Take the Monkeys and Run (A Barbara Marr Murder Mystery #1) (7 page)

“Yes, but how did you see inside the house?”

“Oh, that.” I was in a pickle. Okay. Well, they say the truth will set you free. “We decided, to, you know, go take a look around for ourselves, make sure the house hadn’t been broken into or anything, because you know, we have kids, and we wouldn’t want strangers around here breaking into houses, because, you know, as mothers—mothers who shouldn’t go to jail or anything—we were concerned, and so I accidentally opened the window and stuck my head in. I didn’t go in all the way, honest! If my friends had dropped me, well then, I might have, you know, fallen in and then my whole body would have been in, but I didn’t. I think, technically, you might say I just looked in, wouldn’t you?”

“Accidentally?” Boy, that guy didn’t miss a trick.

“Hmm?” I tried to act innocent.

“You said you ‘accidentally’ opened the window. How did you ‘accidentally’ open the window?”

“Oh . . .” I said, stalling. Think! “Well . . . it was dirty. Mm-hmm, and so I had to wipe it off to look in, you know,” and remembering that I had wiped off another window, I held up my sleeve and showed him the dirt. “And when I went to wipe it, it slid open quite easily—almost on its own, really.” I knew this was lame, but I was determined to stay out of jail. I imagined the network news teaser: “A mother from Rustic Woods does time in the big house after discovering a dead head in an empty house—what will become of her kids? Details at ten.”

I started to feel nauseous again. The mixture of fear, excitement, and adrenaline added to shivering in the chilly October air for over an hour was wearing me out.

“You know, I think I’m feeling sick again . . .”

Officer Brad, not wanting to have to clean his shoes a second time, moved off hastily.

I walked over to Peggy and Roz and hugged them both, while Howard talked to the policeman. My two friends looked as sick as I felt. Peggy’s husband, Simon, had come over to give her some moral support. When Howard was done talking to the police, he put his arms around me and walked me into our house while the frenzy continued.

“You want something?” he asked as he walked to the kitchen.

“A cup of tea would be nice. With a whiskey chaser. Make that a whiskey, forget the tea. Make it a double.”

“You don’t drink whiskey.”

“Oh. I forgot. Just tea, then.” I shivered. “And a warm blanket.” I sat down in my nice big, overstuffed, comfy chair in the family room, curled my feet under my bottom, and laid my head down on the soft chenille pillow.

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, my eyes opened to darkness and I was covered in our red electric blanket. My body felt like I’d just run a marathon—not that I’d ever run a marathon, but I have a good imagination. I moaned, pulling my body out of the chair, and hobbled to the kitchen, turning the light on.

There was a big note scribbled in crayon taped to the microwave: TOOK THE GIRLS OUT TO DINNER. WE’LL BRING SOMETHING BACK. HOWARD. PS: HAPPY BIRTHDAY. I smiled. He hadn’t forgetten my birthday. Or—my smile faded—maybe he HAD forgotten, and the girls had reminded him. More likely the latter.

The clock said ten after six. I had slept a long time. Howard and the girls would probably be back soon. I was hoping they’d bring me my favorite—soft tacos with extra cheese from Taco Loco. Soft tacos would really hit the spot. I opened a couple of cupboards, but found nothing even closely related to a soft taco, so I pulled two small Almond Joys from the Halloween candy bowl. At least I was getting some protein. And isn’t coconut a fruit? I was contemplating going upstairs for a shower to wash away the stress and grime, when the phone rang. Caller ID told me it was Roz. I picked up.

“Hey,” I said.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m feeling better. Still creeped out though. You?”

“Well, I’m okay, but boy, did I have to calm Peter down. He was furious at me. Said I was a busybody.”

“Busybody? Does anybody really say that anymore?” I asked.

“Just Peter, the old fogey. He’s settled down now, though. But that’s not why I’m calling. You left before the good stuff happened!”

“Something else happened?” I was stunned. I couldn’t believe the day I had been having. The birthday from hell.

