A Suspicion of Strawberries (Scents of Murder Book 1) (22 page)

“Then they’re out of your hands, too.”

I bit my lip, took a sip of tea, and decided against telling him about the food dehydrator. For now. “I see what you mean.”

“Do me—do us a favor. Let it go for tonight.”

My earlier twinges of unease started to disappear. “I missed you.”

“I’ve been gone longer than this before.” When he turned to face me, his expression remained passive.

“I know, but I couldn’t reach you. Is something wrong with your phone?”

When he didn’t respond at first, I started to wonder if I’d been right about him avoiding me. My unease reared up once again. What if Ben was hiding something? This reminded me of my earlier thoughts, the words I’d spoken to Seth about trusting God.

“I’m here now.” He took the ketchup and mustard out of the fridge. “And I’m sorry I didn’t get your calls.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” I sipped my tea and tried not to concentrate on his last cryptic statement but instead on what I’d learned that afternoon. “I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?”

“Talking to Seth today made me realize how much I still have to learn about trusting God, especially with the future. Our future.” My throat constricted.

Ben settled onto the chair across from me and took my hand. “I have a lot to learn, too.”

“But you’re so sure of yourself.”

He shook his head. “Don’t you think there are times I’ve been out on the road and wondered if I’d come home and find you’d lost interest in me? Or times I wonder if I’m making a mistake in coming home off the road for good?”

“I hadn’t thought about that.” How could I be so clueless and only think about my own feelings? “Ben, I’m sorry. There’s never been anyone but you. Even while you were gone. And I do support you in your decision, even though the unknown can be scary.”

“Oh, Ands.” He caressed my cheek. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. I was saying I’ve not always been sure about everything, either. But I believe in God’s guidance. And I believe in us.”

“I do, too.” My stomach growled, and we both chuckled.

“When did you last eat?”

“Um, last night?” I watched him pull some plates from the shelf.

“See, that’s your problem. You need to make time to eat.” Ben stacked burgers on a plate. “Grab the fixings, and we can eat in the living room. I rented a movie. Jerry’s crashed in the den watching the game, so we’ll be out of each other’s way. He’ll follow the smell of the food if he’s hungry.”

“Ooh, a movie!” I picked up the plate of sliced tomatoes and onions and found the chips. “What’d you get?”

“Alfred Hitchcock.
Rear Window
.”

“I haven’t seen that in ages.” His thoughtful gesture warmed me. Usually he picked something a tad more action packed. Okay, a lot more action packed. But I love older suspense movies, and
Rear Window
is one of my favorites. This was a good sign. Ben’s mysterious mood had vanished.

As nightfall approached, Ben and I settled onto his lumpy love seat once he’d popped the DVD into the player. The more I watched, the faster the wheels in my head turned. A suspicion of murder. Jimmy Stewart’s and Grace Kelly’s characters trying to figure out what happened to the man’s wife across the way.

What made me sit up and really take notice was how they called Lars Thorwald’s bluff. Although I’d seen the movie more than a dozen times, I hadn’t thought of the correlation between my situation and theirs. My pulse quickened when I saw Lisa Fremont and her boyfriend write the note to the villain that said, “What have you done with her?”

If I were to find the connection between Melinda and the food dehydrator, I’d have to find a way to draw her out, to see if she still had it.

After I refilled my iced tea glass in the kitchen, I sat next to Ben again. “You know, I’ve noticed a similarity between the movie and what’s going on with Melinda. I’m not going to break into her apartment, but I am going to see if I can call her out.”

“So what are you going to do? Write her a note?” Ben gestured to the television screen as Lisa ran across the courtyard to Lars Thorwald’s apartment and slid the envelope under the door.

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” I set my glass on the coffee table. “Do you have any notepaper or a legal pad or something? And a marker.”

Ben shook his head. “I was just kidding.”

“Well, I’m not. Really. Paper and a pen or something.”

“I happen to agree with Doyle, the detective buddy in
Rear Window
. That’s a private world we’re looking into.”

