Euphoria Lane (14 page)

She angled her head and smirked. “999.”

“I’m going to take that and run before you change your mind.” He patted her shoulder like an older brother might.

His touch was light and comforting, but her heart yearned for more.

How had this happened? One moment I’m moving into a new community, dreaming of making cookies in my new oven, and the next minute I’m fighting the HOA president and solving a murder while trying to figure out how my old flame fits into my new life.

Luke was even trying to help her. For now. Until he discovered she was keeping family secrets again. This was getting too complicated. She knew herself well enough to know she was already falling for him again. She should put a halt to the whole friendship idea, but she knew she wasn’t strong enough.

What was that definition of
insanity again? Oh, yeah. Doing the same thing over and over while expecting a different result.

Following Luke to his car, Andi spotted a cream-colored envelope tucked under his windshield wiper. Her name showed in big, block letters.

“It’s for you,” he said, yanking the envelope free and handing it to her.

“An envelope for
me
on
your
windshield?” The words VIOLATION LETTER caught her eye. “It’s from Harry,” she said, handing it back to him. “So much for thinking he’d lighten up when he heard I was moving.”

Luke read, “Photographic evidence of litter on the porch.”

She gritted her teeth and then swallowed a string of expletives before daring to speak. “He set me up. He dumped the trash and took a picture.” Taking a deep breath, she remembered the camera out back. “
I’ll
have the photographic evidence next time.”

Luke ripped the letter in half, proving he was taking her side. “I hope you catch him in the act.”

“He left it on your car on purpose.” She scanned the shrubbery and trees for any sign of Harry. “He’s telling us he knows you’re spending time with me.”

Luke followed her gaze out into the darkness. “Let me worry about Harry.”

Fifteen minutes later, Luke found himself standing in the center of Helen’s spotless living room with Andi, Meg, and Roxie. Black leather sofas sat perpendicular on the plush white carpet with a gleaming glass coffee table nestled near both.

He dropped several of Andi’s empty, flattened packing boxes near an oak bookcase, thinking it was as good a place to start packing as any. Roxie had volunteered their services when Helen refused to return to her home until after the murderer was caught. The two happened to be good friends. Luke never could see what the flamboyant, retired hairdresser and conservative college professor had in common.

According to Helen, the police found peanut bits at the bottom of her liquid coffee creamer bottle. The killer was someone who knew she was highly allergic to peanuts. That eliminated the possibility that he or she was a stranger. No wonder the woman didn’t want to come back to Euphoria.

Luke took in his surroundings. Several silver-framed photos scattered throughout the living room displayed Helen and the reverend holding each other at holiday gatherings. It was hard for him to believe that man, who appeared to be so happy, was the same man who had turned his home into his own monastery. Luke had tried not to gawk when he entered the reverend’s home a few months ago to check on a report of water damage. The previous year it had resembled any other single man’s home. It basically contained a sofa, coffee table, and big-screen television set.

“They looked very happy together.” Andi pointed to a photograph of Helen kissing the reverend’s cheek.

Meg sighed. “They were. I used to pass them on their evening stroll down to the lake. They were always holding hands. He would watch her toss bread crumbs to the ducks, and I could swear he was so much in love he glowed.”

Roxie moved to the bar and poured herself a glass of bourbon. “Once his congregation found out they were going to lose donations from Helen’s former boyfriend, everything went to hell and Bernice stepped in to make it worse.”

Luke began assembling packing boxes, ready to hear the parts of the story he didn’t already know. “How did Bernice make it worse?”

Meg accepted the box Luke handed to her, her expression grim. “Bernice convinced Helen to leave Reverend Nichols at the altar. She told Helen that her son loved his church and, with time, would grow to resent and hate her for taking that life away from him. Bernice went on to tell her that his new job—counseling teens—would never fill the void left by losing his flock.”

Luke knew what it was like to have a void you could never fill. His gaze fell on Andi. She listened intently as she helped Meg pack books. Her expression reflected the melancholy mood the story elicited. There were nights when he missed her so much he questioned his decision to break up.

Did I try hard enough to get her to open up back then?
He wasn’t so sure anymore.