“Oh yeah, something else happened. A black, very official-looking car pulled up, followed by a big white van. Two guys in suits and sunglasses got out of the car and flashed badges around to the police at the scene. Guess who it was.”

“Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones?”

“Who?” she asked. Evidently, Roz wasn’t a fan of the
Men in Black
movies. Poor Roz.

“Never mind. Who was it?”

“They were from Meadowland Labs.”

“What’s that?” I asked. I wasn’t understanding her fascination or the connection.

“Meadowland—the animal testing lab in Loudoun County.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Turns out, there wasn’t just a dead human head in that house,” she said.

“What else?” I asked, even though I was starting to follow her and was thinking I might know the answer.

“Monkeys.”

“Live monkeys or dead monkeys?” I cringed when I asked the question.

“Three of them. Dead, dead, and dead.”

Chapter Six

DEAD PEOPLE. DEAD MONKEYS. IT was all just too far out of my league as a suburban soccer mom. On the other hand, it certainly did have a very exciting, CSI-ish sort of appeal. Evidently, Rustic Woods wasn’t as sleepy as it appeared on the surface.

Roz was forced to get off the phone and handle her kids who were bouncing off the walls like monkeys themselves after Peter’s dinner of SpaghettiO’s, Fruit Loops, and Coca Cola. I proceeded upstairs, showered until the steam was so thick I couldn’t see my toes, and pulled myself into my softest, warmest periwinkle fleece jammies. I was set for the night. All I needed now was a mammoth mug of hot chocolate. With marshmallows. Lots of them. I padded my comfy self back downstairs, cooked up a delectable pot, poured it into a mug, padded back into the living room, flicked on the TV, then settled back into the overstuffed chair all warm and ready to do nothing but relax into a complete vegetative state.

Steam curled up from the Mickey Mouse mug that filled both of my hands, warming them gently. My lips were perched over the brim, ready for a tentative taste test, when a light knock sounded on the front door. My heart went into overdrive. After the day I’d had, an unexpected nighttime knock at the door didn’t exactly give me the warm and fuzzies. It certainly wasn’t Howard and the girls. They would have just let themselves in—loudly. I put my mug down on the side table, tiptoed quietly to the front door and put my ear against it for a listen, while contemplating whether I should answer. Maybe it was the maniac mutilator of bodies, coming to chop me up next.

There was no security chain on the door to protect me if I cracked it open for a peek. If my uninvited guest was, say, The Merchant of Death, he’d slam that door off its hinges the minute he had a chance, making me funeral-home-ready in about two seconds flat. With my ear still at the door, I noticed that the unidentified someone on the other side was trying the doorknob. My heart kicked out of overdrive and stalled. Luckily, the door was locked. I pulled my ear away and moved back. The doorknob stopped jiggling. I tried to breathe. That wasn’t going so well. I heard scuffling, a bang and a clank, then a key going into the lock. Holy crap. I pictured Howard and the girls coming home, only to find my head lying on the foyer floor, my body stolen by some sicko headless body stealer.

Frantically, I began scanning the room for a blunt object. Realizing that running was probably a smarter option, since the only two things in my house at the moment worth protecting were Indiana Jones the cat and my own body, I scooped up Indy and turned on my heels to make the mad dash. Too late. The doorknob turned and my door swung open hard and fast.

I screamed so loud that Indiana Jones howled and jumped out of my arms, scratching me on his way down. My scream and Indy’s howl were immediately followed by a louder scream and a crash. The louder scream came from the massive intruder standing in my doorway—my mother—and the crash came from the cooking pot previously filled with what appeared to be vegetable soup that now covered my foyer floor and half the walls. My heart started pumping again. I was breathing like a horse on the last lap of the Kentucky Derby and I was seething mad.

“Mother!” I screamed. “What are you doing? Don’t you ever knock?”

“I did knock!” she screamed back.

Oh yeah. She had.

