Death of the Couch Potato's Wife: Cozy Christian Mysteries (Women Sleuth, Female Detective Suspense) (5 page)

I froze in the hallway, and placed my hand on the wall to brace myself. Had I been hearing things? What was that sound? Someone trying to break into my house? Someone planting evidence to make Kent look guilty? Or maybe someone trying to hide bugs so they could hear if I ratted them out about the note?

I waited, holding my breath, because apparently my breathing’s so deafening I might miss a loud—

Bang!

I threw myself into the wall. My heart raced.

The sound definitely came from my backyard. It wasn’t crisp enough to be a gun, or concise enough to be a hammer.

Maybe someone was trying to break into my house to put some—bam!—on my food. Maybe that unlocked door the other day wasn’t a coincidence in the least. After all, I was obsessive about locking all my doors and windows. I’d lived in downtown

Chicago, for goodness sakes!

Okay, I had to think with a clear head. I needed to call the police. I needed to protect myself from whatever evil lurked outside my doors.

Where was the phone? I’d been carrying around the cordless earlier when my mother had called from Cincinnati. Of course I hadn’t left it on the charger. That would make my life too easy.

I mentally retraced my steps. I thought I’d left it in my bedroom.

I slowly took a step, still clinging to the wall. Once I got to the doorway, I dropped to my knees, just in case anyone could see me through the window. I didn’t want to be an easy target.

Two bangs sounded from outside. My heart raced.

I scrambled toward the bed and grabbed the phone. My fingers paused on the buttons.

Laura, think clearly. It could be neighbors in their back yard. Maybe it just sounds like your backyard.

Get a grip!

I needed to peek outside and make sure something suspicious was going on before I called the police. The noise sounded close. My gut told me so, and I had to trust my instincts.

I took a deep breath and crawled out of my bedroom, slid down the stairs, and crept into the living room, where the windows faced the backyard. Usually I enjoyed looking out those windows onto the deck. Behind the deck and the semi- green grass sparkled the retention pond—or lake, as others in the neighborhood liked to call it. A fountain spouted in the center, and ducks dotted the blue water. I caught glimpses of the golf course beyond the lake.

Today, the lake didn’t matter, nor did my deck or the oh-so- popular golf course.

I only cared about the sound. Like a kid at a fun house who feared someone jumping out from behind a corner, I approached the window. I darted to the wall, pressing my back against it. Great, I’d turned from a kid at a funhouse into a James Bond wannabe.

I decided on the count of three, I’d move the curtain and glance outside. The action would be swift and stealth-like, so that if anyone outside were watching, he wouldn’t even notice it. After all, I was a part of Neighborhood Watch. I could handle this.

My hands trembled as I reached for the drapes. I recited jargon I’d learned in the stress management classes I’d had to take when I worked for the PR firm. Focus your breathing. Visualize your goal. Maximize the moment.

The recitations weren’t effective with my PR work, nor were they much use in life-threatening situations.

I moved the drape an inch and angled myself to take a peek. Sunlight streamed through, and I saw the edge of my new lawn furniture. The sun reflected on the lake.

Another bang ricocheted through my backyard.

The noise sounded close. My gut told me so, and, I had to trust my instincts.

Just then, I heard someone turn the knob at the back door.

Chapter 6

“Laura, I can’t get into your shed!” Someone pounded at my backdoor hard enough to make my whole house shake. “Laura, I know you’re there. I haven’t seen you leave your house today.”

Babe? Babe was making all of that noise? I was going to kill her.

Maybe “kill” wasn’t the best word choice when I considered the events of the past few days. I let my head fall back against the wall and laughed halfheartedly—it was either laugh or scream. Babe. Of course.

“Laura? It’s cold out here. Are you trying to give an old woman pneumonia?”

“Coming!” I hurried across the room to the French doors off of the kitchen, and threw them open. “Babe, what are you doing? You scared me to death.”

“I just need to trim my bushes, and I can’t find my hedgers. I was hoping to borrow yours, but I can’t get your shed open.”

“That’s because we put a lock on it.”

“Now why would you go and do that? How am I supposed to get in now?”

Exactly.

“I’ll get the hedgers for you, Babe. All you have to do is ask.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Well, you scared me. I nearly called the police. There’s a killer out there, Babe!”

“Flash!” Her fingers sprouted in the air and she looked at me with a “duh” expression.

I had no idea what she was trying to convey. “What?” I could hear the exasperation in my voice.

“You know, as in news flash.”

I shook my head, still clueless.

