Euphoria Lane (9 page)

“Relax. I just need you to ask a few questions for me. No big deal.” Jessie retrieved a piece of paper from her cleavage. “The client is Reverend Nichols. He lives in our complex.”

“Bernice’s son?”

Jessie nodded. “He was taken in and questioned. He wasn’t booked, but he’s afraid he’ll be pegged for the crime. He hired the agency, but Lenny is leaving for Hawaii tomorrow, and I can’t talk to the reverend without jeopardizing my undercover assignment.”

“So, what do you want me to do?”

Jessie took Andi’s discount-priced black purse, unzipped the opening, and placed the slip of paper inside. “This is Reverend Nichols’s number. Call him tonight and set up an interview for tomorrow.”

“You want
me
to interview him?” Andi shook her head. “I’ll mess it up.”

“No. You won’t.” Jessie dropped the purse back into Andi’s waiting hands. “Just tell him you’re Lenny’s assistant. Think of it as being my secretary. You can do that.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“It’s not as crazy as it sounds. You tape the conversation, and I’ll do the behind-the-scenes work on my time off.”

“You mean during the three minutes a night you sleep?”

Pounding at the door interrupted them again.

“Use the little boys’ room!” Jessie yelled, then calmly placed both of her hands on Andi’s shoulders and pleaded with sad eyes. “Please. I need you.”

She hated it when Jessie resorted to the puppy face. Andi could never resist, but she wondered if she should this time.

Could I play PI and not make a fool of myself?

Her sense of adventure knew this was an opportunity of a lifetime.

The pounding at the door grew louder, more insistent. Jessie responded with a swift kick to the side of a stall.

Their father’s voice sounded in Andi’s head,
“You should let someone else do it. It’s too dangerous.”
She balled her hands into fists. All her life she had been coddled, protected, and treated like an invalid. This was the first time her sister needed her and trusted her to help. She would prove she wasn’t the baby of the family any longer.

“Okay, Jessie, I’ll do your interview.” Andi shoved the paper into the pocket of her jeans. “So, you’re going to prove the reverend is innocent?”

“I’ll try. It’s not going to be easy. The circumstantial evidence is pointing to him.” The door and wall reverberated from what had to be a full body slam from the other side. “Okay! I’m coming!” Jessie patted Andi’s shoulder. “Just don’t do anything without my approval. And make sure you meet with this guy in a public place, like the food court in the mall. And ask Dad to sit at a nearby table, just in case. My gut says the reverend is harmless, but you never know.”

The next afternoon, Luke discovered that a mattress had been discarded next to the dumpster where Bernice’s body had been found. He jotted down a reminder in his electronic notepad to have it removed.

He rounded the corner and spotted Andi standing next to her front door, clutching a manila envelope. She wore an attractive gray pencil skirt along with a long-sleeve black blouse, leather belt, and matching pumps. She looked more like a lawyer than a teacher. Knowing he was glutton for punishment, he walked toward her.

She juggled a tape recorder and spiral notebook in her hands while she attempted to rip open the envelope and read the contents. “Harry! That horrible, despicable, low-life, bottom-feeding . . .”

Even from four feet away, the large type that read VIOLATION couldn’t be missed. A lesser man would have hidden before she spotted him.

Andi skimmed the condemning message. “I
do
not
have oil on my driveway.” She glanced up and was taken aback by his presence. “I do
not
have oil on my driveway!” she repeated.

Since Luke hadn’t written the violation letter, he didn’t know what to say. The wiser option was to silently follow her, he decided. She marched to her driveway and poked at the dime-size circle with her toe. The once-gooey substance was so old and dry it wouldn’t stick to her shoe.

“That is gum, not oil!” she barked at him.

She had every right to be angry. Harry wasn’t backing down, despite the attempt made on his life.

Luke studied the dirty spot on the driveway. Tire tread had turned the once-light-colored gum dark. “You’re right.” Harry wouldn’t win this battle. Luke’s gut instinct was to make all of her troubles fade away. Without thinking, he reached out to touch her arm. “I’ll destroy the violation when he sends me the copy.”

