CHAPTER NINE

C HAPTER N INE

After Chloe left, Shannon tried to eat something, but she wasn’t hungry, so she took a nap instead. She was awakened an hour later by the sound of the door opening and closing.

“Mom! Are you here?” Mac stood at the bottom of the stairs. “Is Rosella really dead?”

Shannon plowed her fingers through her hair, pushing it away from her eyes. She felt as if she could use a few more hours in bed. “Who told you?”

Mac followed her to the kitchen. “Mrs. Leavitt called Ridley on our way home. She said you were the one who found Rosella and that you had to talk to the detectives on the case and everything. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” Mac wrapped her long arms around Shannon and squeezed. After she let go, she went straight to the refrigerator and grabbed a handful of green grapes. She popped a couple into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “Do you think someone in the neighborhood could have killed Rosella?”

Shannon sat on one of the stools pushed under the kitchen island. “Is that what Chloe said?”

“No. It’s what Ridley and Blake said. They told me a bunch of stories about Rosella and how nobody liked her.”

“What stories did you hear about Rosella?” Shannon asked.

Mac took a seat on the stool next to her. “After Ridley got off the phone with her mom, she and her brother started talking about how cruel Rosella was. They had so many stories, there’s no way I can remember them all. Like how Rosella called the pound to have them come pick up a ‘stray’ dog. Rosella knew the Frenchie belonged to the Leavitts, but she took off the dog collar with all the tags before the animal service truck arrived. The only reason the Leavitts found Carlin—that’s the dog’s name—was because he had a microchip.”

“That is horrible.”

“It gets worse,” Mac said after eating another handful of grapes. “Whenever their dog poops on Rosella’s lawn, she scoops it up and leaves it on their welcome mat.”

“How would she know it belonged to their dog?”

“That’s what I wanted to know,” Mac said. “Rosella told them she had a video of it on her phone. One time she even called the cops on Blake and Ridley when their parents were out to dinner. Rosella told the police they were having a party and doing drugs. Two uniformed officers insisted on entering the house and having a look around. They even went upstairs and put a bottle of pills for anxiety into a paper bag and took it with them.”

Shannon had no words.

“Rosella even hit Blake with a broom once,” Mac went on. “Ridley said he had bruises all over his chest and neck, but I guess it turned into a ‘he said, she said’ argument, and the police told Mrs. Leavitt there was nothing they could do about it. Pretty wild, don’t you think?”

“I agree,” Shannon said, her thoughts drifting back to the day before, when Rosella had rambled on about the horrible people in the neighborhood. “I don’t think Rosella was ever the same after losing her son and her husband in a tragic car accident.”

“Yeah, I heard about that.”

“No matter how awful Rosella was at times, it’s sad, and something for us to keep in mind when we hear these stories.”

“Yeah. You’re right.” Mac got up and went to the refrigerator again. “Mind if I eat the rest of this spaghetti?”

“It’s all yours.”

Mac pulled two glasses from the cupboard, filled them with filtered water from the fridge and handed one to Shannon.

“Thanks.” Shannon took a gulp as her daughter emptied every last noodle from the plastic container into a bowl before placing it in the microwave.

“I also heard about Jason Abbott coming to the house,” Mac said.

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

Mac tilted her head. “Mrs. Leavitt said he tried to push his way inside, but she stopped him and sent him packing.”

Shannon nodded. “Mr. Abbott left. No harm, no foul. Let’s keep this between you and me. Dad has been putting in long hours and doesn’t need anything else to worry about.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but the last thing Shannon wanted was for Trey to confront Jason Abbott and cause a scene. There was enough chaos in the neighborhood right now as it was. She would talk to him about it another time.

The microwave beeped. Mac returned to the stool next to Shannon with her spaghetti and dug right in. “I am sorry about what happened, Mom,” she said after a few bites. “I know you were excited about working with Rosella.”

“Thanks.” Guilt crept over her at the thought that she’d had no intention of taking the job.

“I was so distracted by my new school, making new friends, and all those papers I brought home last night I forgot to ask you about your meeting with Rosella. Did you like her?”

“Not really.”

Mac dropped her fork into her dish, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and said, “Seriously?”

Shannon nodded. “She wasn’t nice, and meeting her face-to-face was disheartening.” Even now it made Shannon sad to think of the Rosella Marlow she had idolized for decades. She’d been an outstanding writer and journalist. And yet the person she’d met yesterday wasn’t anything like the woman Shannon had built up in her mind.