“Okay, how about this one? ‘Hello, Captain Obvious.’”

I put my hand on my hip. “I see. You’re insulting me.”

“Flash!” She grinned, proud of herself.

I narrowed my eyes, but before I could retort, Babe’s eyes lit up.

“Hey, speaking of killers. Have you heard anything about Candace’s funeral?”

Now that she mentioned it, I sure hadn’t. And though I didn’t want to let the subject of Babe insulting my intelligence to drop quite yet, I decided maybe it was best. Otherwise, I might be arrested for assaulting someone.

“No. I wonder who’s planning it.” Jerry and Candace didn’t have any children. “Her parents?”

Babe shook her head. “They’re both deceased.”

“Brothers or sisters?”

“She’s an only child.”

I crossed my arms. “Well, the woman’s got to have a funeral. Who would plan one in a case like this?”

“Jerry, I suppose.”

“But he’s missing. And maybe a killer.”

“Now you’re thinking like a member of the Neighborhood Watch, chickaroonie.” Babe knuckled me on the chin. “I’m so proud.”

“Maybe we should go to The Couch King. Maybe someone there knows something. I mean, it’s been five days since we found her body. The woman needs a funeral!” I’d been thinking about visiting the store all day. This would be the perfect excuse. Not to get a couch, of course. To find out information.

“Just let me get my purse!”

Babe reappeared five minutes later. We climbed into my SUV and started down the road to The Couch King. I’d never been in the store myself, but I’d seen it enough times on television. I couldn’t be sure, but I think Candace was offended that Kent and I insisted on shopping for furniture up in Indy. I didn’t like to mix business with pleasure. It always ended up a disaster.

I pulled into a parking space outside the wooden building, which sat alone on a stretch of country road. Why Jerry had chosen this location for his business remained a mystery to me. The only people who ever passed this way were farmers or people traveling the back roads to Ohio. I supposed they needed furniture too, but still, hadn’t Jerry ever heard the saying, “Location, location, location”?

“They should’ve used part of that advertising budget to fix up the place, huh?” Babe glanced back and forth from the building to me.

I stared at The Couch King. The store was nothing fancy, just an old storefront with big glass windows all along the front and a rugged wooden overhang that reminded me of the Old West. A cement slab served as the welcome mat, and I noticed the trim work on the building needed a fresh coat of paint. The mocha brown was peeling.

“You can say that again,” I agreed.

Babe examined her bubble-gum pink fingernails. “You know rumors were flying that this business was about to go bust.”

“Really?”

“Really. I mean, everyone knows that Jerry wasn’t much of a businessman.”

Had Jerry killed Candace in hopes of collecting a life insurance policy? It happened all the time in movies. But was Jerry really that smart? I’d have to think about it before suggesting the theory to Babe, who was likely to throw some teenage slang on me again if she didn’t agree.

We hopped out and approached the front door. A little bell chimed as we walked inside. A woman with big hair and small clothes greeted us with a lipstick-on-the-teeth smile.

“Welcome to the Couch King. I’m Yvonne. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”

I gripped my purse. I hadn’t thought this far ahead. “I, uh, I’m looking for a—”

“I’m interested in a new couch.” Babe plopped onto a puffy leather sofa and crossed her legs. “Maybe something formal.”

“We’ve got plenty of those! Let me show you our selection. Any particular color?”

“What color do you think, Laura? You’ve got great taste.” Babe stared at me with wide eyes.

Color? What color? I fixated on the lipstick on the sales woman’s teeth. “Coral.”

“Follow me.” She curved her finger and wiggled it, instructing me to hurry along.

Couches were situated every which way, in no particular order. There wasn’t even a distinct walkway. I dodged sofas— big ones, small ones, leather ones, floral ones. The floor inside matched the floor outside: cement. I could really give them a few marketing tips.

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” Babe announced. “Laura will tell you what I want.”

Babe slipped away toward the back and I stared at her retreating figure, trying to keep my mouth closed. How did Babe always manage to leave at the most convenient times— convenient for her, that is, and totally inconvenient for me?

“You new in town?” Yvonne asked, glancing back over her shoulder.

I double-timed a few steps to catch up with her. “As a matter of fact, yes, I am.”

“It’s a great place. I just love Boring. I don’t actually live in town. I live up in Indy. Small towns are just a little too close-knit for me, if you know what I mean. But I love to visit them!”

I wanted to jump in with questions, but I held back. I needed to ease into the subject of Jerry’s disappearance.

“Have you worked here long?”

“Twelve years.”

