargain it out before then. I'll probably have to pay a fine and issue a formal apology. Do some community service. Anything's better than more jail time."

"I'm just glad you're okay. I missed you."

After several more minutes of showing him how much, I told him about my weekend.

"You'd have been safer sitting in jail with me."

"Maybe not safer, but definitely happier."

He grinned wickedly. "Definitely not safer. Come here and I'll show you how we would have passed the time."

He was showing me quite nicely when the doorbell rang. "Crap," we said, simultaneously.

It was Mom. She had a huge pile of clothes across her arm.

"I brought these over for you to try on." She pushed past me and headed toward my bedroom, still talking the whole time. "I want you to look extra nice for the party tonight. By the way, I made an appointment for you to get your hair, nails, and makeup done."

She came back into the living room minus the pile of clothes. "It's at four." That's when she noticed Zach.

She took one look at his disheveled shirtless appearance and me in my robe and arched a carefully shaped eye-brow. "Well," she said. That's all. Just 'well'.

"Hello there, Mrs. Sheffield," Zach said. "Nice to see you. Sorry to run off so soon, Marty, but I really have to be going. I'll see you tonight." He stood up, pulled his shirt on, high-tailed it out the door.

I watched him wistfully. With a big sigh, I turned back around to face Mom. "What?"

The rest of the day was a big blur. I tried on eighteen dresses. Sorted through three hundred songs looking for music I wanted played at the party. (Arranging for a DJ had been at the top of my to-do list. The play list was supposed to have been done a week ago. The day I found Wart's body.) Spent an hour and a half at the salon. Wondered what Destiny and her minions had up their sleeve.

I got home just in time to change into the dress Mom and I had compromised on and hoof it over to the hotel. Charli had turned the ballroom at the local Holiday Inn into a balloon and flower-filled paradise.

A huge table overflowing with all kinds of hors d'oeuvres sat in the center of the room. There was a bar on each end of the room, a table holding a beautiful cake off to one side, and several big round tables for people to sit at when they weren't dancing. It looked like an elegant wedding reception. And in many ways, it was one. Mom and Dad had eloped and had never had a party to celebrate.

At about ten 'til seven, the first guests began to arrive. In lieu of gifts, we'd asked that they come prepared with an anecdote for a video scrapbook. I helped the videographer figure out where to set up and discussed the play list with the DJ I'd hired. Charli and John ran around taking care of the last minute details while Mom and Dad greeted their guests. Dad looked elegant in a black tux with a crimson cummerbund and tie set that exactly matched the color of Mom's silk dress. She looked even more gorgeous than normal. They both beamed.

Zach arrived about seven-fifteen. He had on a light tan summer weight suit that looked so good, I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

He kissed me. "You look beautiful. I like that dress. Shows off your legs."

"Thanks. I had to do some serious talking to get Mom to agree to it. You wouldn't believe what she had picked out. She wanted me to wear one like Charli's."

We both looked over to where my sister stood. She looked really pretty in an ivory linen suit. The skirt was just above her knees and the jacket fit loosely. My dress was black, short, and a wee bit tight.

"I like the one you have on better," Zach said. "Much better."

His mom arrived about fifteen minutes later. Alone. She looked sober, but she headed to the bar first thing. Zach left me to go after her. He sat her down at a table and fixed her a plate of food. He had just given the plate to Roberta when Fred walked in.

Roberta dropped the plate, spilling food all over the floor. Fred didn't even look at his wife or son, choosing instead to talk to Steve LeFever and Beth Turner, who had arrived together. Zach frantically tried to clean up the mess. Roberta stared at Fred. Fred ignored her.

Nancy Winslow waltzed in while Zach was scrubbing at the carpet. She carefully avoided Fred, Roberta, and Zach. Fred shot her a nasty look, but kept his distance. I fought off a brief panic attack, remembering the fight at the remote broadcast and hoped that they didn't decide to resume their feud right away.

Charli appeared from behind me. "Do you realize that one of these people is most likely a murderer?" she said.

"Pretty scary, hunh?"

She scanned the crowd. "Which one do you think it is?"

"I don't know. Nancy, maybe?"

"Nancy. That's who I think it is, too. I decided that I'm going to get the goods on her tonight."

I looked at my sister carefully. No overt signs of mental illness. "Are you nuts? If you ruin this party, Mom will kill you. Absolutely kill you."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going to ruin the party." She nibbled on a mini egg roll. "I showed that betting slip to John. He heard a rumor that Nancy was in cahoots with somebody and they were running a betting ring. And that they were maybe fixing local softball games. I think Warren was her partner. All I've got to do is get some sort of proof. I've got my phone ready so I can record her confession when I confront her with the slip."

Had my sister become an alien-infested pod person? "Charli, you've really lost it this time. What makes you think Nancy is going to confess to you? She's more likely to pound you into the ground. Does John know about this little plan of yours?"

"Of course not. He'd try and put a stop to it. You know how he is."

"He's not the only one that's going to put a stop to it. Give me the betting slip. Now! If you don't, I'm going to tell Mom."

"No."

"Yes! Give it to me."

"No." Charli's voice rang out over the music.

"Girls, what is the meaning of this?" Mom said.

Charli and I glared at each other. "Nothing," we said at the same time.

Mom sent Charli on a mission to talk to the caterer. "Here, I'll hold your purse," I said to Charli, before she could get away. I grabbed her bag. She tried to jerk it out of my reach, but Mom's look was enough to change her mind. She reluctantly handed me the ivory leather purse.

As soon as she was out of sight I switched the paper to my purse, turned off Charli's phone, and went to the lobby for some fresh air. Tim and Detective Theresa Luray were in front of the entrance to the hotel restaurant, hugging. I turned to go back into the ballroom, hoping they wouldn't see me. They did.

"Marty, come here," Tim said.

"Hello, Marty," the detective said. "It's nice to see you again." She smiled.

I mumbled a hello. A really good looking man called for Tim.

"Excuse me. I'll be right back," he said.