Roxie swallowed a swig of bourbon. “To send her point home, Bernice showed Helen pictures of the reverend smiling while he worked church events, followed by a picture taken the day he left his church. I can tell you he wasn’t smiling. The before-and-after pictures were too much for Helen to take. She decided right then to break up.” Roxie shook her head in disgust. “Bernice was a piece of work, I tell you. I bet she’s giving the devil lessons on how to be mean and spiteful.”

“I knew Helen taught religious studies—I never knew that included voodoo.” Meg lifted a book on the practice in New Orleans. “Hey, Andi, do you think this might help us fight Harry?”

Andi shrugged. “If you’re into that sort of thing. Let me know if you find a Get-Harry-to-Move-Away curse.”

Roxie rolled her eyes. “I vote for some old fashioned butt whippin’.”

“Speaking of Harry, Paul put their condo up for sale.” Meg set the book on the coffee table next to her can of soda. “I also heard he made an appointment with a divorce lawyer.”

“Bet he’s wishing it wasn’t a community property state,” Andi answered. “Valerie will get fifty percent of their assets.”

Roxie snorted. “She doesn’t deserve a penny. That boy should have opened his eyes and divorced her years ago.”

Luke had always suspected that Paul knew deep down that his wife was bound to leave him, but didn’t want to face the fact.

Did Andi suspect I was going to break up with her back in college? Or did it come as a shock?
He hated to think about how much he had hurt her.

“So who do you think killed Bernice and attempted to kill Helen?” Meg placed another book in the box and then closed the flaps.

“Don’t forget Harry,” Andi said. “Someone cut his brakes.”

“No one cares about Harry,” Meg and Roxie answered in unison.

“I’ll bet you fifty dollars the cowboy did it,” Roxie said, tossing Meg a roll of packing tape.

“My money’s on Harry,” Meg answered. “He’s wanted to be the association president for years. Right, Luke? I bet he killed Bernice and Tess saw the whole thing. Now that poor woman is out there running for her life, too afraid to call her husband to let him know where she is hiding.”

Wait a minute.

Luke tossed books on Eastern religions into a box. “What makes you think Tess witnessed Bernice’s murder?”

“It’s a theory,” Andi explained.

“All right. What about motive?” Luke dared to point out. “Why would either man try to kill Helen?”

Meg sealed her box shut. “Maybe Helen found evidence linking Harry to Bernice’s death. I bet he cut his own brakes to throw suspicion off himself.”

“Could be.” Andi took the roll of tape from her friend and placed it gently on the glass table, next to the voodoo book.

Luke hauled the filled boxes to the door. A few minutes later, they started work on the kitchen. Roxie sat at the table to finish her drink. Luke chose the cupboard containing the plates and saucers. He separated a sheet of newspaper from the piles he found in the recycling bin and wrapped it around a navy-blue plate.

Meg sat on her knees in front of the cupboard beneath the sink. “We should put the cleansers in a plastic bin. They are bound to fall over and spill.” She held silver polish in one hand and liquid car cleaner in the other.

Roxie leaned forward as she squinted. “Is that soap biodegradable?”

Luke realized he must have reacted to the statement, because the older woman glared at him while wagging her finger.

“You think I don’t care about the environment?” Roxie asked.

“I hadn’t thought about it before,” he confessed. He never thought Roxie cared about anything other than her friends and family.

She removed a cigarette from the left side of her bra and a lighter from the right side. “I care about the fish in the pond,” the woman insisted while lighting up. “Fish don’t send fines or violation letters.”

Andi turned to Luke. “Does the drain in the street lead to the pond?”

“As a matter of fact, it does.” Luke glanced at the car cleaner Meg held. “There’s nothing wrong with the aerator, so it must be some sort of chemical killing off the fish. Car wash products contain chemicals, but I wouldn’t place the blame on Helen. She isn’t the only one who washes her car around here, even if it is against the rules.”

Meg studied the detergent in her hand. “Nope. Helen did not kill Nemo. My nephew could safely drink this stuff and only burp bubbles.”

Roxie chuckled, which forced bourbon out her nose. She slapped her hand over her face and ashes from her cigarette flew across the table.

