Murder Between Neighbors: Write Club Mysteries, #3

Prologue

The doorbell rang, interrupting Jared’s workout. Inside the garage which doubled as a gym, he hit the mute button on the television remote, grabbed a water bottle from the mini refrigerator, and headed for the front door. With a high-pitched squeal, the doorbell rang two more times as he entered the house.

Who is it? he yelled, glancing through the peephole. Before opening the door, he chugged from the water bottle.  

What the hell are you doing here? he asked, entering the kitchen and tossing the empty bottle into the trash can.

Silently, the front door closed as his guest followed him.

In the kitchen, Jared swiped a beer bottle from the refrigerator. Thirsty? He shrugged when his guest declined. Suit yourself.

Following his guest into the living room Jared asked, Where are you going?

Stoically, his guest sat on the couch facing the front door.

Make yourself comfortable, he smirked, collapsing onto a recliner adjacent to the couch. He belched. If you came to beg...

I never beg.

He snickered. If I remember correctly, a couple times you—

I’m not here to discuss our past.

"Then why are you here? His polished veneers glistened. Want some afternoon delight?"

Flinching slightly, his guest said, I came to give you an opportunity to do the right thing.

After a chortle, Jared finished the beer. Not likely. He glanced at the bottle before setting it aside. Well. He stretched his arms over his head and yawned. Anything else?

You should consider the bigger picture.

There’s only one issue. While rubbing his belly, Jared frowned at the beer bottle positioned on a side table next to a lamp.

You drink too much.

Go to hell, Jared said, grimacing and massaging his chest.

You first. His guest rose, ambling around the living room and gradually standing beside a six-foot Christmas tree next to the fireplace.

I bet you’ll feel differently when— Jared reached for the beer bottle, but only managed to knock it over. He crumpled to the floor, clutching his gut. Something’s wrong with that beer.

Oh. Swiftly, his guest retrieved the beer bottle from the floor and read the label.

It’s bad. Jared belched and covered his mouth. I’m gonna be sick. Suddenly, he rushed up and sprinted down a short hallway leading toward the guest bedrooms and into a bathroom. He dropped to his knees and vomited into the toilet.

TEN MINUTES ELAPSED. Jared remained curled in a fetal position on the bathroom floor. Noise from opening cabinets made him glance up. A minute later his guest appeared in the doorway.

With a dour face, his guest said, Poor thing. I told you alcohol would kill you.

Sweat dripped down Jared’s face and neck. His heart raced, pounding like a jackhammer in his chest. Call 911. My stomach is about to explode.

Instead, his guest pivoted and left the bathroom.

Dry heaving, Jared summoned his waning strength and army crawled down the hall into the living room. What are you doing?

From the floor, Jared watched as his visitor searched the cabinets beside the oversized television on the far wall over the fireplace. You won’t find them, he said, slurring his words.

His guest continued searching, eventually removing a brick at the base of the fireplace. From the concealed cavity, his guest removed a VHS tape. Grinning, they held up the tape. This?

How did you... Jared used the arm of the recliner to push himself up off the floor but gradually slumped back to the ground. Rolling over, his spine arched, and his limbs convulsed. Spittle and foam dribbled from his mouth.

Giving Jared a mere glance, the visitor stepped over his seizing body and placed the open beer bottle beside his clenched hand.

At the front door, they peeked around the neighborhood. Finding the cul-de-sac empty, they hurried outside and down the street. In the midday sunlight, deflated festive blowup characters littered the surrounding yards with their outdoor holidays lights off.

Christmas might have been two weeks away, but it had come early for at least one person.

Chapter 1

Twilight brought a comfortable hush around the cul-de-sac. For a moment, as the streetlights flashed on, everyone appeared suspended in motion. Cold from the descending evening brought an end to the neighborhood festivities. A beat later, activity returned as people began collecting items and returning to the coziness of their warm, snug homes. From a music player, Please Come Home for Christmas by Aaron Neville floated along the street.

Myaisha shivered, glancing up at the heat lamp. She touched its metal column. This isn’t working. She zipped up her coat and gathered empty plates from two rectangular tables.

Tiffany, her next-door neighbor also rose. It’s getting late anyway.

Kids playing in the cul-de-sac collected balls and other toys and headed home. Several older children circled the street on their bicycles and skateboards. Observing the children, Myaisha smiled, wondering when her son, Josiah, would return home for college winter break.

He said he’d call. She glanced at her watch.

So, what about the decorations? Carter asked, before biting into a slice of pizza.

You don’t have to agree on a theme, Sharon said, sauntering over to the half dozen adults huddled together at the end of Myaisha’s driveway. Her home sat at the apex of their cul-de-sac and thus became the de facto hub for all their gatherings.

Sharon stood at the end of one of the larger tables. The HOA needs to know if your street will be participating in this year’s holiday decoration contest. We need a decision today.

We have this same discussion each year, Jared huffed, drinking from a beer bottle. And we never reach a decision.

Sure, we do, Myaisha said, opening a trash bag so he could dispose of the bottle. Every year we decide not to have a theme and let each homeowner decorate their house as they please.