“Barbara Nancy Pettingford Marr, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” Even at forty-five, my mother knew how to scold me using all of my names. “And look what you made me do,” she added, pointing at the soup-stained floor. Indiana Jones, evidently assessing that the situation at hand was safe, returned to begin lapping up the warm liquid. My mother had succeeded in pinning this disaster on me and consequently took the wind right out of my angry sails. The woman was a marvel. I’m sure even Chuck Norris would cower like a dog if confronted by her towering presence and those piercing, beady eyes.

“You know,” I said, trying to regain some semblance of self-respect, “I’m here alone and I wasn’t expecting you, so it only seems fair of you to realize that I may have been a little concerned that someone was letting themselves into my house. Where did you get the key from, anyway?”

“The flower pot where you keep it. And don’t talk to me in that tone—I’m your mother. Why are you alone, anyway? Where are Howard and the girls?”

“He took them out to dinner.” I had gone to the kitchen for paper towels and had returned, getting on my knees, to start cleaning up the mess. “Why are you here?” I picked up a small brown bean. “What is this stuff, anyway?”

“I called earlier to arrange a time for your birthday dinner. Howard said you were asleep and felt like you were getting a cold, so I thought I would bring over this chicken, lentil, vegetable soup I discovered on the Shopping Channel. It’s supposed to turn a cold around in just one day. The secret ingredient is a Chinese herb that is supposed to revitalize your immune system.”

With all of the excitement, I had definitely forgotten about the birthday dinner. “Did you tell Howard you were coming over?” I asked.

“Of course not. I didn’t decide to bring the soup until after I talked to him. Why would I?”

“It’s just that some advance warning would be nice sometimes. Prevents little things, like . . . scaring me half to death. Man! This stuff smells like dirty socks.”

“My heart is warmed by your gratitude.” She walked to the kitchen removing her coat. “Look at me—I’m a mess. I need to clean off my coat.” Helping to clean my floor and walls did not appear to be on her agenda.

I had just finished picking up the last lentil bean when my mother swept back into the foyer, her coat draped over one arm. She scooped up her pot. “I have to be going now. I have a training date with Master Kyo.”

“Who?”

“Master Kyo—I’m training for my black belt. I’m sure I told you that. The great Korean martial art of Tae Kwon Do.”

“I thought you were training for a marathon.”

“Of course. I’m doing both. I’m expanding my horizons and accepting great, new challenges. You really should think of taking on a challenge or two yourself, you know. It relieves stress and calms the nerves. You’ll never be sick again. Take my word.” Without thinking I might have a response, my mother opened the door with vigor, ready to fly out dramatically, only to find Howard in her face. He looked as surprised as she did.

“Oh,” he said, trying to hide the terror I knew he felt. “Hi, Diane. How are you?”

“I’m better than my daughter, evidently. Fancy finding you here—it’s such a rare treat to actually find you at your own home, Howard. Maybe if you were around more, Barbara could find time to take care of herself. I had to bring her some soup to get her well again.” She put him in his place fast.

I had to admit, I hated it when my mother scolded me, but it was fun to watch her tear into Howard. He looked to me for help, but I just shrugged. “You’re on your own, dude.”

“Soup?” he asked. “Was it good?”

“Ask Indiana—he’s the only one who got a taste,” I said.

Howard gave me a questioning look while my mother excused herself from the scene.

“Good bye, Barbara.” She slipped by Howard to leave.

“Grandma!” yelled Bethany, “Did Mommy tell you that monkeys came to our house to play?”

I cringed.

“Monkeys?” my mother’s voice trailed off. I wasn’t up for the explanation.

“We were playing imaginary games, Mom. She’s still having fun with it. Say goodbye to Grandma now, girls. She needs to go now.”

Bethany protested my imagination claim. “But Mommy . . .”

“Bethany, come in. It’s getting cold. Bye, Mom! Go knock ‘em dead.” Seeming a little bewildered, my mother wandered past the girls and left. The girls stepped in behind Howard.

“What was all that about?” he asked.

“My mother, amazing marathon runner, slash master of martial arts, decided to take a stab at being a stealth Martha Stewart. Except she wasn’t so stealth—she scared the bejeezus out of me letting herself in the front door and I ended up with beans on my walls.”