Theresa watched him walk away, smiling that ever-present smile of hers. "Isn't he just the greatest?" she said.

"The greatest." Okay, so I might have sounded just a wee bit sarcastic.

She cocked an eyebrow at me. "You don't agree? Well, that's too bad. He certainly thinks the world of you."

"No, no. It's not that. I think Tim's fine. Really. I'm sure you'll be very happy. Oh, he has some bad habits, but who doesn't? He has really lousy taste in music. Did you know he whistles while he's driving? Barry Manilow. He also likes Donny Osmond. You know, that really old stuff from when he was a teen idol? He drools when he sleeps, too. He never remembers to put the toilet seat down. I tell him all the time he needs to...."

Theresa had her head cocked to the side and a puzzled smile. Why was she looking at me like that? She looked over my shoulder and positively beamed. Tim and the man who had called to him joined us. My face felt like I'd sat under a sun lamp too long. How much had Tim heard?

He scowled at me. Not a good sign. The other man put his arm around Theresa Luray's shoulders. It was my turn to look puzzled. He smiled at me.

"I don't believe we've met," he said.

"Michael, this is Marty Sheffield. Tim's friend. Marty, this is my fiancé, Michael Yancey."

Her fiancé? When did she get a fiancé?

"They just got engaged tonight," Tim said. "Isn't that great?" He smiled.

Michael smiled. Theresa smiled. Marty felt like crawling under the rug, but, being a well-brought-up young southern lady, smiled too.

"Congratulations." I managed to stammer it out before I excused myself and high-tailed it to the restroom to try and get my size seven-and-a-half black leather Aerosole out of my mouth.

# 35

I turned the doorknob and pushed open the restroom door. Only thing, I got the wrong door. The door I opened was to some sort of small meeting room. Fred and Roberta were inside, obviously arguing.

"Damn it, Roberta, you promised!" said Fred.

"I promised? What about you? You knew that woman was going to be here. How could you? What are you planning to do? Go up to one of the rooms with her?"

Someone's hand reached around me and grasped the doorknob. I looked up at Zach's face as he quietly pulled the door closed. I felt about two inches high.

"I'm sorry, Zach. I was going to the ladies room and opened the wrong door." I slipped under his arm and practically ran into the ladies room. I glanced over at him before I went in. He just stood there watching me, his hand still on the doorknob of the meeting room door, his face expressionless.

I went into one of the stalls to try and compose myself. How could I have been so stupid? Theresa Luray probably thought I was an idiot. Maybe I was the one who was a pod person. I was still beating up on myself over my back-to-back no-brainers when the door to the ladies room opened and someone came in.

"Nice party," Nancy Winslow said.

"I guess. To be perfectly honest, I've never much cared for those Sheffields," Beth Turner said.

I very quietly sat on the toilet seat and stuck my feet up on the stall door. It's not every day you get a chance to be a fly on the wall.

"I know what you mean. They're just so fake, or something. That Marty, especially."

"I know. She's the worst," Beth said.

I almost went out and showed her just how fake I could be, but they each went into a stall. I waited to see if they were going to keep trashing me.

"So," Beth said, "the thing with you and Fred is really over?"

"Yep. He lied. I should have known he wasn't going to leave her. I just couldn't take it anymore. I got tired of being the other woman."

"Nancy, I've been wanting to ask you this for awhile now, but I didn't want to offend you. Please don't take it the wrong way. Were you sleeping with Warren?"

Nancy didn't answer right away. Finally she said, "Yes. It started at the regional tournament. Fred and I had a huge fight and Warren comforted me. Are you mad?"

"No, of course not. Warren and I were finished a long time ago. I'm just glad to know he'd found someone."

Nancy and Wart? I didn't even want to think about that combination. I accidentally dropped Charli's purse. Beth and Nancy were real quiet. I scooped up the bag and took off out of there. As I opened the door to go back to the party, I heard Beth say, "Nancy, who was that?"

"Beats me."

"I didn't know anybody was in here."

I popped my head around the corner. "It's just me," I said. "You know. The real Marty Sheffield. Don't worry. As far as I know, the 'fake' one never has to pee."

Neither one of them answered me. I let the door swing shut before I started laughing.

Charli met me outside the ballroom door. "What are you laughing about?"

I told her.

"What a couple of dummies. You'd think they'd have the sense to look under the doors before they started gossiping."

"You'd think. Listen, here's something even better." I told her about Nancy and Wart being together.

"Yes!" she said. "It's really coming together now. Give me back my purse."

I handed her purse over. She peeked inside. "You took the betting slip! Give it back. Right now!"

"No." I hugged my purse to me. "I'm not going to let you do anything stupid."

"Girls!" Mom put a hand on each of our shoulders. "What has gotten into you?"

She gave us each a task. I discussed the loudness of the music with the disc jockey and looked around for Zach. He sat at a table all by himself, chin resting on his left hand. I sucked up my embarrassment at having eavesdropped on his parents and went to talk to him.

"You okay?"

He shook his head. "Not really. He's going to leave her. He told her right before we left the house." His eyes glistened.

"I'm so sorry. I wish I knew what to say."

"Not much to say." He leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. "That argument you overheard, I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention it to anybody."

"What argument?"

He smiled. The twinkle was back. "Thanks. Did I ever tell you I think you're swell?"

"Swell? That's not exactly what I was shooting for here."

"Cool? Neat? Groovy? Hot?"

"All of the above."

We grinned at each other like a couple of idiots.

"So, wanna dance, you swell man, you?" I said.

We danced almost non-stop for the next two hours. My legs felt like rubber and I was sure the makeup the girl at the salon had so carefully applied was running down my face. I leaned on Zach's arm and rubbed my leg. Thank God, I'd worn sensible shoes. Not like Charli, who'd worn two inch heels.

"Drink. I gotta have a drink." I said.

"Me too. I'll go grab us a couple of beers and a plate of munchies and meet you outside in that little sitting area. Okay?"

"Sounds great."

