A Fatal Romance Page 14

  I was eight….

  Chapter 17

  I was outside with my big sister. She stretched on her side on the driveway. Her hand holding our mom’s cell phone was open. So were her eyes.

  “Crystal, get up.” I pushed her arm with my toe.

  She didn’t move.

  “Come on, quit playing around. You better get up, or I’m going inside.” I started walking to the house.

  That teenager didn’t say anything.

  I turned around. A red circle was spreading on the back of her favorite turquoise striped shirt.

  “Crystal!” I screamed. “What happened?”

  “Sunny, Sunny, pick up Crystal’s phone!” Her best friend—I couldn’t think of her name—was yelling at me from the phone by my sister’s hand.

  “I got it,” I said but my arm was shaking so much I could hardly hold anything.

  “Did something happen? Is Crystal hurt?”

  My teeth hit against each other like popcorn popping like crazy. “Uh-huh.”

  “That sounded like a gun. Sunny, was that a gunshot?”

  I was a kid. How did I know anything? I stared at the big tree in our yard. The moss on it moved slower than my arms. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Oh, Sunny.” She made a small sound like a cat, or maybe a cry. “I’ll call an ambulance. They’ll come right over there and take care of Crystal, okay?”

  I couldn’t make any more words come out. Getting my legs to hold me up was hard enough.

  “Is anybody around there?” the girl on the phone said. “Anybody who might’ve hurt her and could hurt you right now?”

  Why would anybody hurt Crystal? Or me? I looked at our house and oak tree and Momma’s azalea bush with pink flowers. No cars or trucks were on the highway. Nobody was on the next-door lot we rode bikes on. “I don’t see anybody.”

  “What about a car? Did any cars pass by awhile ago?”

  “Yeah…maybe.”

  “Did you see it?”

  “Uh-uh. I was shooting hoops.” I hiccupped. My eyes stung.

  “You need to be strong. Stay right there, or you can go inside and hide if you want. I’m calling an ambulance. They’ll be right there to see about her, okay?”

  I nodded and put down the phone. Then I trembled and knelt by my sister. “Your friend’s getting the ambulance. They’ll make you better.”

  Stuff started twisting around in my stomach. I ran to the grass by the driveway and threw up the beignets Momma made for breakfast. My mouth tasted gross. I could go hide in our house or behind that bush—but I wouldn’t leave my sister. I stooped beside her.

  “Crystal,” I whispered.

  One blond curl covered her left eye. I pushed it back. Her blue eyes stayed open. But she wouldn’t look at me. Her mouth was open a little bit.

  “Did you say something?” I leaned my ear close to her lips. “Crystal. I need you. Please wake up.”

  She didn’t move. I shook her arm. She rolled, and her face went down on our driveway. “I’m sorry.” I turned her so her face was up again. I was shaking like crazy and looking at the road by the bayou. Where were Momma and Eve? They went shopping a couple of hours ago.

  The wind moved her azalea bush. I stared at that bush, hating it. Moss in the big oak moved a little. I hated that, too. I wanted my sister moving, not them.

  I needed my momma. What I needed more than that was my big sister to stay alive. Crystal couldn’t die. She was sixteen. A teenager needs to take care of her little sister, not the other way around.

  Nobody took care of me like Crystal. That’s why I stayed with her while Momma and Eve went shopping. I kept staring at moss in that tree and breathing, trying to think of things except my sister on the driveway. I had stayed home ’cause they went to get my twin Eve something nice since she finished third grade with all A’s. My report card was pretty good, but Momma always told people dyslexics can’t expect to do as well, so people understood why Eve did better. They’d buy me something. I told Mom to pick it out. I wanted to shoot hoops in the driveway, and my new friend might come over. Nobody lived by our house around this bayou, but my friend might bug her momma enough to bring her here.

  Crystal was shooting hoops with me like always, but then her phone rang and she walked around the driveway with it, laughing and saying, “Oh, sweet.”

