3

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MY ACCUSER, MR. FARNSBERRY, visits his younger sister every Thursday. This isn’t earth-shattering news unless you’re a twenty-nine-year-old woman recently dubbed the Elm Street Cat Killer. If I could just get inside Mr. Farnsberry’s house and rummage around a bit, I might find something that would break this case wide open, like, say, a cat named Yoda, skulking around the house, alive and cantankerous.

Mr. Farnsberry pulled out of his driveway and onto Elm Street. His sister lives one hour north in Mapleton, Texas. He usually spends two nights at her home and returns on Saturday. Ample time for me to pilfer, ample time to snoop, and ample time to get caught by a nosy neighbor and spend a few nights in jail.

But I was a desperate woman. Madge Simmons, the town gossip, had filled me in on what people in Forman Falls were saying about me. I was hurt that the tide could turn against me so suddenly. Harming a cat was near the top of my Most Despicable Behavior list.

When Mr. Farnsberry’s black SUV turned right at the end of our street, I glanced at the clock. Ten o’clock tonight. That’s when I’d make my move. I had twelve hours to go.

My cell phone rang. Burke, finally.

“We found a fingerprint on the box, Sophie. It was yours.”

Mine? “But that’s impossible. I was too afraid to touch it.” I was grateful now that I’d followed through my senior year in high school with our police campaign, “Your Fingerprint Could Save Your Life”, and let them print me. At the time, my principal said, “You never know when someone will suspect you of doing something, and you’ll have to prove them wrong—or prove them right,” he added with a quick grin.

“How did my fingerprint get there?”

Burke’s answer was to say nothing.

Okay. “Someone came into my house and took that box.” Which was a terrifying thought. “What about the wrapping paper? Any fingerprints there?”

“None. Did the box look at all familiar to you? Was it in your house?”

“I don’t know. I was intent on what was inside. I mean, I didn’t notice—” I didn’t notice? I’m a mystery writer. How many times has Sgt. Kipke, of my award-winning Jack Kipke series, preached that the smallest detail is important in a crime scene? And my first experience with one in real life had me acting like an amateur.

“I’m just saying...” I sounded so lame, I wanted to cry. “Wait a minute, Burke. It’s just a box, for heaven’s sake, and I didn’t put it there. Someone was in my house. There’s the crime. What about the note? Any fingerprints on it besides mine?”

“No. Did you check the reference number at the mall?”

“I did. Judy told me it was from a man she didn’t recognize, so I tore it up and tossed it. I don’t know any men who would give me such a gift.”

“Have you noticed anything missing in your house? Do you want me to come over and check it out?”

“I’ve done that. Everything’s here.” I was so frustrated, I sank into my sofa and closed my eyes. “Bad things come in threes, Burke. First, Yoda. Now, the box.”

“You’re superstitious, Sophie? I don’t remember you being afraid of anything when we were growing up. Just be careful, stay out of trouble, and there won’t be a number three.”

I thought of my plans to sneak into Farnsberry’s house—I could be working on number three tonight. Maybe I shouldn’t do it. And maybe I should. Who else was going to help me get out of this mess?

“I’ll be careful,” I said, hung up, and slid the phone into my pocket.

♦

EVERY TIME I LOOKED at my watch, it told me to think this thing through and forget it. But, of course, I don’t listen to watches.

I could get caught, but who would find me? I’ll walk down the sidewalk, turn right, cross the street, turn right again into the alley—which nobody uses but the garbage men—and make my way into Farnsberry’s back yard. I’ll carry a flashlight, so I don’t have to turn on any lights in his house.

My first priority once I was inside? Make sure all the curtains were closed, so no one would see my light. But what if someone did see it? What plausible excuse could I have for being inside his home?

Terri. She was reasonable to a fault. I’ll ask her to go with me, and if she doesn’t think it’s a good idea, I’ll let it go.

“Oh, Soph, it’s perfect. Wear black and a ski mask. I’ll bring flashlights and stand watch or help you search. We can do this, girl!”

