“Okay, I kind of feel bad for Mrs. Wahlen. She loves that creepy dog. Buys it ugly little sweaters and boots to wear in the winter. Mr. Wahlen died a few months ago. The dog is all she has now.”
Oh God. I’d killed an elderly woman’s only family member. Now I really felt like crap.
Finished sorting the mail, I gave Josh a shrug. “Nothing for you today.”
“Maybe I’ll go out and look for Skippy,” he said.
“That’s a very nice thing to do.”
I think his cheeks pinked up a little. He shuffled his feet. “I’m not trying to be nice. I want to buy a game for my DS. Maybe she’ll pay a reward.” He rolled the flier back up.
I didn’t believe that was the only reason why he was going in search of the so-called lost pet. But I figured I’d let him save face. “Ah, okay.” Of course, I knew he wasn’t going to find the dog—at least, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t. That meant he wasn’t going to collect any reward. “What game do you want to buy?”
“Ghost Trick. My dad won’t buy it for me. He says I can wait ’til my birthday. But that’s months from now.”
I mentally filed away the game’s name, thinking I might pick it up for him just because.
He headed for the door. “I’ll be around.” He waved. “Do you want me to ask Mrs. Ross if she has Matt’s phone number?”
“No, that’s okay. I can ask her myself. Later. Thanks.”
He stepped onto the porch, his body half-in, half-out of the house. “She’s outside now. I’ll send her over.” A second later, before I could stop him, he hollered, “Hey, Mrs. Ross, Christine needs to talk to you!”
Two minutes later, Erica was at my door.
Decked out head to toe in clothes that made me green with envy, she raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. I made a mental note to tame my own overgrown eyebrows pronto. “Joshua said you needed to speak with me?”
“Yes.” Reluctantly, I pulled her inside, away from the door. I didn’t want Lindsay to catch wind of what I was trying to do. But I couldn’t stomach the thought of keeping someone else’s belongings. “I need to get in touch with Lindsay’s ... er, ex-boyfriend, I guess it would be. Josh said his name is Matt?”
“And you need me to do what?”
“Do you have a phone number? An address?”
“No.”
“Oh. Darn. I was hoping.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “What made you think I would know how to contact him? He was Lindsay’s boyfriend, not mine.”
“Joshua said you talked to him sometimes.” At the sight of something dark, something a little creepy, glittering in her eyes, I quickly redirected the conversation. “What about a last name? Did Lindsay ever tell you his last name?”
“No. I’m sorry. Well, she probably did, when she first introduced him to all of us. But I don’t recall what it was.”
“Okay, then. I guess that’s it.”
“Why?” Erica asked, not budging from my porch.
“Well ... I have his things.” I thumbed over my shoulder. “Lindsay sort of insisted. She wanted everything gone before her kids got home from school. I’d like to return his belongings to him.”
Erica looked genuinely confused. “Why would she do that?”
“I get the impression she’s angry with him. She said something about him cheating.”
“Oh.” She blinked. Swallowed. Then smiled. Leaning close, she whispered, “While I’m here, did you have a chance to read that article?”
“I did.”
“And ... ?”
“And I think you believe what you believe for a reason, but I don’t see anything in that article to make me believe it, too.” I shifted back a little, giving myself more space. “It was all very vague. There was a mention of evidence, but nothing specific. And, after talking to a detective at the police department, I’m pretty confident I have nothing to worry about.” I left out the part about the police investigating the neighbors. For all I knew, I could be talking to Michelle’s murderer right now. There was something very unsettling about Erica Ross. She gave me an odd feeling, one I didn’t care for. Keeping her at arm’s length was probably a good idea.
Her smile faded. “Keep digging. There’s a lot you don’t know about Jonathan Stewart. He told you she was depressed, correct?”
“Yes. They were trying to have a child, and she couldn’t conceive. And that led to her committing suicide. I guess they even tried IVF. Nothing worked.”
“I don’t believe that.” Erica planted one manicured hand on her hip. “First, she loved Joshua too much to kill herself and leave him motherless. Second, we were very close and never once did she mention any of this.”
“Well, it is an extremely personal issue.”
She waved off my comment with the flip of a hand. “We go to the same OB-GYN. We talked about everything. Everything.” She tapped her chin with an index finger. “You know, there might be a way for me to find out if she’d been referred to a specialist.”
“I don’t know... .” The fact that Erica was encouraging me to dig deeper into this mystery made me want to believe she wasn’t the killer. I mean, surely the killer, or anyone who knew who the killer was, would want me to keep believing Michelle Stewart had killed herself. Right? But Erica wasn’t doing that. She was pushing me to find out more. “Okay. See what you can do.”
“I’ll get back to you tonight.” Erica glanced at her watch. It was a Rolex. A real one. “Gotta go. I need to meet a client in a half hour.” She waved over her shoulder.
“Okay. ’Bye.” Standing at the door, I watched Erica hustle past a hunched-over lady with wispy white hair waddling down the street, pushing a walker. The wheels bump, bump, bumped every time they hit a crack. The woman saw me at the door and turned her walker toward our front walk.
“Have you seen my Skippy?” she asked.
CHAPTER 6
I was looking into the gray-blue eyes of a distraught woman. How could I lie to her?
That’s just it. I couldn’t.
“Yes, I did see your dog,” I answered.
The woman’s weathered features brightened instantly. “You did? You saw my Skippy? Where? When?”
“Last night.” I thumbed over my shoulder. “On my back deck.”
“Show me.”
“I’m sure he’s not there now.” How was I going to tell this sweet old lady that her beloved pet had been eaten by some huge dog ... or cat ... or whatever? I couldn’t do that. Then again, how cruel would it be to let her keep thinking he might be alive?
“Show me now, dammit,” Mrs. Wahlen snapped, “or I’ll call the police.”
Maybe sweet wasn’t the right adjective.
“Okay.” I offered a hand to her as Mrs. Wahlen stepped up onto the porch. She waved it away. “I can do it myself.”
“Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to offend.”
She grumbled as she stomped over the threshold. I followed. “Why didn’t you call?”
“I didn’t know who the dog belonged to,” I answered, pushing the door open wider to accommodate her walker. “It was last night.”
“But I put fliers on everyone’s door. On your door. You could have at least called to tell me you’d seen him.”
“I didn’t get a flier.”
The lady, whose mind was definitely still razor-sharp, made a point to look at the rolled-up flier, sitting on top of the mail.
Busted.
“I ... erm, that’s your flier? I didn’t read it yet.” I snapped the rubber band still circling it. “See? It’s still rolled up.” After dropping the rubber-banded tube back on the table, I directed Mrs. Wahlen through the house to the French doors. She sniffed as she glanced around. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.” I opened a door for her. “But he was outside here last night.”
Mrs. Wahlen slid four fingers into her mouth and produced an eardrum-piercing whistle. “Skippyyyyyy!”
That dog wasn’t going to respond, no matter how loud she whistled.
“Where was my baby when you saw him?” Mrs. Wahlen asked, squinting against the sunlight.
“Right there, on the deck.” I pointed at the spot where I’d left him. I noticed the dark stain on the wood too late.
Leaving her walker behind, Mrs. Wahlen hobbled outside and bent down. She poked at the spot with an arthritic finger. “Is that ... blood?”
“I don’t know.” My heart started thumping loudly in my ears.
Mrs. Wahlen looked at the bat, which was lying next to the stain. “Did someone hurt my Skippy?”
“No.”
“Where is he?” she snapped.
“I didn’t hurt him.” At her glare, I amended my answer. “Well, maybe I hurt him a little. I didn’t know he was a dog.”
