Chapter 5
The rolled-up flier, printed on neon green paper, was rubber-banded to our front door the next morning. I found it when I went out to check the mailbox.
Figuring it was an advertisement for lawn cutting, I shoved it in my pocket and continued my trek to the end of the driveway. Lindsay came stomping outside just as I was yanking open the mailbox. She let the huge cardboard box she was carrying fall to the ground. It landed with a dull rattle.
Intrigued, I waved, donned a cheery smile—which wasn’t such a hard thing to do after last night—and said, “Having a yard sale?”
It was Tuesday. The day after a holiday. The first day of school. Seemed like the most unlikely day to have a yard sale, but whatever.
“No. I’m not selling this stuff. I’m giving it away.” She nudged the box with her foot. “I’ve got some good things in here. Come on over and take a look.” She thumbed over her shoulder. “There’s more inside, too.”
In my book, free was another word for junk. But I was curious. “Okay.” I headed across the street and peered into the box while Lindsay headed into the house.
The carton was full of electronics. A Nikon digital camera and an Apple iPad were on top. They couldn’t work. Right? Nobody would give away something that nice. When Lindsay came staggering out with the second box, I held up the two items that had caught my eye. “What’s wrong with these?”
She grunted. “Not a thing.” She dropped the second box next to the first.
“Nothing? They work?”
“They’re practically new. Both have a factory warranty. I think we’ve had the camera for only three months.”
“Really?” My bullshit meter was screaming at full volume, but what did I have to lose by taking them? I tucked my new treasures into the crook of my arm and dug back into the box, in search of more goodies. “If they work, why are you giving them away?”
“Because I just found out the bastard is cheating on me.”
“Ohhhh.” Now, things were starting to make sense. I gently set the items back in the box. I wasn’t about to take something that wasn’t Lindsay’s to give away. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She planted her hands on her hips and glared out at the street. “It’s better I found out now, rather than later. Sure wish I’d had the guts to do this sooner. The bastard’s been cheating on me for over two f*cking years. Two years.” She dug the camera out and shoved it into my hands. “Take it. Please. He won’t give a damn. It’ll give him an excuse to go buy the latest and greatest model. After all, that’s what he likes to do best—trade up.” Then, to my surprise she snatched it back, set it in the box, and hauled the whole carton into her arms. Before I realized what she was doing, she shoved it into my arms. “As a matter of fact, take all this stuff. The camera’s cords and lenses and manual are in there. Same with the iPad’s accessories.”
“I can’t—”
“Sure you can.” She gave me a little push.
“No, really. I have a camera. And I don’t read much. I doubt I’ll have any use for the iPad... .” My voice trailed off.
Lindsay clapped her hands over her face.
While I stood there holding the box, trying to think of what to say, she was slowly sinking. Not because she was standing in quicksand or anything, but because she’d gone semi-boneless and was crumpling to the ground. Some strange sound—a ... burble?—came from behind her hands.
Shit, she was crying.
If there was anything I couldn’t handle, it was the sight of a grown adult crying.
“Okay,” I said, “if it means that much to you, I’ll take the stuff.”
She didn’t stop crying.
I bent over her. “I said, I’ll take the box.”
She cried harder.
“Isn’t that what you want?” I asked.
“Take it all,” she said between sobs. “Everything.”
“Okay. I’ll take everything. But only if you stop crying.”
She stopped.
Great.
Wonderful.
Just nifty.
Now, I was stuck with two boxes of stuff that belonged to someone else. I wondered if I might find a way to get it all back to him, whoever he was.
She blinked red, watery eyes up at me. “Thanks.” She snuffled, dragged her hand across her face.
“You’re ... welcome?” I motioned to Jon’s house—my house. “I guess I’ll take this box over and come back for the second one.”
Making a full recovery, Lindsay scrambled to her feet. “I’ll help. There are about ten more boxes in the house.”
Ten? Did I actually agree to take more than two?
Stomping across the lawn, she said over her shoulder, “I want it all out before my kids get home from school. They’re not going to take this well.” Turning to face me, she blinked a few more times. “They liked the bastard. They loved him. He’s the only father they’ve known.” Jerking around, she ran into her house and slammed the door.
We had all fifteen—she’d underestimated—loaded into the garage within an hour. Right about the time Lindsay was stacking the last box in place, Joshua came racing into the garage.
He skidded to a stop. “What’s all this?”
“Just some old things Lindsay wanted to get rid of,” I said. Hoping to distract him, I asked, “Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“We had a half day.”
“I better get home,” Lindsay said. “Carson and Avery will be home soon. Thanks, Christine. I owe you one.”
“No problem,” I said to her back.
Josh flipped open the top box. “Oh cool! An iPad! Can I keep it?”
I slapped the flap down. “No. It’s not ours.”
“But—”
“I’m giving all this stuff back to its rightful owner. As soon as I can figure out how to do that. I don’t even know who it belongs to.”
“Maybe I can help.” He dug deeper into the box. “I recognize this camera. It’s Matt’s stuff. He took pictures at our block party with it.”
“Did you know Matt?” I asked, marveling at the number of words Josh had actually spoken today. To me. It was an all-time record. Could he be getting used to me already?
“Sure. Everyone knows Matt. He’s okay.” Josh dropped the camera back into the box. “If you want to know how to find him, I bet Mrs. Ross could tell you.” He motioned toward Erica’s house. “I saw her talking to him sometimes.”
“Thanks for the tip.” Remembering I’d forgotten to get the mail, I headed back down the driveway. The mailbox was packed full. Most of it was advertising. I dumped it all, and the rolled-up flier, on the table in the foyer.
“Anything for me?” Josh asked, coming in through the garage.
I hadn’t sorted the mail yet. “I don’t know. Are you expecting something?”