“She was still going to mentor you, though, right?”

“I’m not sure.” Shannon shrugged, remembering Rosella’s taunting words. Maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe you’re not ready to work with someone of my caliber. Maybe being a mother is all you were ever meant to be. Rosella wasn’t the only one with good instincts. Shannon had left their meeting yesterday knowing in her heart of hearts she’d been duped. Rosella Marlow had only intended to use Shannon as her minion to do her bidding. She’d had no intention of passing on her knowledge and skills. But why had she dug so deep into Shannon’s life and gone out of her way to find her?

“Earth to Mom!”

Shannon broke out of her thoughts and noticed her daughter staring at her.

“This is your chance, you know, to write your own story about what happened,” Mac said. “Whether Rosella was naughty or nice, people are going to want to know what happened to her.”

Shannon reached over, grabbed Mac’s fork, and took a bite. She chewed as she thought it over. After swallowing she said, “I don’t know if we should be having this conversation. She hasn’t even been dead for twelve hours.”

“If you were found murdered, wouldn’t you want someone to figure out who did it?”

“There are detectives working the case.”

“Mom. Listen to yourself. What are you afraid of? You have nothing to lose. All my life, I’ve watched you sit in front of your computer and help people, strangers you’ve never met, figure out who committed a crime. Think about it. A story of a lifetime just fell from the sky, right into your lap!”

Shannon saw the wheels inside her daughter’s head spinning. She didn’t want to scare Mac, but neither did she want her walking blindly into danger. “This isn’t a Lois Duncan novel we’re talking about, Mac. With everything that’s going on, you need to always, and I mean always , be aware of your surroundings. You need to be careful.”

“You are afraid someone in the neighborhood killed her, aren’t you?”

Shannon let out a heavy breath. “I didn’t say that. I have no idea who might have done such a thing. And until we do know who was responsible, we need to be careful.”

“I get it, okay? I’ll be careful. But this is what you do, Mom. You always wanted to be a reporter, right?”

“A journalist,” Shannon corrected.

Mac snorted. “Reporter, journalist, whatever. My point is, this is your chance to do your thing.”

More exasperated than annoyed, Shannon asked, “And what’s my thing?”

“Exactly what you’ve been doing forever. Following your instincts. Using Sherlock Holmes’s methods of observation and deduction. He’s able to gather small details and draw conclusions from them.”

“He’s a fictional character,” Shannon reminded her daughter.

“You can do it, Mom. Uncover the truth. Figure out who killed Rosella so you can tell the world in your own words what happened.”

“Don’t you have homework to do?”

Mac gave Shannon a hug. “I am sad about what happened to Rosella. I’m also sad she wasn’t the person you thought she was.”

“Thanks, honey. I’ll think about everything you said, okay?”

Mac was at the sink now, rinsing her bowl and putting it in the dishwasher. She looked over at Shannon and said in a motherly tone, “That’s all I ask.”

A stream of gratefulness passed through Shannon as her daughter disappeared upstairs. Despite everything going on, she felt thankful to have her daughter. Mac was growing fast. It was hard to imagine her daughter going off to college, so she swept the thought away.

Mac was right. Shannon had hoped to work with Rosella so she could learn and grow and challenge herself. Rosella may have discovered many things about Shannon, but she didn’t know everything. She had no idea how much Shannon resented being played for a fool. Shannon would do whatever it took to figure out who had sent Rosella that note, and she wouldn’t stop searching for clues until she knew whether someone in the neighborhood had hated Rosella enough to kill her.

It was past eight o’clock when Shannon heard keys rattling outside the front door. Trey walked in, and their eyes met. He shut the door and rushed toward her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you,” he said. When he pulled away, he asked, “Did you get my message?”

“I did. Thank you.”

“I swear it’s never been so busy at the hospital. Are you okay?”

Even in his blue scrubs, Trey looked more like a surfer than a surgeon. His light-brown hair with natural blond highlights was wavy, thick, and hard to tame. His eyes were a dark bluish green, like the Atlantic Ocean. The dark circles hinted at the long hours he’d been putting in at Sutter Hospital. “Today has been beyond belief, but I’m fine,” she told him.

