Citizen Insane

Chapter Two





“I THOUGHT I HEARD SIRENS a few minutes ago,” Roz said.

“Who could hear anything with Bunny wailing like a cat in heat?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. The comment was unkind. Roz shot me a look to shame, and rightly so. I whispered under my breath. “Sorry.”

Peggy slowed to a near crawl and whistled. “Hey girls, look at the sexy cop in the sunglasses. If I weren’t married . . .”

Dressed in a black suit, hands in his pockets, revealing a gun in a chest holster, and moving toward an unmarked car, was a man I had known for over twenty years. I slapped Peggy hard.

“That’s not a sexy cop. That’s my husband.”

“That’s Howard?” She squinted for a better look. “He cleans up nice. You know, it’s really true—he does look like George Clooney.”

Roz piped up from the back. “Why is Howard here?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” Full of fury, I bounded out of the van and slammed the passenger-side door a little too hard behind me. “Sorry, Peggy!” I yelled as I stomped forward, eyes focused on Howard. He stood at one of the two unmarked cars, talking to a uniformed policeman.

Green Ashe Place was a much longer street than my own White Willow Circle. Bunny’s monstrosity of a house was third from the left. She had one of the largest properties in the neighborhood: over an acre of land graced by an enormous brick front colonial house. Two tall white pillars added a hint of dignified Southern charm to the enviable homestead that sat back nearly two hundred feet from the street. A long macadam driveway made a bee-line to her three-car garage.

The flashing, rumbling emergency vehicles lined both sides of the street, while the police cruiser blocked access to Bunny’s house. Howard’s car was parked behind a fire engine on the right hand side of the road, not far from where we had stopped.

The problem was, Peggy was right. Howard always looked incredibly sexy when he wore a suit, sunglasses and a gun. And the FBI badge on his hip really got my juices flowing. The whole hot-guy crime fighter look was new and always robbed me of a breath or two. By the time I reached his side, the wind had practically gone out of my angry sails.

“Barb! What are you doing here?”

“I live in this neighborhood remember? What are YOU doing here?”

“Official business.” He looked at the van. “Is that Peggy?”

“Yeah. And Roz. And . . . a friend.” I coughed. “Of sorts.”

“Get back in the van and have Peggy take you home. I’ll come over and see you when I’m done here.”

He went in for a kiss. I stopped him at the pass.

“Uh, we can’t go. We have a crazy lady in the car. She showed up on my doorstep all loopy and asking for . . . who was she asking for again?” I tapped my forehead in mock forgetfulness. “Think, think, who was she asking for?” I snapped my fingers. “Oh! That’s right. She was looking for YOU! Why would she be looking for you, Howard?”

“Bunny Bergen? Is Bunny Bergen in that van?” At the mention of Bunny’s name, every suited and uniformed man within hearing distance looked in our direction.

I squinted suspiciously. “What’s going on here?”

Howard grabbed my elbow and moved back while motioning to a blue-jacketed EMT standing beside the ambulance. “Can I get your help over here? Bring a blanket.” He turned to face me. “Barb, tell me what happened.”

“How’s the fettucini at Fiorenza’s?”

His body stiffened. He blinked three times then looked away.

“I went out for dessert with Roz and Peggy last night,” I continued. “You know that yummy lava cake at Scottie’s Pub?”

He turned back to me, his jaw set hard, but his dark eyes soft, revealing a whisper of emotion. Was it guilt? “Barb, let me—”

“Parking was hard to find though, so we left the car over by Fiorenza’s.”

“I can explain.”

“Which of course, meant we had to walk past Fiorenza’s to get to Scottie’s.”

“Listen to me—”

“I always look into Fiorenza’s when I walk by, because, as you know, a person is likely to see a familiar face in there. It’s such a popular restaurant and all.”

“Do you want to hear what I have to say?”

“No, Romeo, I don’t. Keep your dalliances to yourself, just don’t go on pretending that this marriage means anything to you.”

