Killer Cousins (20 page)

“I am not!” she snapped, her shoulders drawn up near her neck, her eyes wide at me. Her breathing appeared scant.

Dr. Wallo watched her, looking concerned. He lifted his stethoscope, pointing to her chest. “May I, Stevie?”

She glared at me, huffed, and nodded.

The doctor listened to her chest. He asked questions, and listened to her back. “Aren’t you a smoker?”

“Not anymore.”

“Good for you.”

“It’s only been for a few days,” I interjected, and my cousin narrowed her eyes at me. “I’m really proud of her for quitting and hope she never sticks one of those deadly things in her mouth again. But I thought you should know, Doc.”

“Maybe there are things about
you
I think he should know,” Stevie said, “but I don’t go around blabbing all of
your
business.”

The doctor grinned, seeming to enjoy our exchange. He spoke to Stevie, “We could do an EKG.”

“No way. Not because she thinks I have a problem.”

The doctor nodded. “Maybe your increased tension and difference in breathing both come from giving up smoking. It’s great that you quit, but maybe you could use a little help that might take the edge off and help you to stay quit.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want any pills. I’ve tried them. They didn’t help.”

“Sometimes it takes more than one try, just like trying to quit smoking,” he said.

“And this time I’m here with you,” I told her.

With a loud exhale, Stevie opened her hand. “All right, I’ll try them again.”

I didn’t look at her. If we made eye contact, I might have grinned. Then she probably would have told him to keep the blasted things.

“Another thing that would help,” he said, “is exercise. Even walking a few times a week would help with stress and weight control.”

She didn’t comment. As we all made our good-bye exchanges, the doctor’s stomach growled.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was too busy for lunch. I need dinner.”

“Me, too,” Stevie said. “I thought we’d go back to that Cajun restaurant this evening.”

My hearing antennae came to life.

“I figured I’d go there now. You were my last patient,” Dr. Wallo told me.

“I’m starving,” Stevie said. “Going there now sounds great to me.”

“Maybe we’ll see you and your wife at Cajun Delights,” I said.

His face lengthened. “She and I aren’t together anymore.”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”

I took a final look at the eye-candy doctor, and we left. “If you’re going to that restaurant, please bring me home first. I’m not hungry,” I told Stevie. I also didn’t want to see Gil if he was there. He was too tempting. She didn’t need to know that.

“
I’m
tense?” she said, ignoring my statement. “Since when did you think
I’m
tense?” Her pitch screeched extra high.

“Ever since—”

“And you think I’m short of breath? Maybe you should listen to yourself.”

I didn’t need this discussion. She was making up things to get back at me for telling the doctor about her. Keeping my mouth shut, I focused on the street. I had no idea where she’d bring me.

After a short drive, she turned into a small shopping center. She parked near a drugstore, gave me a pointed glance, and grabbed Dr. Wallo’s prescription sheet off the seat. She held it up so I’d see it, as if she were shouting,
You did this to me
. She went into the store.

I stayed in the car. With the tension removed, I could think. The problem with my legs was probably psychosomatic. My mind created the ache in my shins, so changing my thoughts should delete the ache.

Fine. I could do that.

I considered Pierce Trottier. I definitely needed to do everything I could to hasten my departure. My cousin and I didn’t need to stay together much longer. I considered her hair, rich chocolate brown way back when, and always short and stylish. Long, drab gray, and thin now. If I had to stay near her much longer, I’d surely yank it like she used to do mine.

She walked out of the store carrying a medium bag and thrust it on the seat. “I’ll come back for my meds later. I bought paper plates.” She raised her eyebrows at me.

“Paper plates are nice to have. You do remember that I bought you some.”

“I remember everything,” she snapped. “And I don’t usually have paper plates, but now my stove is broken.” She shoved the bag closer to me. “So you can heat yourself something from the fridge in the microwave. I’ll be going to that Cajun restaurant.”

Oops, I saw her point. I’d made her get the meds for her tension. And I’d ruined her stove, which the silly woman liked to cook on. Darn, I’d also kicked away one of three of her life pillars. Not a good thing.

I crossed my arms. “I’ll replace your stove.”