Mac appeared seemingly out of nowhere. “She’s not fine, Dad.” She opened the refrigerator, scavenging for a snack before she stopped to add, “Did she tell you about the neighbor, Jason Abbott, the guy who drives the black truck?” Mac didn’t wait for an answer. “He tried to barge into our house, put his foot in the doorway so Mom couldn’t close the door!”

“What?” Trey looked from his daughter to Shannon.

“It was no big deal,” Shannon told him, shooting a look Mac’s way. “Jason Abbott lives next door to Rosella. He wanted to know if Rosella had said anything about him yesterday.”

Trey’s face reddened. “I’m sorry, but when someone—anyone—attempts to come into our house uninvited, that’s a big deal.”

Shannon sighed. Besides telling Trey she found Rosella to be a little strange and a lot paranoid, she hadn’t gone into much more detail than that.

Trey headed back for the door. “I’m going to go have a talk with him.”

“No,” Shannon said. “Please don’t. Once Chloe showed up and told him to knock it off, he removed his foot and we talked.”

“About?”

“Rosella. He wanted me to know she had a tendency to lie.”

Trey crossed his arms. “Why would it matter to him—on the day Rosella was murdered, no less—that you be aware of such a thing?”

“Let it go. I’m the one who has to deal with these people while you’re at the hospital. I can handle Jason Abbott.”

“You were here alone,” Trey reminded her. “What if he had forced his way inside? What then?”

“But he didn’t. He has a wife and two children. From what I’ve already gathered, Rosella hated everybody on this block and was out for revenge.”

“Oh, that makes me feel better. And now she’s dead.” Trey rubbed his face as if he hoped to scrub away all the tension away. He dropped his hands. “Jason Abbott could be dangerous. In fact, maybe he killed the woman. I’m going to talk to him.”

Mac’s eyes widened. “Wait until this weekend, Dad. Ridley told me Becky and Holly were putting on a fundraiser this Saturday. Mom RSVP’d to let them know we were all going. Everyone in the area will be there. Talk to him then.”

“That’s a fine idea,” Shannon said.

“There’s no way I’ll be able to go to work tomorrow without imagining Jason Abbott returning and kicking the door down.” Trey headed for the door. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll be civil.”

The door shut behind him.

Shannon plunked her hands on her hips.

“Sorry,” Mac said. “I didn’t know Dad had turned into such a hothead.”

“He’s frustrated. He’s been working long hours. It bothers him that he wasn’t here to protect me.”

“Oh, please. Outside of a Liam Neeson movie, when does a woman need a man to protect her?” Mac shook her head in teenage disgust. “I mean, really. What’s Dad going to do if someone comes to the door with a gun? Drop-kick him?”

Shannon sighed. “It’s how he was raised.”

Mac rolled her eyes, and the door came open, making them both jump.

“That was quick,” Mac said.

“Nobody was home. I’ll have to talk to him later, but in the meantime, I want you”—he directed his gaze at Mac—“to come straight home every day after school until an arrest has been made for Rosella Marlow’s murder. Understand?”

Mac saluted. “Yes, sir.”

“Dinner is in the fridge, if you’re hungry,” Shannon told Trey. “Would you like me to warm it up?”

“I’m going to take a shower first.” He left the kitchen and headed upstairs.

Shannon turned to Mac, her eyes narrowed.

“What?” Mac asked. “I thought wives weren’t supposed to keep things from their husbands?”

Shannon made a face. “Is that right? Maybe I should go tell your dad about the call I got from Mrs. Baumgarten before we moved.”

“I told you, it wasn’t me. I had nothing to do with TPing her house.”

“You and your friends set off her security camera. I saw the whole thing.”

“Wow. You can’t get away with anything these days.”

Shannon pointed toward the stairs. “Go finish your homework.” Once Mac was upstairs, Shannon went straight to the living room and ungracefully plopped down onto the couch. Visions of Rosella slumped over her desk, two suspicious detectives looming over her, and Jason Abbott’s dark and foreboding eyes swirled around like a twister inside her head while the conversation she had overheard played in the background: It could be a burglary gone bad.

Shannon bolted upright. That wasn’t what had happened. Maybe Mac was right. In a way, Shannon had been training her whole life for this. As an online sleuth, she critically evaluated information and made connections between people, places, and events.

Rosella Marlow was dead.

Shannon needed to do what she’d always done: Observe and gather information. Talk to people. Search for motives and use logic and deduction to piece together the puzzle.