She stepped away, her scowl letting him know what she thought of him. He dropped his hand, feeling like a fool. He had broken up with her because she emotionally kept him at arm’s length.

Why risk opening myself up to heartbreak again?

Andi ripped up the letter. He took the remains from her grasp. The last thing he wanted was for Harry to catch her littering.

“Let me deal with this,” he offered.

She tapped her toes. “I assume you sent a copy of Meg’s pictures to Harry. It’s no coincidence that Helen had an oil stain on her driveway and now he is accusing
me
of having an oil stain.”

He nodded. “You’re probably right. I doubt he got close enough to your driveway to realize it was gum.”

“Because then I would have received a ‘No Gum on the Driveway’
violation letter.”

“Don’t say that too loud, or it will be on next year’s version of the rules.” He wished Andi and other like-minded neighbors would run for the board. It would make his life easier. Then he considered the ramifications of seeing her every week to review business matters. Spending time near her made him wish their relationship could have been different. He had dated several women over the years, but none of them captivated him the way Andi had.

A rush of exasperated breath escaped her lungs. “If I argue against the oil spill violation at the next meeting, Harry will probably hold up the picture Meg took of Helen’s driveway and use it against me, claiming it is a picture of
my
driveway. Valerie will demand a lynching and Harry will conveniently pull a rope out of his briefcase.”

He tried not to laugh, but a smirk made its way to his lips.

She took in a deep breath. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I’m just making sure everything is in order.”

“I don’t see why. Harry walks the property hourly and if there isn’t a problem, he makes one up.” She kicked at the gum.

Chaos suddenly marched around the corner. Meg and Roxie, wearing bright-red T-shirts that read “Anti-Board,” held up their cameras and grinned.

“Is he bothering you?” Roxie coughed on the smoke ring she’d blown a moment before. Luke could swear her neon-pink spandex pants were glowing. The long, flowing, gray wig was new. The crotchety woman could start her own clothing line: Freaka of Hollywood Blvd.: Sexy Apparel for Aging Hookers.

Luke rubbed his jaw with his thumb. “Ms. Blackwell, those cigarettes are going to kill you one day.”

She pointed the lit end at him. “Sonny, I’ve crammed two lifetimes into this one. I’m not planning to stick around for a third.”

Beaming, Meg tossed a red shirt to Andi. “We’ve been waiting for you to get home from school.” The nurse bounced with excitement. “Word got out that we’re retaliating, and two more neighbors want to join our Anti-Board.”

“We’ve started a petition to have Harry removed from the board.” Roxie waved the paper with a flourish. “They said they’d sign it.”

“Now that there is an official fight against Harry, neighbors are willing to stand up and help. Well, at least two are.” Meg eyed Luke as if expecting a response. “They’re waiting for us at the pool.” She grabbed Andi’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Andi resisted. “I’ll catch up with you later. I have an appointment.”

“Ladies,” Luke began, aiming for his usual calm, professional tone, “we need to talk about this group of yours.”

Roxie poked his chest with one of her brightly striped acrylic nails. “We are exercising our rights as Americans, Mr. Hot Stuff. We have the right to wear Anti-Board shirts, the right to start petitions, and the right to prove that board is full of hypocrites.”

“True,” Luke said, stepping back, away from Roxie’s lethal nails. He hoped one day she would stop calling him “sonny” and “hot stuff.” “The petition sounds like a step in the right direction. I’m not so sure about the Anti-Board shirts.”

Meg toyed with his tie. “Sorry you don’t approve, but we’re not about to stop now. We’re just getting started.”

Luke turned to Andi, imploring with his eyes to help. Roxie would take this anti-board to uncontrollable levels. “Please talk some sense into your friends before someone gets hurt.”

“Too late,” Andi answered. “What do you think Harry’s been doing? Making friends? He’s been hurting this community for a long time.”

Meg planted her hands on her hips. “Prove Harry’s finished, and then we’ll stop.”

“That’s right!” Roxie said, cheering them on. She turned on her high-heeled sandals, revealing the back of the Anti-Board T-shirt. In big block letters were the words, “BEWARE OF HOAs.”

Luke sighed.
Harry will stop at nothing to destroy them.

The reverend opened the door. “Yes?”

