Killer Cousins (14 page)

“Far-fetched connection? The strange guy who lives here could have easily killed that man!”

Stevie threw up her hands. “Easily? How do you know that? How do you know how that man died?” She stretched her face toward me. “It’s exactly like when we were kids—you make up the best stories.”

“I make up stories?”

“Yes! Like when you went crying to our mothers, saying I pulled your hair.”

“That again? Well, you did. And it hurt, so I cried.”

“I’m talking about the time we were at Grandma Jean’s house, and you ran in whining and told ’em I did it, but I didn’t!”

“Oh, that time.”

“You decided you’d get even for the time I really did it.” She slapped the steering wheel. “Our moms were reading poems they wrote to their mother, but your fake tattling made them stop. I even saw you pinching your palm once you lied.”

Oops, she did know my habit. I raised my right hand, admitting guilt. “That was bad timing, but I didn’t know it.”

“Of course you didn’t know it would be the last time they’d get to read their poetry or talk to their mother!”

“Stevie, I didn’t know.” She needed to back off with the dramatics. I felt bad enough remembering that day.

“Your mom got so upset she took you away from Grandma Jean’s house, and mine took me away, too. And later that night, Grandma Jean died.”

She was trying to dump too much guilt on me. I didn’t want to hear any more or continue the shouting match. I pressed my hands to my ears, letting her know I’d heard enough. I surely didn’t want tears to gather in my eyes, but she probably didn’t see them.

It was so dark, sitting in the Jeep in the driveway. I envisioned Grandma Jean the last time I saw her. Normally a calm, sweet person with soft white hair curled close to her scalp, she’d gotten so angry with Stevie and raised her voice, telling her not to pick on me.

And Stevie hadn’t that day. We’d had some stupid argument in the yard, and I’d determined it was time to get even. I forced tears while I ran inside Grandma Jean’s house and pointed at Stevie, who marched in behind, protesting that she hadn’t touched me.

Grandma, she didn’t do it. Stevie didn’t lay a hand on me that day. I made up that story
. I admitted my guilt to Grandma Jean while I sat in the now quiet car. I’d wanted to do it at her wake. But I’d eyed her in the casket and hadn’t been able to muster the courage. I’d only cried. I was especially sorry after Mom told me what they’d been doing, she and her sister reciting special poems to their mother. It was the first time Grandma Jean really took notice and understood both of her daughters loved to write poetry. My mom had read a couple of her poems to me but never did after that day.

Stevie was probably also reminiscing and wishing our elders were still near. And that I hadn’t ruined their last special time together. I imagined warm tears were coating her eyes, just like they were doing to mine. I looked at her but couldn’t see well.

Except for the monstrous face pressed close outside Stevie’s window.

“Look out!” I yelled, pointing.

Stevie jerked her head away from the glass. I hit the lock button for all the doors.

The face, I determined, belonged to Ish. He still looked furious.

Stevie slid her window down an inch.

“Are you two planning to camp out here to watch what goes on?” Ish snarled.

Not a bad idea. But I didn’t mention that thought.

“No,” Stevie said. “We’re only talking.”

Ish pointed down the road. “Take your discussion elsewhere, or I’ll call the cops to come get you for trespassing.”

“All right, enough,” I said, unable to hold my tongue. “We were discussing our childhoods. We weren’t even talking about you. And your…toy-girl.” I waved my hand toward the top of his gorgeous triangular window.

“Ceal-ie!” my cousin warned, whipping her head toward me.

Ish stuck his face near the opening of her window and glared at me. “I don’t care to know a thing about your childhood, which must have been terrible to make you grow up to be the person you are.”

I leaned toward him, opening my mouth to retort.

“We’re going!” Stevie said and threw the car into reverse. I bounced toward my side. We shot forward so quickly, I grabbed the dashboard. She zipped down the dark winding road. I closed my eyes and prayed.

I smelled fire and looked.

An unlit cigarette stuck out of her lips. She held a lighter, moving it closer to the deadly cigarette.

“No!” I grabbed the lighter, hit the button to lower my window, and tossed the lighter.

“What are you doing?” she screamed, cigarette dangling from her mouth.

I grabbed that and pitched it.

She slammed on the brakes. We stopped.