I retrieved my purse from the DJ and went to the restroom to see how bad I looked. The makeup was okay until I rubbed my hand across my lips, making a red streak across my cheek. I tried to repair it without smearing it worse. No luck.

A woman with a blonde bob hairdo came out of one of the stalls and turned on the water at the sink next to me. After she washed her hands, she took out a compact and touched up her face. I watched her in the mirror, hoping to figure out how to go about fixing my own face.

Her eyes met mine. "Hi," she said.

"Hello."

I washed my hands and grabbed at a towel.

"I like your dress," she said.

"Thanks. You look nice too."

"Thanks. Um, er, um, I was wondering, um, I mean, if it isn't too much to ask, um, er, well, um, could I ask you a favor?"

My autograph. She was embarrassed to ask, they all are, but it's really no big deal. I put on my best publicity shot smile and rummaged in my purse for a pen. "Sure. Do you have some paper?"

She looked confused. "Paper? I think so. Anyway, this favor, it's not for me, it's for my daughter. See, she's a huge fan of Ricky Ray Riley's and well, I know you used to date him and well, I was wondering, actually, if you could maybe get him to come and sing at her birthday party next week? She's going to be sixteen."

A light bulb went off. "Well, I may not be able to get him to sing at the party, but here's something even better. Let me see that paper."

I took the cap off my ink pen and wrote Ricky Ray's private phone number on the paper. His grandma loves me to death and gives it to me every time I see her. "Here. This is Ricky Ray's personal line. Give this to your daughter and have her call him. In fact, tell her to have all her friends call him, too. I'm sure he'd be just _thrilled_ to hear from them."

She smiled happily. "I don't know how to thank you."

"No problem. No problem at all. I get my thanks just from knowing I've made folks happy."

I stuck the pen back in my purse and started out the door. Another light bulb. "Hey, you can help me. Would you show me how to get rid of this red streak without totally screwing up my makeup?"

After she touched up my makeup, I went down to meet Zach at the conversation area. He wasn't there yet. I sat down on one of the chairs to wait for him. Warren's Grandma Turner came out of the ballroom and sat down in the other chair. She had on a black chiffon dress with black over-the-elbow gloves, black hose, and black shoes. She'd had her hair dyed black. And I mean black. It also had been teased and, as usual, stuck out in every direction.

"Hi, Miz Turner. You look lovely tonight."

She squinted at me. "It's you. The one that stuck my poor Warren in that nasty trash can. You still going around spying on people?"

"No ma'am. I wasn't spying. I was just looking for a soda."

"Looked like spying to me. I told Stevie about it too. When he finished talking to Mr. Thompson, I went right in there and told him you was spying on him."

My mouth sort of dropped open. "He was talking to Fred Thompson? But..."

I didn't finish. What was it that Steve had said? Something about not caring if he got arrested. What would Steve and Fred have been arguing about? And Zach had told me that Fred wasn't at the visitation. Said he'd been afraid he wouldn't be welcome. Was I missing something? I had to find Charli, see what she thought.

"Well, It's been nice talking to you, Miss Turner, but I've got to go talk to my sister for a minute. Bye now."

"Wait," Gramma Turner said, "I know a secret. Do you want to know what it is?"

I sighed. "Sure, Miz Turner. What's your secret?"

"Guess."

"I can't. I'm sorry, but I really have to go. Talk to you later."

She stuck out her bottom lip. "Well, be that way, then. It's a good secret."

"Okay, is it animal, vegetable, or mineral?" I felt stupid.

"It's a letter."

"A letter? You mean like A, B, C?"

"No. Like this."

She handed me a folded up piece of paper. I opened it and looked it over.

"Miz Turner, where did you get this?" It looked similar to the letter that Mom had gotten on the day of the murder: typed on a piece of lined paper.

"I found it."

"Where Miz Turner? Where did you find it?"

A sly look crossed her face. "I can't remember."

"When did you find it?"

"I can't remember."

"Tonight? Was it tonight?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Please, Miz Turner. It's very important."

"Give me twenty dollars and I'll tell you."

"I don't have twenty dollars on me. I'll give it to you later."

She thought about it. "Okay. You can owe it to me. It was when they were playing that song I like. You know, the one that good-looking boy wrote about you."

"Bye-Bye, Baby...?"

"Yes," she said. "That one. I love that song."

About thirty minutes.

"Good! Try to remember if you saw anyone drop the letter. I'm going to go talk to my sister for a minute. You wait right here."

"Give me my letter."

"No, ma'am. I need to keep this. I have to give it to the police. It's important."

"No. It's mine. You give it to me right now." She snatched the letter from me and stuffed it down her dress.

"Miz Turner. Please give me the letter. Now."

Charli came out of the ballroom. "Whew, it's hot in there."

"Miz Turner, give me that letter, right now!"

"Marty, don't yell at Miz Turner," Charli said. "That's not nice."

"Have you seen Tim?" I asked her.

"Not for a couple of hours. Why?" Charli said.

I grabbed her hand. "Do you have your car keys?"

"Yes."

"Come on. We've got to go. Somebody's in trouble. We've got to hurry."

I looked back at Gramma Turner as I pulled Charli out the door. She was reaching down into her dress to retrieve the note.

"Marty, are you going to tell me what this is all about?" Charli asked.

"When we get to the car. Here, give me your keys. I'll drive."

Charli thought about arguing with me, but one look at my face must have changed her mind.

I slipped behind the wheel of the SUV and started the engine. It was dark out. I pulled on the headlights and backed out of the parking space.

"Okay, Marty. What's going on?"

"We've got to go to Morley park. Someone is in great danger."

"Who?"

"I don't know. I just hope we aren't too late."

# 36

As soon as I got out of the hotel parking lot I smashed down on the accelerator. "Gramma Turner found a note that was typed on the same kind of paper like the one Mom found on her car the day of the murder," I told Charli. "It said, 'Fred. Morley park. Monday night. Ten P.M.'"

I looked at my watch. "It's nine fifty-five now."