The sight of jeans and a blue polo shirt knocked Andi off guard. She didn’t know why, she hadn’t expected him to wear a clerical collar around his own home.

She straightened her posture. “I’m Andi Stevenson with Lenny’s Detective Agency.”

“I was expecting Lenny.” His brow furrowed with confusion.

“About that . . .” She glanced back over her shoulder at two elderly women huddled over a clump of bushes. “Can we talk inside? The neighbors are watching, and I know you want to keep this discreet.”

“Of course.”

She slipped into the living room and wondered if she was supposed to genuflect when she spotted the four-foot-tall wooden cross. Paintings of the Last Supper and martyred saints decorated the remaining walls. Scanning the rest of the living room, she noticed religious candles and statues perched on every flat surface. She felt the need to confess her sins—and she wasn’t even very religious.

“Who’s your decorator?” Andi mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Sarcastic personalities should come with an “Off” switch.

“Can we sit?”

He pointed to a brown leather couch.

“I’m going to ask you a list of questions and tape your responses.” She eased onto the leather. It didn’t seem right to record an interview with a former reverend with so many religious symbols staring at them, somehow.

“Where’s Lenny?” he asked.

“My employer prefers to send me first.” She caught a glimmer of disbelief in his eyes. “In this case, the owner feels it gives us an advantage. Keeping the agency’s involvement a secret will allow our detectives to work incognito. People are more likely to open up if they think they are speaking to me, just another neighbor,” the well-rehearsed speech, provided by her sister, flowed from her lips without a single pause for breath. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the total truth either. Silently, she asked for forgiveness, promising she would go to church again soon.

“That makes sense.”

She inhaled, rather than breathing a sigh of relief, then turned toward the cross with a silent nod of thanks.
This really is for everyone’s good,
she rationalized.

He sat on the wing-back chair facing her. “What did you want to ask me, Miss Stevenson?”

She pushed the “Record” button. “Why were you taken to the police station?”

It didn’t make sense to take a man of the cloth to the station if you weren’t planning to arrest him. “Were you uncooperative?”

“Not at all. One of the officers said he was uncomfortable questioning me here and asked if I wouldn’t mind joining them at the station.”

She looked about the room again. “I can see how they might have been . . . distracted.” She redirected her attention to the questions written in her notebook. “What exactly do you want Lenny’s Detective Agency to do for you?”

He picked up a Bible-study guide from an end table and placed it in his lap. Absently, he played with the silver cross hanging from a burgundy silk bookmark. “Find my mother’s killer. I’m offering a ten-thousand-dollar reward for information that leads to the arrest of her murderer. You could earn that reward, Miss Stevenson. I heard you’re a teacher. Teachers can always use more money. Isn’t that why you’re working for Lenny in your spare time? To earn extra money?”

Andi nodded. She could do a lot with ten grand—perhaps even invest in her sister’s agency. As the business grew, so would her share of the profits.

“I hear the police think you killed your mother,” she said flatly.

“Harry told them I should be their number-one suspect. He’s telling anyone who will listen.”

Is the board president guilty and trying to divert the attention of the police?

“Harry’s also claiming I cut his brake line. He gave the police a photograph of me looking beneath his car.”

Talk about damning evidence.

“What were you doing near his car?”

“I was searching for my mother’s dog.”

“The vet didn’t contact you? He has Toto,” she said. “He was going to check him over and then call you.”

Was the doggie doctor keeping the dog for a reason?

“I’m glad Toto’s not lost.” A stress line or two relaxed on his face.

According to Jessie’s background check, Reverend Nichols was forty-five, but he looked sixty. Andi felt sorry for him. She also felt sorry for Helen. It was too bad they broke up. They needed each other, from what she could tell. “Toto appeared happy and healthy when I last saw him,” she said.

“I haven’t been home much lately. I had to plan the funeral,” he explained without emotion. “Doctor Owens probably called, but I turned my answering machine off. Too many reporters requesting interviews. I’ll fetch Toto after we conclude our business.” He dragged in a deep breath as he rubbed the cross he held between his fingers. “My mother’s world centered on Toto and the homeowners’ association.”

Was that concern in his tone?