When The Rooster Kills (A Rainy Day Mystery Book 2) Page 2

  I shot her a look. “Doubtful. Mack doesn’t take cases outside the Beltway. Besides, you haven’t even told me what the problem is, other than that her sister is back in town with her no-good ex.”

  “I’ll let Vivian give you the details,” Sophia said. She took a sip of coffee, then set the cup down and pushed it away. “I really should get going; I have a nail appointment in town. Can you come by Vivian’s tomorrow? Promise me you’ll be there. She really could use a friend.”

  Her words stopped me.

  A friend.

  I was not Vivian’s friend. Actually, I wasn’t Sophia’s friend, either. Even though I’d been in Latney for two months, I’d spent most of my time on my little hobby farm, enjoying the solitude as I tackled project after project. Sure, I saw Gunnar most days, usually only briefly, and I’d managed to see Declan Murphy, the local pastor, at church, and Dawn Putnam, the grumpy tavern owner, when I’d had a craving for restaurant food. But none of those people really counted as friends. Gunnar, maybe. He was helpful and friendly and nice, but there was that undercurrent there that I still wasn’t sure what to do with, which led me to keeping him at arm’s length. Declan was always kind, but our paths didn’t cross as much as I would like. He was busy with church obligations and I wasn’t a steady member of his flock yet. I wasn’t sure I would ever be.

  A friend.

  I stole a quick glance at Sophia. She was digging in her purse, a black leather Coach bag, presumably hunting for her keys. I didn’t know how to be friends with someone like her: someone beautiful, with money and property, a genteel Southern woman. I didn’t know Vivian well, but she struck me as the same kind of person. I was common stock, a working class woman who just happened to luck out with an inheritance that had allowed her to quit her job and move to the country. I had no idea how to be friends with either of them.

  But I realized something as I watched her make small talk with Laura before she left.

  I missed having friends. I missed Rita and Suzanne, my neighbors from Arlington, and I missed visiting Lily at the library, and having her thrust the newest mystery book in my eager hands.

  I wasn’t sure Sophia Rey and Vivian Sumner could fill those shoes, but I was thinking that maybe I should give it a try.

  Because then, with friends in my new little hometown?

  Life might be just about perfect.

  THREE

  Vivian Sumner was not going to woo me with her culinary skills.

  It was Sunday afternoon, almost twenty-four hours since Sophia’s visit to my house, and we were sitting in the parlor of Vivian’s charming Victorian home, with a spread of mint tea and dainty cucumber sandwiches for lunch. A crystal bowl filled with fresh-cut fruit also graced the lace-covered mahogany table, and an assortment of aged cheeses.

  But I didn’t like cucumbers and mint tea was gross and I liked mild cheese, not ones that smelled like dirty socks in a hamper. So I nibbled my sandwich crusts and forced sips of tea and loaded my china plate with a heaping serving of melon and pineapple chunks.

  “I’m hoping you can help,” Vivian said, her face a mask of worry.

  I speared a piece of honeydew with my fork. “I’ll do what I can,” I told her. “But I sort of need to know what’s going on.”

  Vivian nodded and wiped her mouth with the linen napkin draped across her lap. She was probably a few years younger than me, just pushing forty, with sleek, shoulder-length auburn hair that reminded me of a horse’s mane. Her thin eyebrows were perfectly plucked, her lips stained a pretty mauve. Diamond studs, no doubt real, winked from her earlobes, and a matching tennis bracelet glittered in the sunshine streaming through the parlor window.

  “Leslie is my stepsister,” she said. “She left town about a year ago, with her boyfriend.”

  This was the exact information Sophia had shared with me earlier, so I sat patiently and waited for her to continue.

  “Leslie’s always been a bit of a…wild child,” Vivian continued.

  “How so?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Oh, just running around with the wrong crowd. That kind of thing.”