I stood and went to the kitchen. “It is, and if nothing comes of this idea, so be it. At least I tried. Now, about that notepad? Don’t you have a place where you keep your bills or paper or something?” I shouldn’t have been so hard on him. For a guy, he’s remarkably organized.

Ben met me in the kitchen and pulled out a drawer. “Here. Since you’re so insistent.” He withdrew a notepad and pen. “Want an envelope, too?”

“That would be wonderful.” I sat down at the kitchen table. “I need to say something direct, yet simple. Okay. How about this?” I wrote in block letters, as carefully as I could: “Melinda, I know what you did. And I know how you did it.” Then I held up my handiwork. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re something else.” He tapped the note. “So what do you plan to do?”

“I’m going to do a stakeout. You got your binoculars handy?” If I sounded a little intense, so be it, but thanks to Jimmy Stewart and Grace Kelly, I knew I’d get to the bottom of this. I followed him back to the living room.

“A stakeout.” Ben moved to open the front door and let the cool evening breeze drift through. He paused the movie. “Andi, stop. You don’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“Don’t you have binoculars?”

“Aren’t you listening to me? Drop it. Enough.”

“A woman died. Someone killed her. I’m tired of this hanging over my head and waiting for this to end.”

“Well, I feel the same way.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind.” Ben sank back onto the love seat. A roar from the den and a shout from Jerry told me his night was going well.

“I could be wrong.”

“And if you’re not. . .”

“Poor Melinda. . .” My stomach caught. What if Melinda had only intended to scare her sister, maybe mess up her wedding photos—not kill her? Of course, I didn’t know how long Melinda had known she was pregnant. “But if she did this without trying to kill Charla. . .maybe it won’t go too badly for Melinda.” My head hurt.

“You could just talk to her, tell her what you know.” Ben squeezed my hand.

“Give her a chance to explain.” I sighed. “Especially now that she’s lost the baby.”

“You’re so compassionate, and I love that about you.” He put his arm around me. “Take your time and choose your words carefully.”

“I will.” I forced my attention back to the television. At last, “The End” flashed across the screen. I tried not to yawn, but Ben beat me to it.

“Guess I’ll go,” I said as I stood and stretched. “I know you’re tired.”

He nodded and gave me a sleepy smile. “But I enjoyed the evening.”

“Can. . .can I borrow your binoculars, just in case?”

Ben groaned and stood, then went to his gun cabinet and pulled some binoculars out of a bottom drawer. “Stubborn woman.”

“You are such a sweetheart.” I accepted the binoculars and hugged him. “I might not even need them.”

“You’re going to do this tonight?”

I nodded. “I can’t afford to wait.” I slung the binoculars strap over my shoulder and reached for my purse, tucking the letter neatly inside.

Ben gave me a quick hug and a kiss. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

“I’ll be waiting to hear from you.” I wanted to add, “Don’t forget to call me while you’re on the road,” but I didn’t. He would be home again soon enough, with everything the future would bring us.

It wasn’t too much after nine, and I hoped Melinda would be home for the evening, as well. Someone on a stakeout never knew how long they’d have to wait. I figured I ought to bring a variety of snacks and drinks to keep me alert. My Jeep needed gas, so I dropped by a convenience store on the way into town and filled up. After my debit card recovered from the shock, I bought three sodas and some yogurt-covered pretzels.

I found my way down the darkened streets of Greenburg and turned onto the street where Emily and Melinda lived. My heart thudded. What on earth was I doing? I’d blazed a trail from Ben’s place all the way here, and I was sure if I looked over my shoulder, I’d probably see flames trailing behind me.

After I parked the Jeep behind a pickup near the corner, I peered through the binoculars. I could see the glow of the porch light in front of Melinda and Emily’s home. Both women’s cars were in the driveway.

Minutes ticked by. For a while I listened to the radio and tried to hold off eating my snacks. After all, I’d had a great Bongo burger at Ben’s. If someone had told me that morning I’d end up staking out Melinda Thacker’s house, I probably wouldn’t have believed them.