That woman ought to consider giving up at least one of her vices.

Luke couldn’t get the dead fish out of his mind. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Bernice was murdered and suddenly there were also dead fish floating in the pond. He didn’t believe in coincidences.

Andi glanced up at him. “You mean to tell me if someone cleaned their driveway with bleach and hosed it off, those chemicals would work their way down the street, into the drain, then into the lake, where they would kill the fish?”

“The chemicals would kill only the fish they first came into direct contact with, before diluting,” Luke explained. “There’s a lot of water in the lake, or pond, or whatever you want to call it.”

Roxie grinned. “You want to clean Harry’s car with bleach?”

“Ladies . . .” Luke warned.

“I’d probably end up burning my eyes with it, anyway.” Andi glanced at the cover of the book on voodoo. She obviously found it intriguing. “I was just thinking out loud.”

“I know what’s on your mind.” Meg placed the cleanser in a wash tub she pulled out from under the sink. “The murderer may have killed Bernice somewhere on the property and cleaned up the blood with bleach, right?”

“It’s a possibility,” Andi agreed. “All I know for sure is there are dead fish in the pond.” She opened the pantry door, ready to fill another box.

Luke selected another plate to wrap. “I’ll tell the police about the fish, just in case the killer did clean up the crime scene.”

Saturday morning Andi awoke on the living room sofa. Her last memory was of watching the computer monitor and listening intently for noise outside. She jumped up and rushed to the sliding-glass door, ignoring the multiple kinks in her neck, back, and side from sleeping on cushions instead of a mattress. A feeling of panic overtook her. A fluttering sound signaled trouble even before she pushed aside the blinds.

She felt her eyes widen involuntarily. Pigeons and birdseed blanketed the patio from one end to the other. The pesky flock cooed between pecking at the seeds littering the cement floor. One larger bird pushed aside the smaller ones. They fluttered their wings and flew to perch on the decorative railings built into the three-foot-tall wall surrounding her porch. That was when she noticed the droppings covering every exposed surface.

“No!” Rushing back to the computer, she cursed under her breath. It took just seconds to rewind the footage captured by the camera to the spot where the birdseed fell out of a large, plastic baggie. She let the recording rewind for another second or two and then pushed “Play” again.

A hooded figure in black, hiding behind a dark umbrella, emptied five quart-size baggies on her porch and then ran. He must have known about the camera. Why else would he hide behind an umbrella? It was a smart move—she had to give him that. With the umbrella there, she couldn’t see much. She couldn’t even tell if the person who threw the trash was a man or woman, young or old, thin or fat. But she knew it was Harry. It had to be. Anger grew in her gut.

How had he found out about the camera? Did he have his own camera hidden out back?

She marched to the back porch and scanned the trees, bushes, and brick wall that surrounded the complex. She saw nothing. That didn’t mean there wasn’t one out there.

Not ready to tackle the mess on the porch, she scooped coffee grinds into the coffee maker. While the machine huffed and puffed, she scanned her pantry shelves. She had never baked this early in the morning before, but there was always a first time.

Andi picked up but then set back the cardboard cylinder containing oatmeal on her pantry shelf. “I’m not in the mood for oatmeal cookies.” She shoved the olive oil aside and found a bottle of light corn syrup. “Something sweet might keep me from murdering Harry.” Since she’d moved into Euphoria Lane, the need to bake to settle her nerves grew daily. Unfortunately, leisurely activities had taken a backseat to the war with Harry and her work for Lenny’s Detective Agency. “What should I bake?”

“Talking to yourself again?” Jessie’s tired voice sounded from the kitchen, just around the corner from the pantry.

“If I talk to myself I am always assured of an intelligent conversation,” Andi answered, then joined her sister in the kitchen.

“If you say so.” Jessie smirked and went about pouring herself a glass of milk. She wore her favorite sleeping attire: a Cardinals jersey and shorts. “Baking again?”

“Once I figure out what I want to make.” She glanced down at the plastic box marked “Christmas Cookie Cutters.” “I know. I’ll make little, ugly gingerbread men that look like Harry and then bite off their heads.”