She turned her nose up and cranked the motor.

I couldn’t ignore the frigid feel in her car. I dreaded getting more of that feeling in her home. As soon as Stevie dropped me off, I’d try to discover how to contact that final person in The Quitters Group. Maybe she was the killer. That would be perfect. Then I could let the police know, and they’d let me leave town. I imagined Acapulco’s palm trees swaying. I’d contact the Royal Acapulco, where I was scheduled to be staying right now. I would get a suite and spend an extra week or two luxuriating in tropical breezes.

First, I needed to locate another person. “Would you happen to know where Jenna Griggs lives?” I asked.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Just wondered.”

She glared at me a moment longer and then sped on. Maybe she had a folder out at the house with contact info for her stop-smoking group members.

Stevie dumped me in front of her house. She slowed barely long enough for me to slide out before she rolled off.

Fine. I didn’t want to be with her anyway. I certainly didn’t want to hold a conversation. Blame, blame, blame, that’s all she did to me.

I trotted up to the porch, pulled out my key, and aimed it at the door’s keyhole, turning the knob a pinch. The door opened.

Stevie might have forgotten to lock this door. She’d been angry at me before we left her house. But she hadn’t come to the front.

I stood on the porch, shrugging off the sprinkle of apprehension that crossed my shoulders, and shoved on the door. I wanted to freshen up and have time alone to clear my thoughts. I stepped through the doorway.

Noise in the house froze me in place.

I swallowed. Listened. Maybe her house was settling.

The noise repeated. Someone walking in a room? Or shutting a closet door?

Da-dunt,, da-dunt, da-dunt,
played in my purse.

I jumped back, reached in my purse, and opened my phone to make it stop ringing. I shut the door quietly, scooted to my car, and drove off.

Who was in that house? Should I call the police?

Second thoughts made me decide not to. That noise inside Stevie’s house could have been a person walking or rummaging, but people’s houses had different sounds. Maybe I’d heard her refrigerator dumping ice. Or her air conditioner’s compressor.

Stevie could tell me if her house made sounds I hadn’t noticed before. I knew where she was going. I could phone her at Cajun Delights and ask.

Yeah, right. She’d probably hang up on me.

I didn’t know what caused the noises but I wouldn’t return there alone. It was getting dark. She hadn’t left lights on inside when we’d left her house.

When I had to pause for a red light three blocks away, I remembered to check for the missed phone call. It was my Austin office. I pressed its number.

“Oh, Cealie, they love what you came up with for Just Like Home hotels,” Brianna said, voice bubbling with enthusiasm.

“Good.”

“It is a large account, you know.” She seemed to want enthusiasm from me.

Now wasn’t the time. “I know, and I’m glad. I’m just a little busy.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Call anytime. I’m really glad they like it.”

“Me, too. I’ll let you get back to whatever you’re doing. ’Bye now.”

“’Bye.” What I needed to do was locate Jenna Griggs. Maybe the phone book I’d looked in at the gas station was old, or Jenna would be listed in a different one. She could be married. I was no expert at detecting but had to try something.

I pressed
0
on my cell phone and asked about a listing for her name.

As I expected, there was no Jenna Griggs.

“But,” the operator said, “I do have a listing for J. P. Griggs. Do you want that?”

“Sure. Oh wait. To make certain, what’s that address?”

“Two-forty-three Hill’s End Road.”

“That’s it. Thanks,” I said and listened to the phone number. I sure hoped that when I arrived, J.P. would be the woman I was after.

Chapter 18

I drove up a slim road on a steep hill. It was dark, and I wasn’t wearing my bifocals.

I pulled over next to a streetlight at the end of a long driveway. Digging my glasses out of my purse, I put them on and pressed numbers the operator had given me.

The phone rang and rang. I’d decided I should hang up when a man walked out of the nearby house. The huge man made me think of the Hulk. He wore a navy robe and stalked across the driveway to my car.

I locked all my doors, then opened my window only enough for us to talk through.

He lowered his angry face to the crack in my window. “Did you need something?”

I was still holding the phone to my ear. I jerked my finger to it, letting him know I was only there to call someone.

His expression softened. “Poor thing, you can’t talk?”