I remembered my earlier train of thought. Did I care about Melinda, or was I just trying to prove my point? Maybe Ben was right. Instead of trying to slip her the letter anonymously, I would try a direct approach. Maybe then Melinda would talk to me, say something, and then we could go and talk to Jerry together. I knew I couldn’t sleep tonight otherwise.

Putting the Jeep into first gear, I headed the rest of the way to Melinda’s house and parked in front of her driveway.
Lord, help. I can’t do like they did to Lars Thorwald
. I just wanted to talk to her. I knew she trusted me. I just couldn’t sneak. Well, not until I gave her a chance to talk.

So I pounded on the door.

The screen door swung open. Melinda’s fair skin looked almost pasty in the porch light. “Oh, um, hi. What brings you here?”

“I. . .I wanted to talk to you about something. I couldn’t over the phone. . .” Just then I realized I hadn’t planned on what to say. “Er, how are you feeling?”

“Better every day.” Her slight smile provided a scant mask for the pain I saw reflected in her eyes.

“Good.” I rubbed my arms. A hot, sticky Tennessee night, and I had goose bumps. “I need to talk about the day Charla died. I know that’s painful for you, but I’ve learned some things that you should know.”

She licked her lips and blinked. “Another conspiracy theory?”

“No. Someone broke into my store. That’s how the facial scrub got sabotaged. But I don’t think someone was trying to kill Charla. I don’t think they meant it. Maybe they were trying to scare her, or teach her a lesson, or ruin her wedding.” I made myself stop. A cricket chirped somewhere in the night. In other circumstances, this would have been funny. Somewhere out toward Main Street, someone honked a car horn.

“Is that what you think?”

“I do. Does that idea sound possible?”

“I don’t know.” Melinda shook her head.

“It was dried strawberries. I found the seeds in the scrub. This points to several people. You said that Emily even admitted to giving Charla strawberry candy or something last summer as revenge. And then what about Mike Chandler? Charla sued him for trying to ‘poison’ her. Or worse, what if Robert was trying to get out of the wedding for some reason? A little extreme, but if he was seeing someone else. . .” I’d already blown the theory about Robert, but I needed to see what Melinda would say.

“I—said—I—don’t—know!” She brushed away a tear. “Just go. Please go.”

“Melinda, do you know something?” Please. . .my throat hurt. “If it was an accident—”

“Go—” The wooden door slammed shut behind the screen. Off went the porch light.

I trudged to my Jeep and launched into prayer. “I tried, I did. Lord, I never thought it would be this hard.” My own eyes burned as I drove away from Melinda’s house. At the end of the street, I waited. A niggle in my stomach told me I ought to go back to where I’d hung out and debated with myself not long ago. So I circled the block and tucked the Jeep behind the pickup again and waited.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Three hours later, I’d cleared through my bagful of yogurt-covered pretzels and all three sodas. I squinted through the binoculars at the front porch of Melinda and Emily’s place.

C’mon, Melinda
. I staved off the late-night mental fog and glanced at my watch. Midnight had come and gone. Maybe I should have brought something with a little more caffeine in it.

And maybe I’d been wrong. There was that possibility. Maybe Seth was a good liar. Maybe I’d made assumptions about that private world I was looking into, thinking back to the line from
Rear Window
.

My pulse rate jumped at least twenty beats when I saw a rectangle of light in front of the darkened house. Someone was coming out, leaving the porch light off. And that someone held a box and a lumpy garbage bag. Donation time!

Melinda carried the items to her car. The streetlight gave me a good view. When she glanced up and down the street, I shrank down a bit. Then I realized I should have brought Di’s sensible minivan, a carbon copy of so many others in Greenburg. I flopped sideways across the passenger seat, praying all the while that Melinda did not see me. As a sleuth, I had definitely not thought of everything. Besides that, the sodas had kicked in and I really needed a bathroom.