So much for Terri being reasonable.

“All right.” I gulped. “Be here at ten. We’ll head out then and hope this rain stops by then.”

“The rain’s a good cover. Anything on the box?”

“I’m thinking the man who put it there is a deranged fan. Unless, of course, you got a friend to go to the mall and buy this to, you know, give me a thrill. From a man and all that.”

Silence answered me.

“All right, all right. Ten o’clock tonight. Be on time.”

♦

FARNSBERRY’S BACK DOOR was locked. “Great. Now what?” I adjusted my itchy ski mask and looked around. Next door, the tall night light from the vacant house’s yard cast a misty glow that crept over the wood privacy fence into Farnsberry’s yard like a wandering ghost. Sprawling trees blocked the light from the rest of the yard.

“You have got to be kidding.” Terri jiggled the knob again. “You’re the mystery writer. You didn’t consider his door might be locked?”

That stung. “I thought we’d waltz right in. No one locks their doors in Forman Falls.”

Terri huffed. “What’s Plan B?”

“There is no Plan B. Let’s check to see if a window’s open. Don’t use the flashlight. Someone might see it.”

Secured screens graced every window in the back. Terri whispered, “No way am I going to rip a screen off. I just had my nails done yesterday.”

Something brushed past me. I jumped and tried to thumb the flashlight on, but my cell phone buzzed in my pocket and I fumbled the light and it thudded to the ground. I grabbed my phone and looked at it. Burke! Why was he calling me so late? I almost rejected the call, but he’d think it was odd I didn’t answer and may come to my house to check on me. Okay, time to do some really good acting. A little breathlessly, I said, “Hello?” I took several steps into the darker side of the yard—with Terri glued to my side—away from the house and any listening neighbors. I hoped my wobbly voice didn’t give away the fact that I was about to commit a crime.

“Sophie? What’s wrong with your voice?”

“Oh, hey, Burke.” My heart rate soared as I tried to keep my voice at a level pitch. “What’s up?”

“Where are you?”

“Just, uh, visiting a friend. Look, can I call you back in a little bit?”

Terri grabbed my arm like a vise. “Sophie, look!”

Her terrified tone sent chills all over me. I ended the call and spun around to face Farnsberry’s house. The back door was open! “Someone’s inside, Terri. Maybe—”

The door slammed shut.

And opened again!

I gasped, clutched Terri’s arm, and ran. We tripped over each other’s feet and landed in wet grass and mud. We slipped and sloshed, trying to get back up, but ended up falling again. Suddenly, we were caught in the beam of a flashlight. I turned around but couldn’t make out anything except the bright light traveling down my attire and settling on my masked face again.

“What are you doing here, Sophie?”

Burke! What was he doing here? “Are you following me?” Which, of course, made not one whit of sense since Burke apparently got here first. The light disappeared. Footsteps moved closer to us. Whew, but it was dark on this side of the yard.

“Farnsberry asked me to keep an eye on his place while he was gone.” Burke’s hand nudged my shoulder and slid down my arm. He gripped my elbow and yanked me up. I slipped backwards. He reached around me and tugged me against his chest.

But he quickly released me as if I had scalded him and held me away with stiff hands and arms. “Are you just looking for trouble?”

I felt a little lost. His arms had been so strong and warm, and then, he’d pushed me away—like old times. “I-I’m looking for a way to clear my name,” I said as I helped Terri to her feet.

“Hey, Burke. It’s, uh, Terri Smaller. If we leave right now, will you not press charges?”

He shined the light on her face for a second or two. “Only if I see your skinny rears out that gate right now.”

Skinny? He called my rear ‘skinny’?

“Done,” Terri said. “I am so gone.” She grabbed my arm. “Come on, Soph.”

I wriggled out of her hold. “Two more minutes. I’d like a word with Burke.”