We’re not displaying any decorations this year, Tiffany said, crushing an empty paper plate and dropping it into the bag Myaisha held. It’s too much effort, and we’re busy with work. Isn’t that right dear?

Carter, Tiffany’s husband, nodded and glanced over at Jared, who sneered and turned away.

What about you, Mrs. Lula? Myaisha asked.

The septuagenarian inhaled deeply and surveyed their cul-de-sac. I’m not big on celebrating holidays. Mrs. Lula’s eyes misted as she gazed distantly.

We know, Jared said. You’re the only person who doesn’t hand out candy on Halloween.

The older woman snapped to attention and glowered at him. I’d think those hooligans of yours have enough stimulation without adding sugar to their bodies.

Jared began to rise from his chair. Don’t you—

Where’s your wife, Roger? Myaisha asked, hoping to lessen the tension.

Abigail isn’t feeling well, he said, clearing his throat. She has to be careful. The doctor doesn’t want her to overexert herself. Wouldn’t be good. He rubbed the bottom of his lip with the end of his pipe. I offered to roll her out here, but she didn’t want to catch a chill.

I understand, Myaisha said. No one wants to get sick around the holidays.

Nope. I remember one Christmas...

As Roger recounted a tedious story about his medical problems, people stirred. Respectfully, Myaisha remained seated, attentively listening to his oft-repeated woe about gout—no, this time he was discussing his bypass surgery. She reclined into the folding chair, prepared to be a good neighbor. He must get bored, stuck at home all day nursing his wife.

As Roger’s narrative ended, Jared stood, his thin hair blowing in the light breeze. Let’s go, guys, he said, addressing his kids, who were playing soccer in the center of the street.

Ignore him, Tiffany said, patting Mrs. Lula’s wrinkled hand. We appreciated the Mississippi mud pie you made us for Thanksgiving. You should open a bakery.

I love cooking, Mrs. Lula said, gazing at Jared’s retreating back.

It’s a way to say, ‘I love you’, Sharon said, a flush blooming across her pale chest. She quickly averted her gaze as people watched.

Well, I plan to dish up a lot of holiday treats, Myaisha said, glancing momentarily at her abdominal bulge. Josiah should be home this weekend. Why hasn’t he called?

I’ll place my order right now for Mrs. Lula’s rum fruit cake, Tiffany said. Let me know what you need, and I’ll supply all the ingredients.

The two women conversed as several adults drifted away. Myaisha watched Jared gather his children and head toward his house.

Wait a minute. She trotted after him. Can we discuss the fence?

Jared grimaced. What about it?

She hesitated, measuring his hostile demeanor. I don’t want to be a pest, but my fence still needs to be repaired.

Then fix it, he snorted. It’s your fence.

"Yes, but your kids damaged it."

The fence is over ten years old—about time you replaced it.

That’s not your decision, she said, folding her arms across her chest. Now, I provided you with several estimates. When will you—

It’s Christmas. Let’s discuss this after the new year.

Exactly, it’s Christmastime, and your kids damaged the fence on the fourth of July.

A harmless prank. Don’t be dramatic.

Myaisha’s hands clenched. Since we’re neighbors, I’m trying to be reasonable. But if you refuse to help with the expenses—

What’s the big deal? Why are you in such a hurry?

I don’t want Boomer to get outside the yard—or another dog to get in.

If you disciplined your dog—

Why don’t you discipline your children?

Jared advanced, glaring into her face. Don’t talk about my kids.

What’s going on? Patsy asked, rushing outside in house slippers. Myaisha, is there a problem?

Gritting her teeth, she pivoted from Jared to face Patsy. We were discussing the fence.

Patsy’s large doe eyes looked at her husband. I thought you were going to file a claim with our insurance company. Didn’t you—

Shut up, Jared said, glowering at Patsy, who flushed and cowered.

I’ll get to it when I have time, Jared said, stomping away. And if that’s not good enough, he sneered, his gaze boring into Myaisha’s, then sue us.

He slammed the front door shut.

Sorry, Patsy said, before scampering inside the house behind her husband and children.

Myaisha stared at the house, mumbling several of the more creative curse words she’d learned from her ex-military dad. A minute later, she turned toward her house. In the morning, I will call my lawyer.

Holding up an empty pizza box, Tiffany asked, Would you give me a hand?

Of course. I got distracted. She grabbed a fresh trash bag and cleared off the tables. Where did everyone go?

Home. Oh, here comes Mrs. Lula with more trash bags. Tiffany whispered, She’s such a sweet woman—too bad she spends the holidays alone.

Before Myaisha could reply, Mrs. Lula came up to them.

Here, Tiffany. Let me help you with that. Mrs. Lula held open a large trash bag as Myaisha and Tiffany cleared food and other debris from the folding tables.

For the next block party, Tiffany said, we’re going to have rules about clean up. The three of us always seem to be on cleaning crew.

Stuffing a discarded tissue into a trash bag, Myaisha said, If you want something done right...

Assign a woman, Mrs. Lula completed.

They laughed and continued cleaning.

Thirty minutes later a silence descended around the cul-de-sac. Everyone had departed. House lights came on.