"Maybe it was a joke. Maybe whoever wrote it lost it before they could give it to the person they intended it for. Maybe we should go back to the party. We should call the police. Where's your phone?" Charli tried to argue.

"Nessa took it, remember. Where's yours?"

"In my purse, which is back at the party."

"Okay. So, we need to go to the park and check it out. I have a bad feeling about this." I looked over at Charli.

"I have a bad feeling, too. That's why we should stop somewhere and call the police," Charli kept arguing.

"We will. We'll just go to the park, see if anyone is there, and then we'll go call the police."

It took six minutes to get to the parking lot of the sewing factory that sits on the other side of the railroad tracks from the park. I stopped the car. We climbed out and crossed over to the other side of the tracks. There were two cars in the park's lot. Fred Thompson's and a dark colored pick-up truck. Vanessa?

"Is that John's truck?" I asked.

"I don't know. I can't tell from here. You don't think it's Vanessa, do you?"

"I don't know. I just don't know."

We snuck up the road to get a closer look. It was too dark. The park didn't have much in the way of night lighting yet. Like the restrooms, they were scheduled to be put in later. The only light came from a small pole next to the basketball court.

"Look. Two people are back by the picnic table way in the back," Charli said. "I'm pretty sure one of them is Fred."

"Who's the other one? Is it Vanessa?"

"I can't tell. Could be. Or Nancy Winslow. Maybe even Steve or Beth. Whoever it is, they're pretty tall. I just can't tell. It's too dark."

"Should we go see?"

"What if they've got a gun? I thought you said we were going to call the police."

"There's no time," I said. "Fred might kill again."

"Fred? Fred killed Warren?" Charli looked scared.

"I think so. Do you have a tire iron or a jack or anything in the back"

"Just John's golf clubs. Why?"

"Let's each get one. If we need a weapon, we can use the clubs."

"We're going up against a murderer --someone with a gun -- armed with golf clubs. Good thinking, Marty."

"Do you have a better idea?"

We went back and grabbed the golf clubs.

"Now what?" Charli said.

"Let's go down the side of the fence and around to the rear through the woods. I think there's a gate back there. Maybe we can sneak up on them that way," I said.

"Should we split up?" Charli asked. She was whispering.

"You don't have to whisper yet. I think we should stick together. Safety in numbers."

"Okay. But we should try not to make too much noise."

We gently closed the trunk and crept back over the tracks and down to the woods next to the fence. It was a fairly clear night. Crickets and cicadas hummed and buzzed. I slapped at an overly determined mosquito.

Charli gripped my arm as we went into the little thicket. "Do you think there are any snakes in here?"

"Probably."

She shuddered. "You better hope I don't step on one."

We went a few steps and Charli pulled on my arm again. "My heel's stuck."

"That's what you get for wearing high heels. Take your shoes off."

"No way." She leaned heavily into me and yanked on her foot. "There. Crap! I broke the heel. Those shoes cost ninety-five dollars."

"Charli, forget about your stupid shoe. Let's go."

We made our way through the woods to the rear of the park. There wasn't a gate, but there was a place where the fence didn't meet the ground. It looked like the ground had washed away. I motioned to Charli to get down and crawl under. She motioned for me to go first. I plopped down on my stomach and slithered underneath while she held the fence wire up.

Once I was on the other side, Charli slipped the golf clubs under. I held the fence wire up so she could crawl through. Her hair caught in the fence wire and I had to sort of yank it loose. I hated to think about how her ivory suit was going to look in the light. We crept up toward the picnic table and the big oak tree I'd cracked my head on.

I heard Fred's voice. "It was you? All along? Did you kill Warren? Well, did you?"

I couldn't hear the other person's response.

"Did you hear that?" Charli whispered directly into my ear.

I nodded and motioned for her to move closer to the toilets. We moved up until we were right behind them.

"For Christ sake, put the gun down," Fred said. "Let's try to work this out."

"I knew there would be a gun," Charli whispered. "We should get the gun."

I missed the other person's answer because of Charli. I put my finger to my lips.

"Please," Fred said, "Just give me the gun. I'll do whatever you want. Anything."

I inched around behind the portable toilets to try and get a look. The moon came out from behind a cloud and I could see pretty clearly. There was a gun pointed at Fred's middle.

"Mom," Zach yelled out, "Drop the gun."

He ran through the entrance gate and across the grass toward where Roberta and Fred were standing.

I heard a gasp behind me. I looked around at Charli. Her eyes were like saucers. "Mom? Roberta?" she whispered.

I nodded.

"No. Zach, you get on back. This is between me and your dad. He's ruined my life and I won't let him get away with it anymore. I'm going to make him pay for everything he's put me through."

"Please, Roberta. Let's try and talk this out. If it's about me leaving you, I won't. We'll go get counseling."

"It's not that and you know it. It's everything. It's what you've turned me into. I hate you for what I've become."

"Mom," Zach yelled, "Please! Listen to me. This isn't going to help anything. It's only going to make it all worse."

"Worse? How can it be any worse? I've already killed one person. I'm a murderer, son. Do you hear that? A murderer. You think it's going to be any worse if I kill him?"

"No!" Zach's cry was agonizing. "Stop saying that Mom. You're just confused. You had a bad dream, that's all. Come on, Mom. Give me the gun. I know you didn't kill anybody."

"Yes, Zach, I did. I killed Warren. When your dad didn't come home the other night I thought he was with that woman again. After he'd promised me he would stay away from her. I took a baseball bat and I broke into her house. He was in the bed, sleeping. I hit him as hard as I could with it." Roberta dropped her voice so low I could barely hear her. "Only it wasn't Fred. It was Warren. Oh God, it was Warren."

"No, no, Mom, don't say that," Zach said. "Please stop saying that."

"But it's true, Zachie. I'm so sorry, but it's true. When I realized what I'd done, I panicked. That's when that woman got involved. Imagine, the one person I hate more than anything in the world, and I have to turn to her for help."

"Nancy helped you?" Fred said.