  I sipped my tea, trying not to make a face as I swallowed it down. Running with the wrong crowd had many different connotations: had she been the kind of kid to pull pranks and misbehave at school, or was she shooting up heroin in the alley? Because either could have been a possibility.

  “Anyway, she showed up a few nights ago at my dad’s house. He lives down the road, a block from the bank,” she added helpfully. “She told him that she was done with Shawn—that’s her ex—and that she wanted a fresh start. She was hoping he would help her out, give her a place to stay; that kind of thing.”

  I nodded. “Sounds like she’s ready to turn over a new leaf.”

  Vivian pursed her lips. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s just a ploy to get money from him.”

  “Money?” I asked. “I thought she asked him for a place to stay.”

  “Well, that’s what she’ll start with,” Vivian said, her voice laced with bitterness. “But then she’ll ask him for money for this and money for that. It’s how she always does things.”

  “So this is a pattern of behavior?” I tore at the crust of my sandwich, trying to figure out a way to make it look smaller so that my hostess wouldn’t realize I wasn’t eating it.

  “Sort of,” she said. “She and her boyfriend came back around Christmas. They said they wanted to spend the holidays with family, but then they shared some sob story about being kicked out of their apartment and not having enough money for Shawn’s asthma medicine. I have no idea how much they made off with by the time they left town.”

  The contempt in Vivian’s voice was unmistakable, and I was left wondering why she wanted to help her stepsister in the first place—unless she somehow thought I might have an idea of how to help run her out of town or something.

  “So you think she’s here to do the same thing? Bilk your father?”

  Vivian glanced at Sophia, who was busy stirring sugar into her glass of iced tea. “No,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “This time seems…different.”

  “How so?”

  She shifted in her seat, her fingers tracing the diamonds on her bracelet. “I saw her the other night, right after she’d come back to town. She seemed angry that Shawn was here. She told us that they’d broken up a week or so ago, that she’d spent the last few days driving back to Latney. He didn’t have a car and she left him in Kentucky so she had no idea how he managed to get here.”

  “She’s seen him since she’s been back in town?”

  Vivian nodded. “The day after she arrived. Dad took her to the bank to withdraw some money. From his account, of course.” She rolled her eyes. “She said Shawn was waiting for her outside.”

  “And?”

  She shrugged. “Dad basically told him to get lost and he left. She didn’t offer much. When I saw her, she seemed a little spooked and definitely upset that he was in town.”

  “Okay,” I said, picking up one of the sandwich crusts. I wondered if I could somehow manage to slip it into my purse so that my plate would be a little emptier. “I’m still not sure how you think I can help…”

  “I want to know why he’s here,” Vivian said, her eyes meeting mine. They were the same color as her hair, a deep, rich brown. “I want to know if my stepsister is in trouble, if we need to be worried about this guy. I want to know how we can keep him away from her.”

  I thought about the cases that had come across my desk during my time working for Mack. I’d never been the one doing the private investigating, but I did know a few things.

  “There’s not much you can do if he hasn’t threatened her, unfortunately,” I said.

  “But she’s afraid of him,” Sophia said, joining the conversation. She frowned. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

  “Not in the eyes of the law,” I told her. “There has to be proof that he has threatened to harm her. Things like emails or texts, Facebook me
ssages, voicemails. Even witnesses who could testify that they saw an argument or exchange of words would be helpful. Documentation is key.”

  “Well, all I know is what she told me and my dad,” Vivian said. Her frown matched her friend’s. “Why can’t that be enough?”

  “It just isn’t,” I said, shaking my head. “The only thing you can do at this point is keep your eyes and ears open and the minute something happens, report it.”

  “Report it to whom?” Vivian asked.

  My heart dropped as soon as she asked. Because I remembered exactly what the law enforcement looked like in Latney.

  And if Sheriff Lewis didn’t know what to do about a dead body and a suspicious fire, I had a sinking suspicion he wouldn’t know how to handle a pain in the rear ex-boyfriend, either.

  FOUR

  A hunk of meat had never looked so good.