“Well, I’m leaving. No way am I explaining tonight to Stan. We haven’t been dating long enough for this.” She turned on her flashlight and walked to the back gate. It opened and then shut with a clunk.

“You have five seconds to get it said.”

“You don’t have to sound so—”

“Four.”

“But I need to—”

“Three.”

“Fine. I’m done. Are you going to arrest me?”

He blocked what little light sneaked into the yard. I couldn’t see his face at all. But I could sure feel the disappointment in the silence between us. He huffed out a breath. “Not tonight. Don’t trespass again, Sophie. We may go back a ways, but I won’t hesitate to arrest you.” He shined his light on the gazebo in the far corner of the lot. “Sit with me. We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.” I ripped off my ski mask. “I’m going home.” I was not in the mood for a chat with him.

“That wasn’t a request.”

I took a deep breath and blew it out. Resigned, I said, “All right. We’ll talk.”

Warm night air wrapped around us as we walked to Farnsberry’s gazebo, situated where the night light couldn’t reach it. Surrounded by lush greenery, I knew his neighbors couldn’t see us because I’d tried to peek into this yard in middle school and couldn’t find a single spot that afforded a view. If anything, it was denser now. A closed-in feeling crept over me. It would be so easy for a serial murderer to hide in those bushes behind us and slit our throats before we could say, “Hey, pretty spooky out here tonight, isn’t it?”

I fumbled for the flashlight switch and turned it on. The bright beam swept the bushes and shrubs and crawled up the trees around us. I didn’t care that the neighbors might see it. I didn’t want to lie here for two days gasping for breath in a pool of blood with Burke dead beside me.

My light hit the bushes.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking. Serial murderer. Hiding.”

Burke chuckled. “Your imagination never shuts off, does it?”

“It’s a gift.” The light rested on a mound with a makeshift cross stuck in the ground. Yoda’s grave? He really was dead? I turned off the light.

“One of my jobs as a police officer is to protect the citizens of this county. Herman Farnsberry is one of those citizens.”

I looked heavenward. “I know, in theory, that what we intended to do tonight was against the law, but we weren’t going to hurt or take anything. I was just going to—”

“Criminal trespass.”

Criminal? Oh. Well. When he put it like that.

“Sophie, you have to let me do my job. I don’t need or want your help. You’re going to get yourself in so deep, you won’t be able to salvage your reputation.”

I sighed, deeply. He was right, but I wasn’t up to admitting that to him just yet. “Do you have any gum?”

“Gum?”

“I think best when I’m chewing gum.”

“And I think best when I’m chewing pecan pie. How about getting some with me at Glen’s Grill? They close in about an hour. We can continue this discussion there.”

What? Did he just ask me out? “You don’t have to sit here and guard the fort all night?”

He chuckled. “I’m not officially here. I was doing this as a favor because Farnsberry and my parents lived on this street for years and were friends. So, pecan pie?”

Okay. Just... okay. One, we need a place to sit this late at night where we can talk.

Two, Glen’s is the only place open.

Three, if we take up space at one of Glen’s booths, we should order something.

Four, it is not a date, and it is not meaningful.

I cringed before I said words I never, ever thought I would say to Burke Maguire again: “I’ll meet you at Glen’s in ten minutes.”

“I could take you,” he chuckled, “after you change your black B&E clothes.”

Oh, wasn’t he cute? “Thanks, but I’ll meet you there.”

♦

STRANGE, THAT BURKE Maguire was smiling at me and standing just because I had walked into the room. I didn’t know what the look on his face meant—was he pleased as punch at something or was he about to tell me a joke?

His dimples flashed. “Is this table okay or would you prefer a booth?”

“I think I’d like a booth.”

We slipped into the nearest one. I caught our resident gossip, Madge Simmons, grinning at me from across the room. Of all the people to see Burke and me together at this late hour, Madge was the worst.

“Officer.” I greeted Burke as loudly as possible to let Madge know that this was an official meeting.

“Mrs. O’Brion.”