Howard’s face reddened like coals when they’re stoked. His fists tightened. Not that I thought he’d hit me—he wasn’t the wife-hitting sort. But I’d made him mad. Plenty mad. He was silent for a few seconds (it seemed like years) while he stared at me with those intense, deep brown eyes. I stood my ground, though. I was the woman wronged, after all.

Finally, he spoke. Slow and deliberate like Christopher Walken on sedatives. “I’m on duty and have a job to do. We’ll talk about this later. Now what happened with Bunny Bergen?”

“I found her in our front yard mumbling and acting like Rainman when he missed Jeopardy. Said she ran over a rabbit in her driveway, so she came over to our house looking for you. Do I need to ask why she was looking for you? Casanova?”

“Is she in the backseat?”

“Yeah, with Roz.”

“Is she calm?”

“Now she is. I guess. You didn’t answer my question.”

Howard finally gave directions to the EMT who stared awkwardly at the sky during our little lovers spat. “She’s in the backseat. See if she needs care.”

Then he guided me toward the passenger side of the van. He brought his face close to mine and spoke in hushed tones. “Listen to me. Go back to the house and stay there—all three of you. I’ll have to send Agent Bell over to take statements.” He pointed to a tall, suited man who also wore an FBI badge and said with a half-hearted smile, “Don’t worry, he’s a good guy.”

I wasn’t warming to Howard’s stab at humor but his cologne was starting to bake my cookies. Fighting the urge to jump him and give everyone a show, I played coy. “Can’t wait.”

He stopped me as I headed back toward the van. “Barb?”

“What?”

“I’ll come by tonight and explain.”

“Fine. But I promised Roz I’d go to the PTA meeting, so it will have to be after.”

“You hate PTA meetings.”

“I do. She needs me there. Some problem with the yearbook.”

“The yearbook at Tulip Tree Elementary? What’s the problem? You’re not involved are you?” His concern seemed oddly out of place. He was probably trying to feign interest in my life to throw me off the scent of his philandering.

“Slow down law man—I have no idea what the problem is. It’s a grade school yearbook for crying out loud. The company probably made the margins too wide. But I’ll be sure to alert you and your Bureau buddies if it looks like any federal laws were broken.”

He relaxed and came in again for a smooch, but I still wasn’t obliging. I needed to hear his story first.

By the time I had plopped back into Peggy’s van, Bunny was long gone.

Peggy was spewing questions before I had the door closed. “Holy canoli, girl! What’s going on? Why are they here? What did Howard say?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, and nothing. I take that back—he did say that we have to go back to my house until an agent comes and asks us questions.”

Roz put her face between the two front seats. “Questions about what?”

“Bunny, I guess.”

“Did you ask him about last night?”

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Understood,” Peggy said. She backed into a nearby driveway and spun around. “Well, this certainly did turn out to be an exciting day anyway, huh?” Leave it to Peggy to see the bright side of things.

My head throbbed mercilessly. “I need wine. A big, big glass of wine. Forget the glass. I need a vat of wine.”

Roz, always the level-headed one, put her two cents in. “You need to eat something first.”

My eyes were still closed, but I could feel us turning into my driveway.

“What the heck is that?” asked Peggy.

“What?” I opened my eyes.

A yellow, rusting Volkswagen van was parked in front of the garage. I’d never seen it before, but I knew the leather-coated man standing at my front door. Somehow, the man and the vehicle didn’t match, but nothing about this day seemed normal.

“Barb . . .” Fear quivered in Roz’s voice. “Is that who I think it is . . .”

Peggy didn’t hide her panic. She slammed the breaks hard and tightened her grip on the wheel. “Maybe we should go back and get Howard for protection.”

I slapped my forehead and fought the urge to scream to the heavens. First Bunny Bergen showed up in my front yard desperately seeking a sanity transplant, then I missed my Sweet Tangerine Spice Ultra-Ultimate Pedicure, and now a pug-faced Mafia thug had decided to pay me a little visit. Why?

Surely someone up there hated me.