Roberta let out a little snort of laughter. "Yes. Isn't that rich. It was her idea to put Warren in the trash can. Although, I came up with the idea of putting that precious softball jersey of yours on him. But it cost me. It cost me plenty. I had to give her ten thousand dollars. But that wasn't enough for her. No. She wanted everything. She wanted to take away everything."

Zach let out a low, horrible sounding moan.

Roberta looked over at him and let the gun sag. Fred lunged toward her, going for the gun. The gun fired. The noise was deafening.

Fred lay on the ground yelling, blood running down his leg. "Jesus Christ, Roberta! You shot me. You coulda killed me!"

Roberta held the gun back up, aiming it at Fred's head. Her back was to me. "Next time, I won't miss," she said.

I whispered to Charli. "Distract her."

Roberta was just a few feet away. She held the gun steady, still pointed at Fred. I whispered a prayer and waited for Charli's distraction. I sure did hope it was a good one.

Charli threw John's golf club as hard as she could. It smacked into the green trash tote that replaced the one Wart had been stuffed into. Roberta swung toward the sound and fired the gun. I hit her in the back. She fell hard to the ground. The gun flew out of her hand and landed a couple of feet in front of her. Even though she was thin, she was strong. She tried to roll over, but I pinned her down.

"Zach," I said, "get the gun."

He knelt next to Fred, frantically trying to stop the bleeding. "It's going to be okay. It's all going to be okay, isn't it Dad?"

I heard a siren in the distance. Charli grabbed the gun. I was sitting on Roberta. She'd finally stopped struggling and was still.

Tim's truck peeled to a stop and he ran over to where we were. "Is anyone hurt?"

"Fred. Can you get an ambulance?" I said.

"It's on the way. I called nine-one-one as soon as I read the note. Miz Turner way-laid me, hollering about how 'the snooty girl who'd put Warren in the trash can tried to steal her letter.' She was hollering and waving around a piece of paper. It took me a good two minutes to get her to show me her 'letter'. She said y'all took off out of the party like a bat out of hell." He looked over at Zach. "Said she told you first when you asked her if she'd seen Marty. You're a real prize, Thompson. Marty and Charli could have been killed because of you! You should have called for help."

Zach didn't even look at him. It was like he was in another world.

"Tim, leave him alone," I said. "He's been through a lot."

"And he's going to go through a whole lot more now that we've got the goods on his dad. Guess this wraps up the case pretty much."

"Not his dad. His mom."

Tim looked down at Roberta. "Her?"

"Yes. She killed Warren. Charli and I both heard her admit it."

"Yes," Charli said. "It's true."

We told him the whole story. "And I expect that Nancy was the one that set the shed on fire, almost killing me and Zach."

Tim let out a low whistle. "So Nancy's involved in covering up a murder, not to mention arson, attempted murder, and running an illegal gambling operation. Well, that ought to get her a few years."

"God, I hope so. She's evil. She was also committing blackmail and extortion."

He smiled. "Well, we know about that. We were about to bring her in and have a little chat with her, as a matter of fact. This will all make it a much more interesting conversation."

"How'd you know about the blackmail? Vanessa?" I said.

"Vanessa. She came over to see Detective Luray today. She had quite a story to tell."

"I'm so glad."

"Me too," said Charli. She looked down at her grass-stained, dirt-encrusted suit. Dirt streaks covered her face. Her hair was wild, like she'd teased it. Or slid underneath a fence. "Well, should we get back to the party now?"

I looked down at my equally filthy dress and ripped tights. "The party," I groaned. "Mom is literally going to kill us."

Just then, a bright light flashed on. "Miss Sheffield," Giselle St. James said. Charli looked at me. I nodded. I took Rockin' Robbie.

Giselle didn't realize what was happening. She kept talking, "Would you care to comment on...OOF!"

I slam dunked the camera into the big, green, ninety gallon trash can. Charli tossed the microphone in after it. Sisters. You gotta love 'em.

# 37

About two weeks after the never-to-be-forgotten anniversary party, Charli and I went to the psychiatric hospital to visit Vanessa. She'd been intent on having it out with Nancy after she stole John's truck from me that Sunday morning, but after talking to Charli and her kids had decided that there had to be a better way to resolve everything.

She spent the rest of that day, while Tim and I were looking for her, talking to a therapist. He helped her arrange for a medical leave of absence and for the care of her children while she went into the psychiatric care unit for intensive therapy.

She looked good. Still too thin and too tired, but she was obviously making progress. While we were there, Beth Turner and Steve LeFever came in to see her.

"We'll leave now," Charli said.

"No, y'all stay," said Beth. "Steve's got something to say to Vanessa and I want you all to hear it too."

"Okay," I said. Charli and I sat back down. Steve looked around nervously.

"Go on, Steve. Say it," Beth said.

He looked everywhere but at Vanessa. "Listen, Vanessa. I've been involved with some stuff I'm not proud of. I helped Nancy out with a little gambling scam, and well, anyway, Beth thought, I mean, I thought that the only fair thing to do would be for me to give you back the money I helped steal from you and O'Del."

Vanessa looked at him with surprise. "I can't take the money, Steve."

"Please. I really want you to take it. It belongs to you, anyway."

They talked it around in circles for awhile, but Vanessa finally agreed to take the money.

"The rest, Steve. Tell them the rest," Beth said.

Steve paced around the tiny room. "I'm fixing to make it right, even if it sends me to jail. I'm testifying against Nancy. You won't ever have to worry about her again."

On their way out the door Beth stopped right in front of me. "Marty, I owe you an apology."

"No. Don't worry about it."

"Yes. I do. I'm sorry for the hateful things I said about you the other night. Oh. And one more thing. I insisted to Mr. and Mrs. Turner that you and Charli get the reward money. They'll be sending the checks to y'all in about a week."

Charli said, "No. Have them send it to Vanessa. It's more rightfully hers than ours. Right, Marty."

"Right," I said. "And Vanessa, don't even think about arguing."