“Miss.” Even said softly, the word blared the news that I was alone. I don’t know why I corrected him. My life needed to remain a closed book to him.

“Miss?” He blinked and stared at me as if his mind searched through his mental dictionary for the correct definition of that little, awful, accusing word. “As in, never married?”

Humph.

I picked up the menu. “I haven’t eaten here in—” Years, I was going to say. Glen’s had been a favorite haunt in high school, and Burke had been a huge part of those memories. I could still see he was staring at me, so I raised the menu. I studied it as if the cure for insomnia was written in code on it.

“What happened to MacIvey?”

I recited my last name’s sordid history and then lifted my menu, so I could read the bottom of it better. I’d left my reading glasses at home.

“Find any gum in your purse?”

I smiled and perused my menu until Burke said, “If gum helps you think, you should have some on hand in case you decide to break into someone else’s home.”

“’Someone else’ isn’t out to get me.” I put my menu down. “You’re not going to let it rest, are you?”

“Not until I have your promise that it won’t happen again.”

“No deal.”

“Well, at least you wore gloves. That was smart. No fingerprints.”

“And a mask. Don’t forget the—oh, no!” I’d done just that, forgotten my mask. It was in Farnsberry’s back yard. “Burke, I left my mask at the gazebo.” I grabbed my purse. “I have to go get it.”

“Not without me.”

We stood, and Burke tossed a five on the table just as our server approached. “Sorry, Millie,” he said. “We have to run. We’ll be back in a few.”

I hated that Madge Simmons lifted her brows as we darted past her. At the door, I looked back at her, and she sent me a slow smile and a nod. I shook my head and rolled my eyes at her and walked out the door Burke was holding open for me.

I looked up. A full moon was out, and all that was left of the rainstorm were thin clouds here and there in the night sky.

Sneaking into Farnsberry’s back yard a second time that night wasn’t nearly as much fun with Burke beside me. The air was still warm and sticky. Not even a hint of a breeze ruffled the many leaves surrounding us as we stepped up into the gazebo. I felt around for my ski mask and found it. “Here it is, safe and—”

I shrieked. Something had moved against me!

Burke grabbed my shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“S-Something touched my leg.” I stepped out of his hold and yelped again.

Burke lunged and came up with—

“Just a cat.”

My jaw dropped. “A cat? In Farnsberry’s yard? He only had one cat, and he’s dead. There’s no way another cat could get in here with the privacy fence and all this vegetation.”

Burke flicked on his flashlight. We looked into the cat’s eyes.

“Holy cat, Officer Maguire! Yoda has risen from the dead!”

We both turned in unison toward the mound in Farnsberry’s yard. Yoda jumped out of Burke’s arms and ran for the back door.

“Then who’s buried over there?”

“Let’s find a shovel.” Burke shined his light on a storage shed. “Whatever we find, we’ll have to re-bury.”

“Understood.”

Five minutes later, metal hit metal. Burke eased a box out of the dirt and lifted the lid. “Well, well,” he muttered.

I leaned over and gasped. “Is that a human jawbone?” The words sent chills all over me. “Number three, Burke. The cat, the box, and the jawbone.”

“Sounds like a grade B movie.”

“But whose bone is this?”

“Farnsberry knows. He had no qualms burying this and saying his cat had been killed.”

“Are the bone and the necklace connected somehow?” When Burke didn’t answer me, I added, “Maybe there’s a grave right here on Farnsberry’s property.”

Burke swept the yard with his flashlight. “No evidence of digging. Cats don’t usually dig up buried things.”

“But dogs do. Samson gave me the necklace.” I gasped and touched Burke’s arm. “They are connected, Burke. What if this bone is Sharon’s, and Samson found it and brought it to Farnsberry, since Sharon used to live in this house? Her scent is still here. Samson’s owner, Jim Peters, walks Samson every day in the national forest—it’s just on the other side of Farnsberry’s fence, you know. What if Samson found Sharon’s grave? Hmmm, would you call it a grave or a final resting place? Well, yes, it would be a grave if someone actually buried her body and didn’t just toss it into a culvert or—what? Why are you grinning at me like that?”