Before she entered her garage, Myaisha peeked over at her next-door neighbor’s house. When did Jared become such an ass?

Chapter 2

Myaisha exited the exam room as an infant began screaming. The noise echoed around the busy medical office, joining the voices of the office staff and patients. She searched the nursing triage room, hall, and staff restroom.

Where’s Dina?

Yvette, her office manager, shrugged and shook her head. No idea.

Because her nurse hadn’t arrived for work, Myaisha had to room each patient and administer all the vaccinations.

Of course Dina would be ill on the busiest day of the week.

As Yvette hustled behind her, Myaisha scrambled inside the nursing triage area. While listening to Yvette’s complaints about Dina’s tardiness, she drew up another batch of vaccinations.

Today, every patient seems to require immunizations or lab work.

I called the temp agency, Yvette said. They don’t have anyone available until—

Forget it, she said, a tad harsher than intended. I can handle the vaccines if someone will record vitals and room patients.

Myaisha overheard Yvette giving instructions to the front staff as she entered another patient exam room.

Twenty minutes later when she exited the exam room, Myaisha’s shoulders relaxed. Dina had entered through the building’s rear door, quickly removing her winter coat.

Sorry, Mrs. Doctor, Dina said, unwrapping a long woolen scarf from around her neck. I’ll get the next patient ready.

Myaisha rested a hand on Dina’s shoulder. Thank you. It’s good to see you.

Dina flinched and Myaisha quickly removed her hand.

Sorry. She retreated to a private office in the rear of the medical building and collapsed into a plush leather chair. After plugging in her teapot, she charted on the morning patients. A minute later her cellphone vibrated.

Hello, she said, cradling the phone next to her ear.

Hi, Mom.

Josiah. Myaisha stopped typing and relaxed into the leather chair. I wondered when you’d call. Are you coming home tonight?

Umm.

The five seconds of silence felt like minutes.

Her neck tensed and her voice trembled. What’s wrong?

Would you mind if I didn’t come home for Christmas?

Thoughts swirled around her mind. Why wouldn’t he want to spend the holiday with her? Did he have a girlfriend? A boyfriend? Were they growing apart?

No, I understand. She swallowed hard, barely masking her disappointment. Is everything all right?

Yeah. I wanted to stay on campus and work on next semester’s projects.

Myaisha listened as her son—whom she adored—explained why he preferred to stay in Chapel Hill for the holiday, alone, than to spend time with her.

Well, if anything changes, call.

Love you, Mom. He hung up.

She stared at the blank cellphone screen. Sorrow swelled in her chest. She barely held back the tears. A Christmas without Josiah. The ache growing in her chest reminded her of their first holiday together after Sammy died.

Christmas dinner had been her husband’s favorite part of the entire season. He preferred a big, scrumptious meal to anything she could gift him. Myaisha grabbed a handful of tissues, dabbed her eyes, and blew her nose.

A quarter of an hour later, through her cracked door, she heard giggling. With effort, she ignored the noise and charted. This day had started horribly and now...

Ten minutes elapsed before Dina tapped on the door. The next patient is ready.

Before she could reply, Dina had departed to care for another patient.

As Myaisha sauntered to the next patient room, laughter from the front office again captured her attention. Puzzled, she approached the reception area.

The craftsman-styled home she’d converted into a medical office had a long hallway dividing the back area. On the right, a rectangular cubicle functioned as a nursing station. Patient exams rooms were positioned on the left side of the hallway.

At the beginning of the hallway, on the left, a half wall looked over onto the reception area. A long low countertop separated the reception area from the lobby waiting area. Seated side-by-side, her front staff giggled and conversed.

Did you see those gloves she had on? Alma asked.

She’s crazy, Shirley replied, scratching at her extensions. You know she spends a fortune on gloves and masks. Dr. Douglas refused to pay for those surgical masks with face shields anymore. Dina even wears gloves when she eats.

Alma laughed. I’m surprised she hasn’t worn off her skin with all that hand washing. She’s a freak.

Frowning, Myaisha turned aside and bumped into Dina.

Sorry. Your next patient is ready, Dina said.

Myaisha hesitated but decided to address her concerns later. Patients first.  

A half hour elapsed before she escorted two expectant parents out of an exam room.

Well, we’ve heard good things about you, a visibly pregnant woman said. We’re so happy to finally meet you.

Before she could respond, Myaisha heard more laughter. A flushed Dina fled from the reception area into the nursing triage room. Though she caught a mere glimpse of Dina’s face, Myaisha noticed her bottom lip quivering.

Thank you, Myaisha said to the expectant parents. She directed them to check out. Call anytime. My afterhours number is in the welcome packet.

Once the family departed, Myaisha scanned the lobby. Only one person remained, and she knew he expected a ride. She walked over to the reception desk.

When Mr. Hopkins leaves, I’d like to speak with you both in my office. Myaisha strode away before the front staff could reply.

Twenty minutes later someone rapped on her door.

Come in, she said, briefly looking up from her paperwork. Shut the door and sit down.

The medical assistants retrieved chairs from around the room and sat in front of the long wooden desk.