  I got mad ’cause she stayed on her phone too long. She told me quit bugging her and she’d get off sooner.

  And then that sound—POW. I threw the basketball and missed the goal and turned to tell Crystal that almost sounded like a gun. I’d heard some on TV, and hunters around here shot rifles and things.

  I needed to quit thinking about that. My eyes felt on fire. My nose was running. I wiped the back of my hand under my nose and kept sniffling. I wanted to cry like crazy. Tears stung my eyes, trying to come out, and I shivered so much I really needed to pee, but I wasn’t going to wet my pants. And I sure wasn’t gonna leave my sister.

  Crystal kept so still. My chest hurt like a bunch of hiccups stuck inside. But if I let them pour out of me, I’d cry. And if I started crying now, I would never ever stop.

  No, I would never cry. I needed to be strong for my sister.

  Probably I wouldn’t cry if I was singing. The first song I thought about was “Happy Birthday.” But I couldn’t sing that to her now.

  Humming started in my throat. “Jingle bells,” I sang real soft. I kept singing more of the words and started to feel a little bit better. My eyes quit burning. I sang parts of the song louder and watched Crystal keeping still.

  Other noises started. I hummed low so I could hear the sound better.

  Sirens. That ambulance was coming. And Momma and Eve might get home soon, and I wouldn’t be alone with my sister I loved more than anything else in the world. Crystal kept her eyes open. She wouldn’t talk to me or look at me.

  I sang my guts out.

  Chapter 18

  I was an adult now. Still, every nerve ending in my body trembled. Tremors that started in the skin of my legs inched to my torso till they found my neck. My fingers and head shook like cement pouring from a mixer. Lyrics of one Christmas carol after another rushed from my mouth.

  Just as suddenly, I stopped. My body and thoughts calmed.

  One sister died at my side. A drive-by shooting, her killer never found. I had one sister still alive. I would do everything I could to make certain she remained that way.

  I’d purposely left out telling Detective Wilet some information that might be important to this whole case. In my mind, I wrapped together the killings of Zane and Daria Snelling and almost my twin. That couldn’t happen. Needing to make certain the detective was in, I called and discovered he was. I made an appointment and an hour later sat across from him in his office that bore the smell of newly-brewed coffee. No cup sat on his desk.

  “I’m glad your sister’s okay and went to stay at her daughter’s house in Houston,” he said. “I have your sister’s cell phone number. Would you also have that information for her daughter? A phone number and address?”

  I provided what he wanted. “And you know that when I arrived at her house when the gunman was there, I set off her alarm to get his attention, but the system didn’t work.”

  He nodded, and I gulped and forced out my guilt. “It wasn’t really broken. I had just put in the wrong code.”

  The detective watched me a second. “But you do know it?”

  “Yes, and how to make the system function. I hope she never needs it again.”

  He made notes, probably correcting what I’d originally said—that Dave’s system had malfunctioned. While he jotted words, I mentally retraced my actions yesterday evening with Eve’s alarm. When I left her house, I had forgotten to set it. I didn’t need to tell him that but would correct it as soon as I left here.

  “There’s one other thing I should mention,” I said.

  He waited, face stern, maybe thi
nking I was ready to confess to Daria’s murder. “I’m listening.”

  “I had left a message on Daria Snelling’s answering machine.”

  Elbows on desk, he gripped his chin. “Yes.”

  “Did you know that?”

  “Why don’t you just tell me about that message?”

  “Well, you know how I told you some of her husband’s ashes landed in my pocket when she tripped—fell—when his funeral was starting? And then you took my jacket away. I don’t suppose you’re done with it yet?” I hoped but didn’t suppose he’d readily give it back.

  “Why did you say she tripped, but then corrected yourself and said she fell?” he asked, eyes harsh, totally ignoring my questions.

  “There wasn’t anything on that floor for her to trip on. I know construction. I checked.” I was leaning forward.