“I can see why you’re a good writer.”

“You’ve read one of my books?”

“I’ve read all of them.” His expression became serious again. “Let’s bury this. With Yoda getting out, I’ll have to tell Farnsberry that I saw his cat, that I know he lied about Yoda dying—”

“And that he falsely accused me.”

He placed the box in the ground, covered it, patted it down.

“One thing is bothering me, Burke. Cats love to sit on windowsills. Why would Farnsberry ask you to guard his castle with Yoda inside? You could have seen him or heard him mewing.”

“You’re suggesting he wanted me to spot the cat?”

“Yes, but why?”

“I have no clue. Come on. Yoda’s sitting by the back door. I’ll grab him. You open the door.”

♦

ON THE WAY TO GLEN’S, Burke called in two hamburger meals with pecan pie. Millie greeted us with them when we sat at the same table. We were alone in the restaurant, which meant no Madge Simmons to report our every move. When I unwrapped my burger, my mouth watered when I smelled grilled onions, jalapenos, meat, and pickles. I was starving and didn’t care who saw me gulp down that first delicious, fat-loaded bite. Oops. The onions. I sure didn’t want to be the only one eating them. “Do you have onions, too?”

He grinned like a little boy anticipating a double-loop racetrack on Christmas morning. “Can’t eat a Glen’s burger without onions.” He took a bite and groaned in pure pleasure. At least five seconds passed before he opened his eyes. “Better than I remember.” He reached for his napkin. “I’ll talk to Samson’s owner, Jim Peters, in the morning.”

I nodded, ummed into my second bite, and covered my mouth. “I have a theory, so don’t laugh.” I swallowed the last of my bite and sat forward. “Say Farnsberry killed his wife, Sharon, and buried her in the Davy Crockett National Forest or somewhere close by. Even nineteen years after her death, Samson recognized her scent and took her bone home. Then Farnsberry, shocked and afraid after finding the bone on his front porch, buried it and concocted the my-cat’s-dead story. But why? That’s the part that doesn’t make sense. Why say his cat’s dead?”

Burke thanked Millie when she placed our drink refills on the table. “You know a lot about dogs, Soph?”

“Research. One of my books was about a woman whose dachshund saved her from a serial murderer. Samson’s a German Shepherd. His sense of smell is incredibly strong.”

Burke swallowed his bite, wiped his mouth, and seemed to study me for a few seconds. “If Farnsberry did kill his wife, then you need to keep quiet about your theory. We don’t want you to be his next victim.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Not at all. If he killed once, he could kill again, especially if his secret gets out.”

“But why tell everyone his cat had been killed? He could have buried the jawbone in the yard without anyone ever noticing, but then he puts a cross on top of it? If someone came to visit, he’d see Yoda inside, then he’d see the cross outside. Doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“I’ll give you that one.”

“And the necklace. Was she buried with it? That would be good to know. We have to—”

“We?” Burke’s face became grim. “There is no we, Sophie. Let me do my job. I’ll do my best to keep you safe.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “You’re kidding, right? After everything we’ve been through tonight, you expect me to just step aside? No way.” I sipped my sweet tea and set it down with a thunk.

“Yes, way. Stay back, and I’ll let you know what I discover.”

Stay back? Hmmph. Now the man was dreaming.

♦

EVEN AFTER SUCH A LONG day, I couldn’t sleep. My brain simply would not shut down.

Why had Mr. Farnsberry lied about Yoda? Why had he buried the jawbone, unless he knew who was missing that jawbone? If he didn’t know the owner of the jawbone, he would have called the police and reported the find.

And why blame me? Surely Mr. Farnsberry hadn’t held a grudge against me all these years for a few childish pranks. And if he did, why wait so long to get back at me?