  I was sitting at the bar in the Wicked Wich, a bacon cheeseburger sitting in front of me. After avoiding cucumber sandwiches and smelly cheese, it was a welcome relief to bite into the crisp bacon and juicy meat, and the taste combination exploding in my mouth.

  I’d left Vivian’s with the promise that I would brainstorm ideas of how to help her stepsister. But even after downing two diet Cokes and plowing through half of my burger, I was still at a loss.

  Vivian’s hands were tied. There really wasn’t anything she could do for Leslie unless her ex-boyfriend threatened her in some way. And, even then, the law wasn’t always kind to domestic abuse victims. I’d seen firsthand evidence of this during my tenure with Capitol Cases.

  I dunked a French fry in ketchup and popped it in my mouth. It was crisped and salty, and I was pretty sure I was going to eat every last one of them. Maybe lick the salt off my plate, even.

  I glanced around the restaurant. I could see Dawn at the back door, propping it open so a delivery guy could bring some boxes in. They looked like food supplies: boxes of frozen French fries and onion rings, containers of ketchup and mustard. The back corner booth, the one Len and Davis Konrath usually sat in, was empty, and I felt a small pang of guilt that Davis wouldn’t be joining his dad for lunches anytime soon. But then I remembered what he had done and the feeling quickly disappeared.

  “Everything taste okay?” Mikey, the guy who usually manned the grill, was a few feet away, wiping down the counter.

  I smiled. “Perfect, as usual.”

  “Good.” He grinned. With his short buzzed hair and baby-faced smile, he didn’t look a day over fifteen. “I’m trying out a new burger next week. One stuffed with cream cheese and olives.”

  “Sounds delicious.”

  “You should come by and give it a try.”

  “I’ll do that,” I promised.

  He drifted down the bar, grabbing a couple of empty glasses left on the counter and I made a decision. It was one I’d been mulling over since leaving Vivian’s house.

  I texted Mack.

  I didn’t really know why. It wasn’t as if there was a crime he needed to investigate, and I didn’t think anyone needed significant help. From the sound of things, Vivian was more irritated by her stepsister’s arrival than worried over her safety. I was still having a hard time figuring out if she was truly scared by what was going on or if she just saw it all as some bothersome nuisance.

  But I had an ulterior motive, one that I was loath to admit, even to myself.

  I wanted friends.

  And if Sophia and Vivian were asking me for help, I wanted to offer some up, even if I wasn’t sure what that help could be.

  I dove back into my burger, licking off the ketchup that oozed out of the bun and onto my fingers. Mikey might be just a kid but he definitely knew how to cook a good burger.

  My phone buzzed a few minutes later.

  A phone call, not a text, Mack Mercy’s name and number popping up on the screen

  I answered it.

  “What’s the problem in that hick town of yours?”

  I bit back a smile. “Hello to you, too.”

  “No time for hellos. Got clients waiting. And I don’t know if you know this, but that replacement of yours still can’t figure out how to schedule appointments. If she goes missing, don’t blame me.”

  The smile won. I wasn’t happy that he was having trouble with the new office manager, but I was glad Mack missed me.

  “I just have a quick question.”

  “You got two minutes and we just used up thirty seconds of them. Go.”

  Quickly, I told him about Leslie.

  “He hasn’t hit her? Threatened her?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “How long has she been in town?”

  “Just a couple of days.” I glanced around. Mikey had stepped away from the grill and was back at the bar, about ten feet away, wiping the wood down with a polishing cloth. “She’s staying with her dad.”

  “Anyone tap her phone? Her vehicle?”

  I frowned. “She’s the victim, Mack, not the other way around.”

  “You can pick up good conversations that way,” he reminded me. “Convos that could help her.”

  “I don’t even know if anyone here would know how to install a wire unless it involved a chicken.”

  “A chicken? Who installs wires in chickens?”

  “Chicken wire, Mack. Chicken wire.”