A horn blasted, and a truck swooped around us from behind. Its inside lights were on, probably so we could see its teenage male driver shooting Stevie his middle finger.

I shot one back but didn’t think he saw it. Stevie slapped my hand down. I looked around. Thank goodness no other cars were near when my cousin decided she’d brake without checking both ways.

She heaved a breath, then started the car forward. Neither of us spoke.

Way sooner than it had taken for us to reach Ish’s house, we were back at Stevie’s. She rushed into the house. I trailed her inside. A door slammed.

I didn’t see her. The door to the candle room was the only one shut. She was doing her thing.

Fine. I’d do mine.

My stomach grumbled, wanting dinner. Stevie surely wasn’t fixing a meal in that room. I rapped on its door. “I’m going out to eat. Do you want to come?”

I pressed my ear against the door.

“Ahroom. Ahroom.” Softly, those sounds echoed from inside.

“Stevie, you can ahroom all you want. I’m going to have dinner at Cajun Delights. Do you want to come?”

I knew she heard me. I tapped my foot, giving her time to wrap up her prayers or chants.

Still nothing.

“I’m leaving. Stevie, I’m getting my purse and going. I can take you with me.”

I went to my bedroom, glanced in the mirror, and reapplied lipstick. I fluffed my hair. My shirt and slacks looked okay. I could dress them up a bit by wearing heels. I kicked off my Keds and went for the red spikes tucked into side pockets in my suitcase, still atop the unused side of my bed. If I had to stay much longer, maybe I’d take it down and put a few things in drawers. But I didn’t expect to stay long enough. My hanging clothes in the closet seemed enough of a down-home feel for me here.

I opened my suitcase.

My first thought was that the young cop who’d fingered my chamois sweater in the closet had picked through everything inside my luggage. All of my panties were open on top of my other clothes.

Fear gripped me. My back stiffened.

I hadn’t opened my panties and strewn them over other things. I’d left them folded in a small neat stack.

I stepped away from the suitcase—and felt the wind.

Jerking around, I spied the sheer curtains flapping.

“Stevie!” I yelled, running out of the room.

She met me in the hall. “What’s wrong?”

“Somebody came in my bedroom. Maybe they’re in there right now.”

Chapter 12

Stevie clutched her throat. “Oh no. You saw him?” she cried as we dashed toward the living room.

I shook my head. “Just the open window. And my messy panties.”

She slowed. “Your window’s wide open?”

“No.” I realized I’d seen how much of it was open. “Only about two inches.”

Stevie stopped. “You think somebody really skinny came through your window?”

“I don’t know. He or she could have come through and rummaged in my suitcase and then slipped back outside. Or opened it wider to come in, and then…”

I visualized what she must be thinking. A person, probably a man, shoved that window open wide enough to climb through. And then pulled it back down—just part way. Why? To keep a nice breeze wafting through the room?

Why not either leave it wide open or close it all the way so nobody knows he’s come in?

“Cealie, nobody came through that window.”

“How do you know?”

Stevie inhaled and exhaled a couple of times.

“You’re short of breath,” I said.

“It’s no problem.” She took another visible deep breath. “What about your underwear?”

I glanced toward my room, imagining some large guy stomping out towards us. “I think we ought to get out and call the police.”

She grabbed my chin and turned my face up toward her. “Tell me about your panties.”

“They’re messy.”

“Excuse me?”

I withdrew my head from her grip. “I had my underwear in neat stacks in my suitcase but found my panties messed up.”

“Your underwear is still in your suitcase?”

“Yes, like a lot of my other things. And still on the bed, and I believe somebody went through it and might still be in that room. We should get out of here.”

“Du-uh.”

“What?”

“Don’t you dare tell me you think someone came in while we were gone so they could mess up your suitcase.”

“I don’t have any idea what anybody around here would want. Do you?”

“No, and I’m not going to spend another second entertaining the thought of a person being here tonight.”

“But—” My fear started to dissipate.

She leaned near my face. “You think someone was watching to know when we’d leave. And then while we were at Ish’s house, they came in here?”

“Possible.” Not too probable.

“Okay, Cuz, we’re going in there right now. We’re going to see if anything’s missing, or if a killer’s waiting in your closet.”