When we left Vanessa's hospital room, we weren't exactly friends with Beth, but we had an uneasy truce and had moved closer to something akin to respect. It was a start.

A week later, Charli and I were lounging out by the pool at her neighborhood. Her boys were playing around in the shallow end of the pool and Jaelyn splashed in the baby pool.

"Is Vanessa glad to be out of the hospital?" I said.

"I think so. It's a big step for her. She's still going to therapy several times a week, but at least she's home. She really looks good. She gained a little weight and got rid of those dark circles. The kids were so happy to see her. She saw a lawyer, too. He filed the divorce papers yesterday."

"That's great. Now she can get on with her life. What did she think about Mom's story?"

"She said that Mom did a good job. What did you think?"

"I agree. I'm glad Vanessa decided to let her write it. It was very brave." I took a big sip of my soda.

We watched the kids play Marco Polo.

"Did they figure out who was making the phone calls to the station?"

"No. Probably Nancy or Roberta."

"Marco."

"Polo."

"Have you talked to Zach? " Charli asked.

"Yes. He came by yesterday afternoon. He pleaded out his assault case. He's going to stay up at their lake house until he finishes his community service work, then he's going to California to visit some friends for awhile."

"I can't say I blame him. His whole life just went up in smoke."

"I know, but it doesn't make it any easier to handle. He said that he needs some time to think things through. We decided that a relationship between us just wasn't in the cards. At least not now. Fred's selling the business and both of the houses, by the way."

"That's what Mom said. Said he wanted to be near Roberta."

"It's pretty ironic, don't you think? He was going to leave her, now he's going to stand by her."

Tim swung through the metal gate and over to where we were sitting. He flopped down on a lounge chair and rubbed sunscreen across his chest and legs. "So Charli, Marty tells me that you lost that bet you made with John. The one where you have to do all the yard work and change all the dirty diapers and stuff."

Charli glared at me. "Only on a technicality. I really should have won. I had it almost all figured out, you know."

"Well, Charli, you know what Mom would say." I said.

"Don't even say it, Marty." She raised her arm like she was going to hit me.

I stood up. "She'd say, 'you know, this was just meant to be.'"

Charli bounced up out of her chair and pushed me backward. I teetered on the edge of the pool.

"I'm warning you, Marty, don't say the rest."

"She'd say, 'Everything always works out for the best'."

Charli shoved me into the pool. I grabbed her and pulled her in with me.

We came up sputtering and laughing. I managed to get it out. "One of these days, Charli, sweetie, you'll look back on this and laugh."

Charli took me under again. That time I was prepared. I held my breath.

"Yes, Charli," I said when I surfaced, "I do believe Mom's right. It's all -"

She pushed me under again. I swam away from her and came up out of the water.

"It's all just Destiny, Charli. Des-tin-ee!"

# Thanks

Thanks to Jeannie and everyone else who cheered when I ventured to say I might just go ahead and put it out there on Amazon. I really wouldn't have done it if you hadn't pushed a bit.

Thanks to Chris for telling me to go for it.

And, most of all, thanks to any of you who decided to take a chance and download and read this little bit of fluff. I hope you enjoy it! I certainly had fun writing it.

* * *

The jester hat was downloaded from Open Clip Art Library openclipart.org and was contributed by the very talented Christian Plaza, aka Merlin2525. The book cover was designed with Canva, using an image with multi-use rights.

# The Divas of Doom

Enjoy this excerpt from _The Divas of Doom_

_(Doom Divas Book 2)_

# The Divas of Doom

### 1

Damn that slimy worm. I really should have squashed it when I had the chance. Without the worm, maybe, just maybe my sister, Charli, wouldn't have flipped out and started that big old mess she managed to drag me into. The mess, by the way, that led to my being accused of murder. Which, of course, almost cost me my life as I tried to find the real culprit. If I had gone ahead and killed that nasty night crawler as soon as I saw it, it's entirely possible that Lady Luck and the other Divas of Doom, Destiny and Chance, would have left me alone instead of trying to drop kick me through the goal posts of life.

But, of course I didn't. Instead of smashing it to smithereens, I actually laughed when I saw it. And, as seems to be the running theme with my life, that one bad decision compounded into a serious run of not just bad, but hideous luck.

I can't understand it, either. I'm not a bad person. I go to church sometimes. I make an attempt to be polite. I'm unfailingly kind to animals, always pay my bills, usually mind my own business, and I always floss twice a day. So why is it that when the chips start falling they generally land with a resounding thud right on top of my curly brown head?

Charli says it's bad karma. My best friend, Tim, thinks I'm overly dramatic. He says that drama queens run in my family. Mom, on the other hand, says I should just 'look on the bright side'. That, I should 'consider myself lucky' because 'things could have been a lot worse.' Pollyanna hasn't got a thing on Mom.

Mom, of course, has never had a bad day in her whole, pinch-me-I-must-be-dreaming, Cinderella-should-be-so-lucky, life. But me? Boy, is that ever another story. Since Ricky Ray Riley - and yes, I'm talking about the Ricky Ray Riley, the new kid on the block of country music with his multi-platinum, chart-topping debut album – since he dumped me three days before our wedding (on my twenty-first birthday no less) my life has been on a downhill plunge. Last summer, I even found a dead guy in a trashcan. But, that's another story for another day.

Lately, it's been sort of like I'm the star of one of those dorky, not particularly scary, horror flick where there's an axe-wielding maniac skulking around behind every other door. Only in my case, it's not a maniac lurking, but those three Floozies of Fate, and, instead of an axe, they're armed with a whole quiver full of cosmic wedgies. Quite frankly, it's all starting to make me feel more than a little paranoid.

# The Divas of Doom

### 2

Here's what happened: last month, Charli's husband, John Carsky, winged off to Japan on business for a couple of weeks, leaving her alone with their three rug rats. Mom phoned in a Mayday to me a few days after he left, begging me to watch the yard apes for a couple of hours on Friday so Charli could have a little time to decompress.