  “Hmm.” A pause. “I can give you a quick tutorial. Not on chicken wire. The other wire.”

  “No,” I said quickly. “I’m not interested.”

  He sighed. “Not much else I can offer, I’m afraid. Unless you wanna punch his name into the web and see what pings. Might be able to find some dirt on him and chase him out of town.”

  I’d already thought of that, but I wasn’t used to doing the dirty work. In cases like that, I’d do the initial digging and Mack would take it from there and deliver the news. Usually with veiled threats. I didn’t think I had the equivalent of a Mack Mercy to work with on this here in Latney.

  “Alright,” I said, echoing his sigh. “Just thought I’d ask.”

  “No problemo,” he said. “Keep me posted.”

  “Will do.”

  He hung up and I noticed Mikey had moved even closer, his head cocked in my direction. The cloth he was holding was still, resting on the wood, and he looked almost like he was playing a game of freeze tag.

  I cleared my throat. “Mikey?”

  He whipped his head in my direction.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  He nodded, keeping his eyes averted. “What? Oh, yeah…yeah, everything’s fine.” He pocketed the rag in his apron and hurried back to the grill.

  And I was left wondering why the kid with a talent for making burgers was so interested in my conversation.

  And why he was so bad at pretending he wasn't.

  FIVE

  I ran into someone as soon as I walked out of the Wicked Wich.

  Literally.

  I stared in horror at the girl sprawled out on the sidewalk. She was on her back, her legs up in the air, her bright pink underwear on full display now that her denim skirt was hiked halfway to her hips.

  “Oh my goodness,” I said, crouching down and ignoring the ache in my shoulder where we’d made contact. “Are you okay?”

  Dark green eyes stared back at me. The girl scowled, then tried to straighten her skirt and stand up in one fluid movement. But she slipped and started, banging her knee against the ground, and she looked more like an hour-old fawn testing its legs for the first time than a human who was used to walking. I extended a hand to help her but she ignored it.

  “You should watch where you’re going,” she said, still scowling.

  I nodded. “I know. I’m so sorry. I…I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

  “Clearly.” She huffed out a breath, her expression a mixture of irritation and indignation.

  I didn’t know her but there was something vaguely familiar about her. She was probably still in her teens but she towered over me by a good fo
ur inches, and her willowy figure was accentuated by the tight denim skirt that was now in its proper position, and an even tighter black tank top. A silver, heart-shaped locket lay nestled just above her cleavage and silver hoop earrings dangled from her lobes. A small silver stud pierced her nose, so small it almost wasn’t visible.

  She brushed at her long chestnut hair, doing her best to straighten it after her fall.

  “Are you okay?” I did a once-over of the girl, checking for any visual signs of injury. Despite a reddened knee, she looked none the worse for wear.

  She tugged at the hem of her tank top. “Barely.” She glared at me. “You could have knocked me unconscious.”

  She was really angry, and I was starting to feel a little miffed. It had obviously been an accident—who in their right mind would purposely knock someone over on their way out of a restaurant?—but the look she was giving me indicated she thought otherwise.

  I shouldered my purse and hoped I managed to look sympathetic. “I’m glad you’re okay.” I wasn’t going to apologize again.

  She smoothed a long lock of hair back and stole a glance behind her. Her entire body stiffened and she whirled around, a new emotion clouding her features.

  Fear.

  I shifted so I could see past her.

  A man was striding toward us.

  “Are you okay?”

  She frowned. “You sound like a broken record.”

  She was right; I did.

  “You just looked—”

  She cut me off. “Like crap? Because you knocked me over and messed up my hair and my outfit? Yeah, I’m aware. Thanks.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I meant you look…scared.” I nodded at the man, who now looked significantly younger as he was getting closer. “Do you know him?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” She pivoted so her back was facing me and put her hands on her hips. “What do you want?” she growled at the man, who was now less than fifteen feet away.

  “I just wanna talk,” he said.

  “I am done talking to you. You hear me? Done.”