It took a while to get everything sorted out. The gist was that the cops had been at my neighbor’s taking a report. Emily Perkins had called them, concerned that her husband Bradley had gone missing.
Coincidentally the gas meter reader was making his rounds and while reading my meter had noticed a bad smell coming from the bathroom window I’d left open a crack. Seeing the cops, he’d mentioned the smell. Well, woman with missing husband and dead smell coming from next door . . . The cops taking the report called out the cavalry. Barry heard the call and address and he hadn’t been able to get in touch with me for a couple of days so he jumped to conclusions.
And the real source of the stink: I had a backyard full of orange trees that attracted all kinds of rodents who had started making side trips into my attic. I’d had all the entrances sealed up and some traps had been left for any stragglers. There had been three. As soon as the pest control people came by and removed the bodies, the smell disappeared.
I pulled off the last of the yellow tape that was still flapping on my front porch post as I finally dragged my suitcase inside. Barry was already on the phone calling the door contractor the cops used to repair mistakenly knocked down doors. In the meantime, he’d do a temporary fix. I had no doubt he’d be able to do it. Barry could fix anything, and besides, this wasn’t the first time my door had been knocked in by mistake.
“You couldn’t have used your key?” I said, looking at the light coming in through the broken door panel.
Barry made an uncomfortable face. “I guess I forgot about the key.” He sighed as he checked out the battered door. When he turned back toward me, his face was full of emotion and he took me in his arms. “I heard body at your house and I lost it.” He hugged me tighter. “I’m glad I was wrong.”
“You and me both,” I said. I apologized for not leaving him a message. “It’s just that I’ve been so busy. The holidays are always busy at the bookstore. We stay open later and there are more customers. And now we’re adding the yarn department. And there’s the launch party to plan for. It’s the Super Bowl of book events. I mean, how lucky can Shedd and Royal get? The Blood and Yarn series is the hottest of the hot.” I caught a blank look on Barry’s face. “You don’t know about it, do you?” I barely waited for Barry to shake his head before continuing. “The books follow the life of a supersexy vampire who uses crochet to control his blood-lust issues. The latest,
“I think it means you ought to take a breath or maybe two,” he said. “You’re starting to hyperventilate.” He glanced back toward the living room as though looking for something, then his eyes grew concerned. “Where are the dogs?”
“And cats,” I said, correcting him, referring to the newest residents. I explained that since my younger son, Samuel, owner of the cats, was on the road playing backup and I’d been in a hurry, I’d just boarded all of them. I took a few more breaths to make sure my breathing was back to normal. “So, how long has Bradley Perkins been missing?” I asked and felt his body stiffen.
“Look, babe, I know you like playing the amateur sleuth, but stay out of it.”
“Play?” I said with a darkening expression. “I wouldn’t call it play; I’ve solved a few murders.”
Barry stepped back, shaking his head. “Here we go again. Okay, babe, you’re not going to listen to me, but I’ll say it anyway. I’m sure the officers who took the report are dealing with whatever needs to be done. Besides, with all you have to do, why take on anything else? I’d like to have dibs on any spare moments.”
I didn’t say anything in response. He knew what my silence meant. He sighed and said he had to get back to work. It isn’t that I really planned to get involved. I just didn’t want to say something I might end up not meaning. My phone was ringing as he went back to his Crown Victoria.
“Mother,” my son Peter said. Only he could put so much disapproval in one word. My older son is a television agent, very ambitious and very concerned about his image. “What’s going on?” Before I could answer, Peter told me that something had shown up on YouTube that featured me and a lot of cops. Apparently he had some kind of alert set up that notified him if anything came up about any of his clients or me. I explained quickly, but when I got to the part about Bradley Perkins being missing, I heard Peter’s breathing change.
“Mother, you’re not going to get involved, are you?” When he got dead air as an answer, he groaned. In the past, some of my sleuthing efforts had ended up on the news, causing him all sorts of embarrassment.
“Barry said the same thing,” I said, finally. My son groaned again. Peter didn’t like Barry. At first I had thought it was just the idea of my dating he objected to, but when Peter kept trying to push me together with an attorney he’d been dealing with, I realized Barry in particular was the problem. I don’t know why I kept trying to smooth things over. It wasn’t like Barry was going to be Peter’s stepfather or anything.
When I got off the phone, I gave myself a few minutes to recover and then went back outside. The street was quiet and there was no hint of all the action that had been going on a short time earlier. The video camera kid was leaning against the wrought iron mailbox across the street. He looked up when I came out. He was at the end of his teens, and someday all his parts would probably fit together, but for now his features were too big for his face and his body was long and gangly. His black hair was tousled and deliberately cut to be uneven. When he saw me look toward the Perkins’ house, he shook his head.
“Not home,” he called. “She left right after the cops.” I walked across the street to where he was standing. Though his family had lived down the block for years, I really didn’t know them. I introduced myself and he stuck out his hand. “Ryder Lowenstein.” I asked if he’d posted something on YouTube and he seemed pleased at the question. “Pretty cool, huh? I sent it to the channel three news, too, though since there wasn’t a real body, I don’t think they’re going to use it.”
“So what do you know about Bradley Perkins’ disappearance?” I asked, glancing toward the neighboring yard. In the daylight the Santa’s sleigh and reindeer was almost invisible. The lawn decoration was really just an outline with colored lights. Icicle lights ran across the front of the roof and then hung down to the ground next to several boxes with more lights. Someone had obviously been in the midst of putting them up. Some pots of crimson poinsettias were on the front porch. The holiday decorations seemed at odds with the thick green lawn and palm tree in the front yard. But this was the San Fernando Valley and winter was when everything was the most green and lush.
At one time the houses along the two-block stretch had all been similar, kind of like brothers and sisters. They were ranch-style with mullioned windows and pastel wood siding, but over time, between remodeling and additions, the houses were now barely even cousins. The Perkins’ house had been given what I called a Mediterranean makeover. It had the trademark terra-cotta tile roof, flesh-colored stucco and an entrance porch that was too tall and too grand to be proportionate to the rest of the single-story house. The rectangular-divided pane windows had been replaced with tall arched ones.
“Not much. I tried interviewing the cops, but they blew me off. Something about not having press credentials.” Ryder shrugged. “But right after Mrs. Perkins left, a black sedan pulled up,” Ryder said. “A man and woman both dressed in suits went to the door. I don’t think they were cops, but they looked official. They hung around for a few minutes, looking in the windows and stuff, but finally left.” He looked up and down the street as if checking for any action and then turned back to me.
“Who was the cop in the suit?” Ryder asked. When I didn’t respond right away, he pushed the question. “He hung around too long for it to be official.”
Yikes, now I had a neighborhood busybody kid to answer to. I just used the boyfriend word, though for a moment I considered trying
“Boyfriend?” Ryder snickered.
“I couldn’t agree more that it’s a silly title, but what else can I call him?” Ryder nodded with understanding.
“It must be tough when you’re old and dating. I suppose you’re hoping he’ll want to upgrade you to fiancee.”
“Thanks for making me feel like I’m a hundred,” I said with a tiny groan. “And no, I’m not looking for an upgrade in title.” I made a move to go, but Ryder kept up with the questions. No doubt he was practicing his interviewing skills. The next thing I knew I was telling him how I’d been married to Charlie for twenty-five years when he died. And now I was enjoying being free. “Or as free as you can be with two sons, one living with you and the other constantly questioning every decision you make. And a mother who’s a backup singer—scratch that, was