"Poor Charlene." Mom sighed her 'I know just how she feels' sigh. "She hasn't had a minute to herself since John left. Can you imagine? She must be nearly ready to lose her mind by now."

Okay, so maybe Tim is right about us Sheffields being gifted in the dramatic arts. Since John had only been gone for five days, it appeared that maybe Mom was trying to beat out Meryl Streep for the best actress Oscar.

I sucked up my courage. "I'm really sorry, Mom, but I'm busy all day Friday."

There was complete and utter silence from Mom's end of the line. Yikes. This was not going to be as easy as I'd conned myself into believing. Evidently not having learned my lesson yet, despite all those years of living with the woman, I yammered away, desperate to fill the conversational void.

"Really, Mom, I can't possibly keep them. I have tons of stuff to do." I hoped she didn't ask what. I'm not very good at lying under pressure. "Why can't you keep them?"

"Because I have to write my column and give a speech to the Rotary." Mom's a reporter for the local weekly, The Glenvar News-Record, and she's real big on 'community involvement'. "Some of us still have jobs, you know."

She said it calmly and sweetly, not a bit sarcastic, but ouch. She certainly knows how to hit a nerve. I'd just been canned from my job a couple of weeks before. I used to be a weekend DJ at Hot Country radio station WRRR. I was callously given the boot along with all of the other DJs when the station was sold to a big conglomerate. The new owners converted to a syndicated program format so they fired all of us because, as the memo said, we were 'obsolete'.

"Geez, Mom. You think I like being laid off? Believe me, I'd much rather be working. Those people at the unemployment office treated me like I was a complete bozo when I went down there. My case manager kept me hostage for four hours, making me take a bunch of dopey tests, then, when I told her that I'd never worked at Tootie's Go-Go-A-Rama like her papers said, she told me to 'think about it dear, sometimes we forget these things'. Can you believe that? Like I'm so dense I wouldn't have remembered working at a strip joint."

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad, dear. You really shouldn't be so theatrical." Pot. Kettle. Black. See what I have to put up with?

"Yes it was, Mom. It was exactly that bad. And I'm not being theatrical. That woman made me feel like it was my fault that I lost my job."

"Well, you know, Martina, if you'd have finished college instead of coming up with that ridiculous DJ idea..."

I cut her off in mid-sentence. The last thing I wanted to do was listen to yet another lecture on how I'd screwed up my life. "You'll just have to tell Charli sorry. Maybe she can hire a sitter or something."

This time Mom's sigh was the 'how could I have raised such a selfish child' one. "Martina Gayle Sheffield, I am extremely disappointed in you. Your sister desperately needs some time off. She has a hard enough time when John's at home to help out. The strain of taking care of those three children without him around is tremendous. We're her family. That obligates us to do all that we can to ensure that Charlene's mental health doesn't suffer."

Charli's mental health be damned; what about mine? To put it delicately, Charli's kids are holy terrors. Just the thought of keeping them made me want to crawl under my bed. Of course I'd have to get rid of all the junk under there first.

In spite of Mom's attempt at provoking me into an attack of the guilts, I was determined to hold my ground and not give in. I gritted my teeth and stood up straight so I could feel my backbone. "I'm very sorry, Mom, but I just can't do it."

Mom's no yokel. She deep-sixed the 'make her feel guilty' strategy and zeroed in on my Achilles' heel. "I'll pay you," she said. "Fifty bucks."

That certainly grabbed my attention. I wasn't in any position to turn down the chance to earn money, no matter how distasteful the job. "Deal," I said, silently cursing the fact that I wasn't independently wealthy.

"Fabulous!" Mom said. "Your sister will be so grateful, Marty. I'll tell her to bring them over to your place around nine."

Delbert, my big black and white tomcat, (named for the awesome Delbert McClinton) shot me the evil eye. There was no mistaking his opinion of that particular plan. "Okay," I whispered to him, "I'll take care of it."

"Mom," I said, "that is simply out of the question. Last time they were here Jaelyn frisbeed six brand new Blue Ray discs off the balcony and the boys attempted to give Delbert a bubble bath with that twelve dollar bottle of shampoo you bought me for my birthday."

I could almost hear Mom shudder over the phone. Alas, I knew the shudder was directed at Delbert, not at my sister's kid's hi-jinks. Mom is absolutely terrified of cats. It's nothing personal, just that when she was a kid her pet kitten went mad and attacked her.

"Then you can keep them at their house," she said, "That's preferable anyway. Don't forget, now, nine o'clock Friday morning. Don't oversleep."

Like that was going to happen. Knowing Mom she'd call at seven-thirty Friday morning to make sure I was awake and that I remembered my promise. Wrong: she called at seven fifteen.

"Morning, darling," Mom said when I finally pulled the pillow off my head and answered the phone. "Rise and shine, dear. It's a gloriously beautiful day. I'd love to join you and the children this morning, but, alas, I have an important interview with Mayor Mongan. I'm so envious because I know that you'll have an absolutely wonderful time with the little angels."

Angels? Charli's kids? If I hadn't still been half-asleep I would have laughed myself into a stupor. Instead I mumbled to her that I was awake, clunked down the receiver, and promptly dozed back off until eight-thirty. That time it was Charli who called to roust me out of my cozy little nest. I stumbled to the shower, scalded myself clean, tossed on cutoffs and a vintage Dixie Chicks tee then, still groggy and completely oblivious to what was in store for me, I practically flung myself to the wolves of the universe.

John and Charli live in Glenvar's most hoity-toity, snob-infested neighborhood, which, for God only knows what reason, is called "The Oaks of Stableford Manor". Believe me, it sounds better than it is. Basically, it's just your typical subdivision, more than slightly upscale, but we're not talking mansions or anything. That doesn't stop some of the people who live in 'The Oaks' from considering themselves to be above everybody else in town.

(Town: Glenvar, Virginia, population twenty thousand, give or take a few hundred. Plenty of fresh air, good schools, lots of parks, gorgeous mountain scenery, too many people who know your business... Think of a citified Hooverville, but without the pig. Pigs are against the law in Glenvar. Llamas and chickens, however, are allowed.)