  So was he. “What do you mean, you checked? When?”

  I spread my hands, not understanding why he didn’t already know this. “When I brought you that fingernail file I’d found in the church?” I made my final statement a question to make certain he understood what I was talking about and then explained more of the possible connection. “That nail file with what may have been dried glue on the tip.”

  The diversion of his eyes, that quick shift so they held on the air to my left instead of on me broadcasted that something wasn’t right. “You threw it away, didn’t you? As soon as my sister and I left this place, you tossed it in the trash.” My voice rose with accusation, along with my body I’d pushed forward, coming halfway out of my wobbly chair.

  His broad chest shoved forward. The detective stabbed me in place with his eyes. “What we do with evidence and information in a case isn’t something our department shares.”

  The most I could hope for was that they were having the file examined. At least considering the item.

  “What message did you leave on the Snellings’ answering machine?” he asked, and I repeated the words I’d used and suggested how I thought that might have caused Daria to break in at Eve’s and write WHERE IS WHAT’S HIS?

  “But then Eve and I found her dead. So I went to the church to look for clues for whether she really tripped, and I discovered that nail file she could have used to pry open his urn and rip open the plastic bag that held him.”

  The detective’s shaking head made me quit talking. “Ms. Taylor, it’s time for you to know that what’s going on is extremely dangerous.”

  “Yes, deadly,” I said.

  “You saw that with the break-in and destruction at your sister’s house and now that someone returned there and wanted to harm her. You need to back away. Let our office take care of all this.” He pressed back in his seat. “Did you have any other information to share with me?”

  I released a breath. He didn’t want me to gather information. Now he does?

  “No, nothing.”

  He reached a hand forward. With fingers spread wide, he set it on his desk. “Maybe the best thing you can do right now is consider getting out of your house, too. Go out of town and stay in Texas with your sister.”

  “I’m good. Did y’all find the bullet in Eve’s yard?”

  His chin tightened. “Yes. So now all we have to do is locate the gun that fired it, or even better, the person who owns that pistol.” His eyes went hard. “Leave it alone. Let us do our work.”

  I shouldered my purse and left his office. Once outside I fumed. He wanted me away from his case, but his case involved my sister. There was no way I would leave it until her would-be killer was found.

  The only thing positive about what I just heard from the detective was the suggestion that he no longer considered me or Eve suspects in Daria’s murder. Or maybe he still did, and this was just a postponement of checking into our guilt while he dealt with concern about the things that happened at Eve’s house.

  I drove there. Letting myself in the front door, I listened a moment and gained reassurance that yes, I had forgotten to set the alarm. The house felt eerily quiet. I rushed through it, checking her art room and then all the others, making certain no windows were broken or new damage done. I found no evidence of intruders.

  Back in the foyer, I took my time to clear my body and mind of stress, and set Eve’s alarm. This time I made certain I didn’t press Home. With only a few seconds to let myself out before the wail sounded, I stepped out and locked the door.

  I didn’t plan to check so intently on Eve’s place while she was gone, but found the need to do so now pushing me around to make sure no criminal element was ready to try to get in. I’d do so quickly since the sun was shining on this clear spring morning, and I didn’t really believe any threatening person hid nearby.

  This time starting around the left side of her house, I looked first for a person. No one was there. I stepped near Eve’s window, searching for scratches or scrapes without seeing them. My shoulders squeezed tight right before I reached the backyard. Not allowing myself to step back or hum as my instinct urged, I walked forward. My eyes nailed the space beyond the fountain on the opposite side of the patio where a man had stood pointing a weapon at my twin.

  No, I wouldn’t allow the person who’d done that to pull a song out of my throat.

  I rushed across the concrete, taking a glance toward the rear to make certain the small pathway between fences was empty and moved to the opposite side of her house. The enticing scent of boiled crayfish teased my nostrils. Next door, Mrs. Wilburn sat in her backyard peeling some.

