Controversy (4 page)

K
yson tried to concentrate on his job. Truly he did, but during the ride back to Phil Matthews's neighborhood, his mind looped footage of Michael Adams answering her front door. She'd looked either sexy or crazy—or maybe even a little of both, depending on your preference.

He, for one, found the combination fascinating. She was also older—another thing he found attractive. Lately, he had a penchant for older ladies. The closely guarded secret being older women were cougars in the bedroom—and if she was a thick girl, too? Lawd, have mercy.

Kyson sucked in a breath and rolled his eyes skyward at the possibility of reaching heaven in Michael Adams's arms.

“You're still thinking about that chick, aren't you?” Griff asked, chuckling while he parked.

Instead of answering, Kyson climbed out of the car and strolled up the paved driveway with the sound of his partner's laughter trailing him.

After two quick raps on the door of 519 Hillendale Drive, the partners put on their game faces and waited for the door to open. There was a long wait; but when it finally did open, only a partial view of the left side of an elderly woman's face could be seen.

“What do you want?” a quivering rumble snapped.

Griffin flipped opened his notepad and inquired, “Ms. Juanita Perkins?”

“Who wants to know?”

Kyson and Griffin drew deep breaths.

Kyson took over. “Ms. Perkins, I'm Detective Dekker and this is my partner, Detective Griffin. You called reporting a disturbance?”

“You the police?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Kyson answered, still mystified by her behavior. One would think she lived in the middle of Compton instead of in the hub of suburban paradise.

“Show me your badges,” she barked.

The two detectives followed her command and waited to be granted permission to enter the premises.

“How do I know those are real?”

Was she serious?

“Ma'am, you called us—not the other way around,” Griff snapped, his patience for BS nearing its end.

There was a grunt before she slammed the door. Seconds passed like minutes and the cops shared a careless shrug and turned around.

The door swung open.

“Are you guys coming in here or what?”

Old or not, the woman was riding Kyson's last nerve. However, when he turned back around, he was stunned to see someone who was only tall enough to reach his hip.

The partners strolled into the house, but nearly tumbled back out when the harsh scent of Ben-Gay singed their nose hairs.

What did the lady do, use a whole tube?

Griff rudely fanned the air around him.

“What took you so long to get here?” she snapped, slamming the door again. “I've been calling the station all morning.”

Kyson walked past a stool and guessed that was what she'd stood on when she'd opened the door. “Sorry, ma'am. We just received word of your call a few minutes ago.” He glanced around and wondered if the woman would take offense if he was to suggest they crack a window open.

“Mmm-hmm,” she said in a tone of disbelief and began a slow creep toward the living room.

The partners surmised that they were supposed to follow. “Ma'am, if you could just tell us what you saw last night…”

“Hold your breeches, young man,” she snapped. “We've waited all morning for you, you can at least extend us the same courtesy.”

“Us?” Kyson repeated just as he entered the living room and saw a small circle of five elderly women nestled in upholstery furniture, crowded with throw pillows.

“Did we interrupt an AARP meeting or something?” Griff whispered, coming up behind Kyson.

“Ha. Ha,” Ms. Perkins said, sounding anything but amused. “The white one is a regular Rodney Dangerfield,” she informed the group.

The women's eyes narrowed and successfully wiped the cocky smile from Griffin's lips.

“I may be old, honey, but there's nothing wrong with my hearing,” Ms. Perkins chastised as she made it to her seat on the sofa's last cushion. “You young folks today need to learn to respect your elders.”

Kyson and Griff stood before the ring of women, feeling as if they'd just been caught stealing cookies out of the cookie jar.

Apparently feeling she'd made her point, Juanita Perkins pulled a crocheted blanket over her lap and then reached for her teacup and saucer from the table next to her.

After a beat of silence, Kyson cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, ladies. We apologize for not responding to your call sooner, but my partner and I were chasing down other leads. I hope you can forgive us.”

Ms. Perkins finally cracked a smile—a small one, but at least it was a start.

“Well, you gentlemen are looking at the best Neighborhood Watch in the country.”

Griff lifted a curious brow. “Is that right?”

“Yes, that's right.” The smile vanished from Juanita's face. “You know I don't like your condescending tone. We run a tip-top shift in this neighborhood. Isn't that right, Estelle?”

“It most certainly is,” the only white woman in the pack, with hair so white it looked like a fluffy ball of cotton, said. “We know everything that goes on in this block.” As if offering proof, she brandished a walkie-talkie just as it chirped to life.

“Mr. Ellison has just left the premises to walk his dog. Looks like he finally heeded our warnings to put a leash on that wild beast. Maybe it will keep that four-legged freak out of your prized flower bed, Estelle. Over.”

Estelle smiled in triumph. “He better or I'll clip the dog's balls off myself.” She returned the walkie-talkie to her lap. “Ferocious animal.”

“What kind of dog is it?” Kyson asked.

“Chihuahua. Barks like the dickens.”

Kyson didn't know how he managed to keep a straight face. “Can we get back to why you called the station?”

The six ladies nodded.

“So who wants to go first?”

“I will,” Juanita stated proudly. “I was awakened at precisely 2:12 a.m.”

“How are you so sure about the time?” Griff asked, cutting her off.

“I looked at the clock,” she answered as if she dealt with a simpleton.

“Right,” Griffin said at the obvious answer. “Please continue.”