I lifted my eyebrows. Shrugged.

“That’s probably one of those phones you can text messages on, right?”

I waved my free hand around and wiggled my fingers. My other hand holding the phone was about to close it.

“Hello,” a woman said, answering after about fifty rings.

I hated to speak since the Hulk was leaning against my car. I motioned him away.

He backed his hands off my door, and I nodded. Without thinking, I said, “Thanks. Have a nice day.”

“What?” he roared.

I drove away. A glance in the rearview mirror let me see him waving his arms in angry motions.

“Hello,” the woman repeated on the phone. “Dammit, they call me away from my housework and then hang up.”

“Wait,” I said.

“Who’s this?” she snapped.

“Cealie Gunther—Stevie Midnight’s cousin.”

She didn’t reply. Maybe Stevie’s name didn’t register.

“Stevie from your quitters’ group,” I said.

“Oh. You came with her the other day, and we met in that restaurant.”

“Right.”

This was the tricky part. I’d thought I would plan what to say if I found her, but other problems made me forget to come up with a script. And she was waiting.

“I’m doing some research about people who smoke and try to quit, and I need to ask you some questions.” I considered pinching my palm but decided I’d told the truth. My research might help Stevie stay quit. And I did want to know things about this woman.

She pondered while I came up with more. “And I need to come over there so I can take your picture to attach to my research. You are such an attractive woman.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
I pinched my palm extra hard.

She stayed quiet. Ready to hang up? Blushing and thinking of how pretty she was?

“Who are you doing the research for?” she said.

“Um, Ingram and Bradshaw and Herman.” Pinch, pinch, pinch. My palm was going to bleed. Those were a book distributor, former football player, and guy I’d dated in high school.

“I guess I can spare a minute.” She gave me directions.

I drove, barely having enough time to put together a story. I ran into a store along the way for a disposable camera so I could take her picture. I also bought a pen and legal pad to write on since I was supposedly doing research.

I grinned all the way to Jenna Griggs’s house.

Parking in front, I took my camera out of its packing and skimmed the directions. I walked up the path to her house that was tiny and old. Bright lights lit her porch. She opened the door the second I touched the doorbell.

“Hi,” she said. “I remember you. Come in.”

I carried my legal pad and camera high in front of me to make sure she saw them.

She pointed to the sofa. “Sit down. I was changing clothes. I’ll only be a minute longer. Do you want something? Water? I could make tea.” She held her tan blouse closed, either taking it off or putting it on. She wore snug jeans and tennis shoes. Fresh fuchsia lipstick too far over the edge of her bottom lip.

“No thanks. I’m good.”

She rushed off. I surveyed the living room. Small with wooden floors and walls, an antique fireplace, high ceiling, two chairs and stiff sofa. I sniffed the air. Yep, stale smoke. She probably still hadn’t quit.

Her decorations were a mirror and lavender vase above the mantle. One other vase held silk sunflowers on an end table. I looked for photographs and spied some on the wall in the next room. I checked them.

A dining room table topped with lace and lots of papers anchored this room. I stared at framed photos on a wall.

Lots of old people. Maybe her grandma with siblings? Jenna stood between people I guessed were her parents in a fairly recent photo. In the photograph beside it, I saw Stevie.

“Do you like them?” Jenna stepped behind me. For such a large person, she moved with stealth.

“I do.” I looked her over. Different shirt, a bright emerald green. She wore snug black jeans and kept the tennis shoes. Her earlobe-length brown hair looked freshly brushed. Eyeliner smudged the skin beneath her right eye. “You look nice.”

“Thanks. These are just some clean things I threw on.”

“I see my cousin.” I looked closer and recognized most of the people.

“Stevie was there the day we all got together and decided to quit our killer habit.”

Staring at the framed four-by-six snapshot, I noticed the group gathered in front of the hall where they held meetings. No one appeared happy. They were strangers, thrown together, knowing they’d have to suffer to achieve a worthwhile goal. The women stood together, Fawn and Jenna, with Stevie behind them. Ish wasn’t there. He must have taken the picture. Kern and Father Paul Edward stood with two men I didn’t know. “Who’s this?” I pointed to them.