That thought zapped my throat dry. “My closet?”

“I’m kidding. When did you turn into a big baby? Never mind, I’ll bring you some protection.” She sauntered down the hall, muttering so I could hear. “I can imagine calling the cops again tonight. Right-o, Cealie,
you’re
going to leave this town soon, but not me. Nope, I have to stay around and have everyone call me a fool.”

She said I’d become a big baby? When did that happen—recently in Chicago, when I needed to square off with a killer? Or after I’d arrived here—and tripped over a body? Okay, I was
not
a crybaby. But being around her, I almost felt like one.

Darn, I was a grown woman. Mature—except when I was around my cousin.

She returned carrying a baseball bat. “Let’s go check your room. I’ll go first.”

She might have been trying to make me feel like I’d cried wolf. But if she really thought that, she wouldn’t use both hands to grip the bat in front of her face. She went into the doorway and stopped. Surveyed the room, as I did.

No one visible. No wide open window. Only the edges where curtains met, moving slightly, enough for us to see the window open an inch or two.

Stevie ran across the room, surprising me. She reached the window, yanked back a curtain panel, and bent down.

“Ah,” she said and let the curtain drop. She lowered her baseball bat. “The screen is still on the window. Nobody came through there.”

Okay, she was probably right. Still, I crept toward the bed, dropped to my knees, and yanked up the bed skirt. Only one fuzz ball underneath. I pulled the closet doors open. Nobody and no feet of someone standing behind Stevie’s stored winter boots. I shut the closet.

“Satisfied?” she asked.

I went to the window and checked closer. A shiver of fear swept through me. “This screen isn’t locked.” I grabbed the lock at the base of the screen and tugged. It wouldn’t reach the eyehook.

“I had the windows cleaned not long ago. The screens don’t all hook.”

“That’s not safe.”

“I didn’t get around to having them fixed yet.”

“You’d better do that soon.”

“I will. You probably opened the window to get some fresh air and don’t remember doing it,” she said. “You’re getting older. Sometimes you might forget things.”

“Excuse me, I don’t forget. I didn’t open that window.”

“Right, Cealie.” She headed out the room.

“Really. I didn’t.”

She spun and faced me. “You win. You always win. You didn’t do it, okay?”

“I always win?”

“Cealie, I’m going to eat. You can go to your guy’s restaurant if you want. I’m staying here. I have leftovers.”

“He’s not my guy. And I don’t feel like going out anymore.”

“Fine, I’ll heat something for you.”

“Fine.”

She stamped off, the bat swinging loosely in one hand.

I stayed in my room. I shut and locked the window. I took my underwear out of my suitcase and refolded it, making slender stacks. Then I opened the top drawer of the chest of drawers to put my things inside.

The drawer was half full of magazines.
Playful Girl
,
Check Out These Dudes
, and other glossies showing almost-nude men.

“It’s hot. Come and eat if you want to,” Stevie yelled.

I slammed the drawer. Took breaths, waiting for my heartbeats to slow. Tentatively opened the second drawer.

Same as the first. I slammed it. Heard footsteps and turned.

Stevie stood in the doorway. “Are you coming?”

I nodded. “Uh-hunh.”

“You folded your clothes?”

I noticed I still held them. Rushed to my suitcase and threw it open. “I needed to get them all tidy again.”

“Did you want to put your things somewhere else? You don’t have to keep that suitcase on your bed.”

“No, I’m good. The bed’s good.” I set my new stacks back inside the suitcase.

“You could stay long enough to unpack your things,” she said with a hint of annoyance. She walked in front of me toward the kitchen.

“I think you ought to see a doctor,” I said. “You got short of breath.”

“I hear you huffing back there. So why don’t
you
see a doctor?”

What I needed was to not see so many almost-nude men. “I might.”

“Me, too.”

I didn’t mention the magazines because skimming through them felt like I’d been prying into her private business. Also, she might take them away, and I might want to skim through them—only to see how perverted she had become.

We ate pizza without conversation. I finished eating and helped wash the dishes without thinking about what I was doing until I was drying the last fork. I noticed the clean kitchen. Went over and gave Minnie a gentle pat on one of her small pink bumps. Her stem was straight, and all the puffs on her head appeared plump and healthy.