Ms. Perkins drew an impatient breath, but went on with her story. “I woke up at precisely 2:12 a.m. when I heard a loud bang.”

“A bang?”

“Well, maybe it was more like a thump,” she said, drumming a finger against her chin.

Kyson closed his eyes and counted to ten.

“Anyway, my bedroom window faces the Matthewses' residence—at least the driveway and the carport area—and what I heard was someone running over the Matthewses' empty garbage can. It's plastic—sort of like that Rubbermaid material.”

“We've told Philip about leaving the container out,” Estelle cut in.

“That's right,” Juanita concurred. “Everyone is supposed to roll their garbage cans back from the curbside the same day the garbagemen empty them.”

“You know,” Estelle leaped in again. “For curb appeal.”

“Uh-huh,” Kyson said, suspecting that he was not only talking to an overzealous Neighborhood Watch but also the Home Owners' Association group.

“Of course, we're pretty lenient with folks. You know, sometimes if you are going to be away for some reason. An extended vacation, one of us will be more than happy to make sure the plastic receptacles are rolled back for you.”

“That is very…kind of you.”

“Yes, well.” Juanita cleared her throat. “Well, the Matthewses have been sort of a problem since they moved into the neighborhood.”

“Not Phil,” a new woman corrected. “Oh, by the way, I'm Louise.”

Kyson gave her a nod in greeting. He, and apparently no one else, hadn't the heart to tell Louise her wig was seriously off center.

“Oh, no. Phil is a sweetheart,” Juanita agreed. “It's
her
that was always the problem.”

“Her?” Kyson questioned, but he already knew to whom they referred.

“Yes.
Her.
” Louise straightened. “
Mrs.
Matthews.”

“Ex-Mrs. Matthews,” Juanita corrected. “She evidently thought the rules didn't apply to her. One year she painted the shutters this horrible cotton candy pink and then had the nerve to install a chain-link fence instead of the Home Owners' Association-approved
private
fence. Ugh!” Juanita tossed up her hands. “Just thinking about the daily battles we had with that…that…woman is enough to spike my blood pressure.”

Another club member piped in. “One time, she installed a vulgar mailbox of a man bent over, poking his bum out. Every time the mailman opened the mailbox, essentially he was pulling the man's pants down.”

The circle of women groaned as if they remembered the horrific event clearly.

“And when there were envelopes ready to pick up,” the woman went on, “it looked like…like…”

“We got the picture,” Kyson said, saving her from having to complete the sentence. However, he couldn't stop the subtle smile curving his lips.

“Anyway,” Juanita said, seizing control of the conversation, “when I heard the thump, I looked at the clock and then grabbed my glasses because I can't see a thing without them.”

The circle of women nodded as if they could all testify to the statement.

“Once I got those on, I made it over to the window and sure enough there was this dark sports-utility vehicle everyone drives nowadays, blocking Phil's car.”

“Did you see anything else?” Griff asked.

“Well, I heard a slam—I think it was the vehicle thingy's back door or trunk.” She stopped. “Do those things have trunks?” She waved the question off. “Anyway. I did make out two big, black shadows racing to the driver and passenger doors and then speeding off. This time when they ran over the garbage can, they dragged it out to the middle of the street. Unfortunately, that's going to be another fine for poor Philip.” She shook her head. “Rules are rules.”

Without looking at each other, Kyson and Griffin shook their heads in commiseration for the people who had the misfortune to live under this board's charge.

“Did you get a look at these, uh, big, black shadows?” Kyson asked in his best Joe Friday voice.

“Unfortunately, no,” Juanita said, looking disappointed. “Everything happened so fast, I forgot to grab my infrared binoculars.”

“Or call the hotline for backup,” Louise added in equal disappointment. “Really. What's the point in investing in all this if we're not going to use them or follow the set guidelines?”

The other women mumbled their agreement.

Juanita appeared thoroughly chastised.

“You have infrared binoculars?” Kyson asked, astonished.

“It allows us to be able to see in the dark,” Juanita perked. “Most crimes happen in the middle of the night, so it seemed like a great investment,” she answered as if it all made perfect sense.

“And you each have a pair?” Griff asked the group.

Again, they performed another round of head bobbing.

“And yet, you didn't see anything last night?”

“Well, I went to bed early because I had a dreadful headache.” Juanita swallowed. “I didn't follow protocol last night. I swear it's the first time I, uh, sort of fell asleep on the job.”

Kyson couldn't help but ask, “Is there a fine for that?”

Juanita's mouth flattened.

“Just asking,” he said and tried to backpedal his way onto her good side by returning to the subject at hand. “What did you do next?”

“Well, nothing,” she admitted. “It may be a violation to leave your garbage can in the middle of the street, but it's certainly not against the law,” she reasoned. “It wasn't until this morning when I walked over to deliver the violation ticket that I got a chance to talk to Phil's sweet new girlfriend. Sweet woman,” she stopped to add. “He must have been hiding her under lock and key. I've never seen her around before. She said when she came over she found the place ransacked and that's when I
knew,
” she said.

The pause was deliberate, so Kyson decided to play along. “You knew what?”

“That
she
was behind it.”

Kyson ignored the woman's tone.

“By
she,
do you mean Mr. Matthews's ex-wife?” Griff asked.

“Absolutely,” Juanita insisted while the gray-and-white-haired ladies surrounding her nodded. “If there's foul play to be had in this neighborhood, you better bet the farm that Michael woman is the root of it.”