Citizen Insane

Chapter Twenty-Two





SOMEHOW WE ALL MADE IT through the rest of the week. Roz and Peggy, it turned out, had been escorted home by FBI agents after a not-so-brief debriefing. Peggy was enjoying the limelight and had exciting tales to tell of their abduction by master of disguise Waldo Fuchs/Anita Abernathy, Shashi the crossing guard, aka Marilyn Schmutz the bank robber, and Krystle Jennings the yearbook killer, aka KiKi Urbanowski the cop shooter. Roz, on the other hand found no joy or excitement in any of it and vowed to move from Northern Virginia altogether. She’d had enough of Mafia and FBI’s Most Wanted living in her backyard. Peter wasn’t convinced, but Roz didn’t care. She told him to march right into his office and demand a transfer—out of the country if he had to. I was sad. Roz was my best friend, so I just hoped and prayed that she would settle down once Rustic Woods stopped buzzing over the whole affair.

“It’s like one of those towns in those ridiculous mystery books—murders every week and the same person has to solve all of the crimes,” she ranted once after three glasses of wine. “We’ve become characters in a silly mystery book.”

Peggy laughed. “I know, isn’t it great? I’ve taken detailed notes of everything that happened so I can use it for my writing class.”

Roz frowned. I’m pretty sure that’s one book she wouldn’t be reading.

Frankie was pleased that he had finally made amends in a big way, especially to Roz. And Karma rewarded him nicely. In the form of thirty-thousand dollars—the reward money that the FBI offered for the tip that led to the apprehension of the long-disappeared, but not forgotten Dynasty Dames bank robbers from Wembsley Women’s College. He didn’t feel right taking it though, and instead, gave the entire sum to the Alexander family to help defray doctor and hospital fees.

As for Michelle, she came out of her coma and was eventually moved out of the ICU. It turned out Lance was never a suspect in her murder, at all. The story had been fabricated in hopes the real shooter would come out of the woodwork and make a mistake. The police had been assisting the FBI who figured Michelle must have been the anonymous caller a week earlier, tipping them to Krystle Jennings’ true identity. And of course, who had been working the case? Howard. If he’d only told me, I could have saved us all a lot of time and pain.

When Howard was released the next day from the hospital, I told him in no uncertain terms that I wanted him to come back home. It was time to fix our marriage. I needed him and the girls needed him.

His answer was lukewarm at best. “I’ll think about it.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, as I drove him to his condo.

“It means . . . I will think about the idea of moving back home.” He looked out the window. “KiKi Urbanowski and Marilyn Schmutz are both alive, did you hear?”

“There’s a way to change the subject.” I actually had been curious though. “You know Marilyn helped us. Things could have ended badly if she hadn’t.”

“Can’t make guarantees. No deal was made.”

“She’s a good person, Howard.”

“It’s out of my hands, Barb.”

“I did this, didn’t I?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Our marriage. It’s my friendship with Colt, isn’t it? I’ll end it. I’ll tell him to cool things. Stay away. No more learning to shoot a gun. No more tutoring in private investigation. I promise.”

He smiled. “You would do that?”

“Absolutely.”

He tipped his head slightly. “Good. I like that.”

“And I won’t ask you about that other woman anymore, but you have to promise to stop seeing her.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “I can do that.”

His answer didn’t sit well with me. Not because he promised not to see her again, but because it was the first time he didn’t deny anything. So he had been seeing her. I took a deep breath and wondered how I would get around it in my mind.

“Okay,” I said as I pulled into a parking space in front of his place. “Then you’ll move back in. I can help you get some things now.”

He opened the door and slid out, closed it behind him, then poked his head back in through the open window. “Not right now, thank you.”

“But we just—”

“And don’t talk with Colt. He’s our friend. In a lot of ways, I think he needs us more than we need him. Plus, he pays me rent. I like that.”

“Fine, but when are you moving back in?”

“I don’t know. I’ll let you know.”

Damn! For a man, he sure was a hard one to figure out. Suddenly, I felt the need for that Ultra Ultimate Sweet Tangerine Spice Pedicure at La Voila Day Spa. That, and a truckload of chocolate.