I nearly choked on my saliva. “Twelve years? Wow. You really must like it.”

“The owner’s been really good to me.”

Was this my opening? I opened my mouth to pose my next question, when the woman squealed.

“Isn’t this couch just beautiful?” She fell backward onto the ugliest couch I’ve ever laid eyes on. It was coral, all right. Coral and big and lacy. A mix of retro and Victorian, clean lines and ruffles.

“Wow,” I nodded, trying to find the words. “That is some couch.”

“I just knew you’d love it. We’re running a special this week. No interest for a year.” Her arm stretched across the back and her eyes sparkled. “So, what do you say?”

“I’m sorry to hear about the owner’s wife.” Okay, I needed to practice my timing a little. But it was already said and out there. There was no taking it back. I held my breath and waited for her response.

The woman’s eyes lost their sparkle. “Candace? I know. It’s such a shame.”

“How’s Jerry doing?”

The woman’s face suddenly became drawn. “Hard to say— he’s out of town.”

“The poor man must be in distress, to lose his wife like that. I can’t imagine.” I shook my head. I meant it. I couldn’t imagine what Jerry would feel when he heard the news. Losing a wife because someone killed her? Did a soul ever recover from that?

I guess it did if you were the one who killed her.

“Their marriage had been in trouble for years.” She raised her head, as if realizing how insensitive she sounded. “But yes, I’m sure this must be terrible for him.”

“Has anyone here talked to him? When’s he coming back? The funeral is probably soon, right?” Chill out, Laura. Go easy on the questions. I attempted to relax my shoulders. I was no good at this detective thing.

“I haven’t heard about the funeral. I would assume it would be soon though.” The woman tapped her fingernails against the back of the couch. “So, about this piece of watermelon delight? Whaddaya say? It can be delivered tomorrow.”

Babe at least waited until we were in my car before hurling questions my way. “Well, what did she say? Did you find out anything about Jerry?”

I scowled at Babe. “Maybe you would know if you’d stuck around.”

“Do I need to explain to you what the aging process does to a woman’s bladder?”

I closed my eyes. “No, please don’t.”

“Okay, then, spill it. What did she say?”

“She said she’ll have the couch delivered to you by the end of the week.”

Babe narrowed her eyes. “Very funny. If you ordered that couch for me, I wouldn’t be your friend anymore.”

My chin dipped down as I drew in a deep breath, fighting frustration. “You’re the one who placed me in that position!”

Babe grinned and I knew she was trying to “get my goat,” as she liked to say. No, the expression wasn’t teen slang. Apparently, it meant she was trying to annoy me. She claims the saying has French origins, so therefore it was still cool to use it.

“So?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t really find out anything.”

“Oh, come on. I know you snooped! You had to.”

“You’re the snooper. Not me.” Silence fell as miles of countryside rolled past our windows. I mulled over theories. Finally, I asked, “What do you know about Yvonne?”

“She doesn’t live in Boring.”

“Yeah, she mentioned that. Plus, I’d figured that since I’d never seen her around.” How sad that I’d started to know everyone in town already. Growing up in Cincinnati, I didn’t even know everyone in my high school class.

“Jerry handpicked her to work at the store.”

I didn’t know what to say, but something just didn’t sit right with Babe’s statement. “That must have been—an honor? To be handpicked to work at that store.”

Babe snapped her fingers in a Z pattern. “Fo’sure, chickaroonie.” Babe must have been reading an urban dictionary before going to bed at night. “Why would someone drive all the way down here to work at a couch store for more than a decade?”

“There are plenty of furniture stores in Indy that probably pay better, and they’re closer to where she lives. It doesn’t make sense. Unless—”

“She and Jerry are having an affair! My thoughts exactly.”

My shoulders dropped. “I was going to say, ‘Unless The Couch King has really good benefits.’” We came to the town’s only stoplight and I took the opportunity to stare at Babe, dumbfounded. “How did you connect those dots?”

“The rumor has been circulating around town for a long time.” Babe shrugged, as nonchalant as ever.

I held back a sigh. The light turned green and gave my mouth permission to go. “Candace worked at the store. Wouldn’t she have known something was going on? I mean, if you’re going to have an affair, you should be a little secretive about it, right?”

“I don’t know. It sounds like a motive for murder to me.”

I added two names to my mental list of who could have killed Candace: Jerry and Yvonne. But no one had seen Jerry for days, and I had serious doubts that Yvonne had been the one to stick a note in my mailbox. Unless she was a great actress, she truly seemed to have no idea who I was. Which left me back at square one.