Oaks Neighborhood Alliance Group (ONAG, for short) is the name of the homeowner's association and the people who run it are so militant in their beliefs that we call them the 'Lawn Nazis'. They like to say that they have to set the standard for the rest of us, so they're always trying to persuade City Council to pass a bunch of stupid laws. Just last month they lobbied for a statute outlawing the parking of pickup trucks more than ten years old inside the city limits and another one banning yard ornaments, in particular those plastic pink flamingos.

The way I figure it, they have every right to decide how they want to run their neighborhood, but to tell me that I can't have a pink flamingo or two standing in my yard (not that I have a yard) is going about six peas past a pod. Thank goodness cooler heads prevailed and both ordinances were voted down by City Council, three to two.

I parked my not-as-bad-as-it-looks, used-to-be-candy-apple-red, sixty-nine Mustang on the street in front of Charli's house and trudged up the sidewalk. Charli greeted me at the front door with a cup of gourmet French vanilla coffee and a cheese danish, my favorite. It was bribe food, but who am I to complain?

"Come on in," she said, "the kids are in the family room watching an educational video."

As usual Charli was immaculate. Ash blonde hair perfectly coifed, her make-up perfectly understated and elegant, playing up her best features. Grey and black linen dress perfectly pressed and looking like it had been specially tailored just for her. She looked like, well, like a perfect almost thirty-year old clone of our always-elegant mom. And people wonder why I have an inferiority complex.

I took a gulp of the coffee and scalded the bejeebers out of my tongue. Tears welled up in my eyes and my nose immediately turned into a faucet. I thought of begging off the babysitting duty, wondering if I could file for workman's comp, but bravely carried on, in spite of the agonizing pain.

"Where are you off to?" I asked Charli.

She gathered up her purse and keys and kissed the kids goodbye. "Here and there. I'm just going to get a haircut and have my nails done, maybe browse in the bookstore. I'm supposed to meet Dicey Ward at Albertino's for lunch at twelve-thirty. She just returned from a ten-day cruise and I imagine she wants to brag about it. If I'm not home by two you'll know I crawled under the table and died of boredom."

I chuckled, in spite of my still stinging tongue. "I doubt you'll die of boredom over Dicey's trip tales. Embarrassment, perhaps, but definitely not boredom."

Dicey Ward was Charli's two-doors-down neighbor and a Glenvar legend. A few years back she was one of those mousy, lost-looking Southern Belles whose only goals in life were a spotless house, a winning bridge hand, and cooking up the perfect mushroom soup-based casserole. But when her husband died of a massive and unexpected heart attack Dicey shocked the heck out of everybody.

She went back to school and graduated first in her law school class. Next, she started what was to become a thriving legal practice specializing in criminal defense and became a major force in the local legal community. As if all that wasn't enough, she bleached her hair platinum blonde, spent a chunk of her inheritance on a face-lift, (and judging from her body, invested in a few other assorted operations as well) took to wearing designed-for –shock-value clothes, and found an unending series of pretty young men to escort her around town and provide other, um, services.

Charli rolled her eyes and grinned. "You're probably right about that. I know way more about Dicey's sex life than anyone ought to."

"Well, tell her I said 'hey'. And don't worry about a thing. We'll be just fine." Actually, I wasn't totally convinced about that, but no one ever said I wasn't a cock-eyed optimist.

Charli left but a few seconds later she was back inside. "I almost forgot. Come out front with me. I need to show you something before I leave."

We stepped outside to her beautifully manicured front yard. Charli pointed to the flowerbed that straddled her property and that of her neighbor, Frank Billingham.

"See that light white line in the mulch?" she said. "Whatever you do, don't let anyone cross it."

There was a faint smudge of white spray paint squiggled across the oak bark mulch. I edged my sneaker forward and scuffed at the line.

"Don't do that!" Charli grabbed my arm and jerked me away from the flowers.

"Geez, Charli, don't freak out over it. All I did was touch it. You act like it came from a poisonous snake or something. What's it there for anyway?"

Charli closed her eyes and massaged her temples. "It's supposed to mark the property line. Frank drew it yesterday and told me that if anyone goes across it he's going to call the police and have me arrested for trespassing."

"You've gotta be kidding."

"I only wish I were," Charli said. "The man's gone completely off his rocker over this."

"Why? What did you do to him?"

"Nothing! Well, it was something, but I just don't see why he had to turn it into such a big deal. The boys were playing basketball and their ball accidentally mashed one of Frank's precious begonias. They're some sort of fancy-schmantzy variety and I guess he paid big bucks for them. Anyway, I told him I'd replace it, give him the money, whatever he wanted, but he wouldn't listen to a word I said. He just stood there in his yard screeching horrible things at me. Jaelyn was petrified, so I yanked her up, stuck her in the car and, without saying another word to him, drove off. He was still standing there screaming when I turned the corner.

"About an hour after we got back from the grocery store a messenger delivered a letter from Frank's lawyer saying that if anyone stepped across the line in the mulch they'd be guilty of trespassing and that Frank would call the police and swear out a warrant. So, whatever you do, don't you or the kids go near it."

"That's outrageous!" I said. "You ought to get a restraining order of your own or something. Teach him a lesson. If you get him mad enough, maybe he'll move."

"No, Marty. Like it or not, Frank and I both live here. I'm not going anywhere and neither is he. The best thing to do is to just lay low until he calms down, then I'll try to talk to him." Charli glanced at her watch. "I better scoot or I'll be late for my hair appointment."

She slipped into her car and turned over the engine. As she backed out of the driveway she rolled down her window and pointed at Frank's line. "Remember, don't let anyone go near it."

"I won't," I said. "Don't you worry about a thing."

What's that saying about famous last words?

# About the Author

In addition to spending her time killing off imaginary people, Sherry is a teacher, a wife, and a mom. She lives and works in Salem, Virginia.

For more information:

www.sherrysiska.com

doomdivabooks@gmail.com

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