“You never know.” He shrugged, grabbing the flier and unrolling it. “Oh, look at this, Mrs. Wahlen’s dog is missing again.”
“Mrs. Wahlen’s dog?” I echoed, peering at the printed flier. The photo was black-and-white and grainy, but there was no question. That was the thing that had bitten me last night. “That’s what that was? A dog?”
“Skippy’s creepy-looking. And mean,” Josh said. “Everyone in the neighborhood hates him.”
“That’s not very nice.” Now I was feeling bad, knowing I’d killed some lady’s beloved pet. Kind of. After all, he was mean. Josh said so. Hopefully hiding the guilty look on my face, I went back to sorting the mail.
“Okay, I kind of feel bad for Mrs. Wahlen. She loves that creepy dog. Buys it ugly little sweaters and boots to wear in the winter. Mr. Wahlen died a few months ago. The dog is all she has now.”
Oh God. I’d killed an elderly woman’s only family member. Now I really felt like crap.
Finished sorting the mail, I gave Josh a shrug. “Nothing for you today.”
“Maybe I’ll go out and look for Skippy,” he said.
“That’s a very nice thing to do.”
I think his cheeks pinked up a little. He shuffled his feet. “I’m not trying to be nice. I want to buy a game for my DS. Maybe she’ll pay a reward.” He rolled the flier back up.
I didn’t believe that was the only reason why he was going in search of the so-called lost pet. But I figured I’d let him save face. “Ah, okay.” Of course, I knew he wasn’t going to find the dog—at least, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t. That meant he wasn’t going to collect any reward. “What game do you want to buy?”
“Ghost Trick. My dad won’t buy it for me. He says I can wait ’til my birthday. But that’s months from now.”
I mentally filed away the game’s name, thinking I might pick it up for him just because.
He headed for the door. “I’ll be around.” He waved. “Do you want me to ask Mrs. Ross if she has Matt’s phone number?”
“No, that’s okay. I can ask her myself. Later. Thanks.”
He stepped onto the porch, his body half-in, half-out of the house. “She’s outside now. I’ll send her over.” A second later, before I could stop him, he hollered, “Hey, Mrs. Ross, Christine needs to talk to you!”
Two minutes later, Erica was at my door.
Decked out head to toe in clothes that made me green with envy, she raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. I made a mental note to tame my own overgrown eyebrows pronto. “Joshua said you needed to speak with me?”
“Yes.” Reluctantly, I pulled her inside, away from the door. I didn’t want Lindsay to catch wind of what I was trying to do. But I couldn’t stomach the thought of keeping someone else’s belongings. “I need to get in touch with Lindsay’s ... er, ex-boyfriend, I guess it would be. Josh said his name is Matt?”
“And you need me to do what?”
“Do you have a phone number? An address?”
“No.”
“Oh. Darn. I was hoping.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “What made you think I would know how to contact him? He was Lindsay’s boyfriend, not mine.”
“Joshua said you talked to him sometimes.” At the sight of something dark, something a little creepy, glittering in her eyes, I quickly redirected the conversation. “What about a last name? Did Lindsay ever tell you his last name?”
“No. I’m sorry. Well, she probably did, when she first introduced him to all of us. But I don’t recall what it was.”
“Okay, then. I guess that’s it.”
“Why?” Erica asked, not budging from my porch.
“Well ... I have his things.” I thumbed over my shoulder. “Lindsay sort of insisted. She wanted everything gone before her kids got home from school. I’d like to return his belongings to him.”
Erica looked genuinely confused. “Why would she do that?”
“I get the impression she’s angry with him. She said something about him cheating.”
“Oh.” She blinked. Swallowed. Then smiled. Leaning close, she whispered, “While I’m here, did you have a chance to read that article?”
“I did.”
“And ... ?”
“And I think you believe what you believe for a reason, but I don’t see anything in that article to make me believe it, too.” I shifted back a little, giving myself more space. “It was all very vague. There was a mention of evidence, but nothing specific. And, after talking to a detective at the police department, I’m pretty confident I have nothing to worry about.” I left out the part about the police investigating the neighbors. For all I knew, I could be talking to Michelle’s murderer right now. There was something very unsettling about Erica Ross. She gave me an odd feeling, one I didn’t care for. Keeping her at arm’s length was probably a good idea.
Her smile faded. “Keep digging. There’s a lot you don’t know about Jonathan Stewart. He told you she was depressed, correct?”
“Yes. They were trying to have a child, and she couldn’t conceive. And that led to her committing suicide. I guess they even tried IVF. Nothing worked.”
“I don’t believe that.” Erica planted one manicured hand on her hip. “First, she loved Joshua too much to kill herself and leave him motherless. Second, we were very close and never once did she mention any of this.”
“Well, it is an extremely personal issue.”
She waved off my comment with the flip of a hand. “We go to the same OB-GYN. We talked about everything. Everything.” She tapped her chin with an index finger. “You know, there might be a way for me to find out if she’d been referred to a specialist.”
“I don’t know... .” The fact that Erica was encouraging me to dig deeper into this mystery made me want to believe she wasn’t the killer. I mean, surely the killer, or anyone who knew who the killer was, would want me to keep believing Michelle Stewart had killed herself. Right? But Erica wasn’t doing that. She was pushing me to find out more. “Okay. See what you can do.”
“I’ll get back to you tonight.” Erica glanced at her watch. It was a Rolex. A real one. “Gotta go. I need to meet a client in a half hour.” She waved over her shoulder.
“Okay. ’Bye.” Standing at the door, I watched Erica hustle past a hunched-over lady with wispy white hair waddling down the street, pushing a walker. The wheels bump, bump, bumped every time they hit a crack. The woman saw me at the door and turned her walker toward our front walk.
“Have you seen my Skippy?” she asked.