  “You’re having crayfish early today,” I said, walking toward her.

  “I boiled a few.” Right beyond her sat a burner with a butane bottle and a steaming short boiling pot. Her plastic tray held a pile of red peelings. With the nimble skill of a native of the area, she peeled another crustacean, dropped the peelings in her tray, and tossed the meat of the crayfish into a bowl that held a dozen others.

  “You can peel crayfish like that, and not eat any?” I asked, admiring anyone with such willpower.

  “I eat them boiled often enough. My son likes them best with onions and bell peppers in an omelet. I’ll fix him a late breakfast after while.”

  “What a nice mother you are to peel these for him before you cook his meal.” And why didn’t the lazy guy do this himself, I wanted to add.

  “He’s not here often.” She didn’t slow down or glance at me while she finished another and moved on to the next one. It was a reddish-black crayfish that told me its shell was hard and the season might end early this year.

  “Mrs. Wilburn, did you see anyone that didn’t belong around Eve’s house lately? Or anything suspicious?”

  She tilted her head up to look at me. “I told the police everything I know. I didn’t see anything.”

  I held her gaze, finding it strange to believe this was true. She always knew what was going on. She bent her head down and continued her peeling process.

  “Did the police question Royce?”

  “No.”

  I figured that. Discouraged, I stepped away from her.

  “She’s gone, isn’t she?” the woman who didn’t look up at me said.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I just know it.” She tucked her chin even more toward her neck. The woman was done with conversation.

  Not sure I was glad she guessed or knew Eve left town, I made a quick check of the other windows of Eve’s house. It was probably good that this neighbor knew, I decided. She might keep a closer watch on my sister’s property and report anything out of line to police.

  The uninhabited house for sale across the street was set back from the road. The wide parking area out front was where Eve had waited in her car while I impersonated her. I gritted my teeth, a low groan in my throat, unable to believe I had done that childish enactment. One day I should apologize to Dave for being such an impostor.

  Large lawns with perfectly-kept flowerbeds fronted other homes down my sister’s street. Nobody was out on t
hose lawns. I had the feeling that with such a distance between their places and hers, people in them hadn’t seen what occurred in the back of her house. Surely police questioned the residents, also asking for a call in case they saw someone who didn’t seem to belong. Most of them had surely seen me. Even if they hadn’t known my identity, they’d probably thought I was my twin. I skittered to the skinny grass trail behind her place to my street.

  “Hello, Sunny,” Miss Hawthorne called, head down as she plucked a weed from her flowerbed. Her straw hat’s wide brim hid her face.

  I hurried my step closer. “Good morning. How did you know it was me? I didn’t see you look up.”

  She used the hand holding her trowel to shove back the brim of her hat. Dirt flecked from it to her nose. “Oh, silly me,” she said, brushing her nose off. She aimed her small garden tool toward my feet. “I could see those shoes.”

  My bronze flats glittered in the sunlight. “So you only saw the shoes coming and knew it was me?”

  “I’ve told you I admire them.”

  “And I should get a new pair, but these are so comfortable.”

  “I understand. We women do like our shoes.”

  She’d worn the same pair of wedge heels each time she had shopped with me at Fancy Ladies, only in different colors. I’d told her I liked them the first time I saw her in a pair, and she must have wanted to keep me happy for each of her visits after that.

  “Miss Hawthorne, have the police come to talk to you about an incident at my sister’s house?”

  Again digging out weeds, she was nodding before I finished asking my question. “I’m sorry that happened. And I’ll sure keep an eye out for anything that doesn’t seem right.”

  “Thanks. I really appreciate your help.” I took a few steps toward my house.

  “I saw the man’s shoes.”

  With a quick spin, I was back to her, satisfaction pushing hope higher up my chest. “When? What did they look like? Did you see his face?” I wanted to pump questions into her until she gave all the answers we needed to get my sister home and safe from harm.