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Kat was happy it was summertime. She wouldn’t be able to drive around and ditch her kids if it had been a school day. Homeschooling was one of the greatest surprise blessings God had granted Kat. However, homeschooling meant her kids were with her 24/7. Late-night coffee trips and mom excursions weren’t typical during the school season. If it were another time of year, Kat’s kids would have missed out on their lessons or Kat would have missed out on the scandal.
Instead, her kids joined her. After the hospital visit, where Kat managed a firm thirty seconds with her unconscious prey, the mom on a mission collected her kids and toted them to Lydia’s house.
“Grab your backpacks, your toothbrushes, and some clean britches. This might turn into an overnight.”
Thaddeus groaned in mock overwhelm. “Oh, now what?”
“It’s summer. It’s the season for spontaneous sleepovers.” Kat kissed him.
“At Lydia’s?”
“Why not?” Thaddeus rolled his eyes. Kat was up to something. However, he had to work, and Ivy was a great babysitter.
“Be safe.” He trusted his wife and would pick up the kids later.
“Always!” The couple exchanged goodnight squeezes, and Kat drove her kids to the Everett’s.
✽✽✽
The grass held no big revelations. The porch didn’t either. There was blood and a few chips in the porch railing, probably caused by the crutch. Lydia shuddered as she ran her fingers through the violent etches. They were sharp. It was hard to imagine anyone swinging an aluminum crutch with that much hostility.
Joe told her where to find Cordelia’s spare key. Jacqui had revealed the place to Joe after Cordelia’s meltdown at the Market. Lydia dug in the planter and pulled out the key.
The house whispered with worry. Floors creaked, and doors shifted. They all told of the scenes they witnessed. Their voices landed heavy on Lydia’s heart and prickled the hairs on her head. The living room, cheery and happy days before, left Lydia feeling hollow and haunted. She shut the door behind her and locked it, before turning on the lights.
Though the dark ran into the corners, the mood of the room did not lift. It stayed eerie and telling. Lydia stepped around the crusted trail of blood. Ending at the couch, it painted tiny puddles on the carpet. The largest cluster of drops came together at the edge of the sofa.
Lydia closed her eyes. She imagined Joe reclining, asleep on the couch. At Jacqui’s house, he used the arm of the sofa to prop his plastered leg up. If he did that on Cordelia’s furniture, after attacking the boys, would there be enough blood on his shoes to collect into a puddle? Lydia took a picture of the blood trail and the couch with her phone.
Clicking on every light, Lydia hesitantly ascended the stairs. Occasional stains marked the steps. Fighting a growing sense of panic, Lydia entered Cordelia’s bedroom. Her throat closed in. Lydia struggled for air. She went to the window and looked out.
A blast of fiery color painted the corner of Cordelia’s bedroom window. Next door, Victor Cotton’s backyard lights blazed. His greenhouse glowed red-orange light, feeding his plants no matter the season.
Lydia felt rude inspecting the private chamber. Pictures of Mario and Cordelia decorated every flat surface. Lydia’s heart panged in sympathy. The weight of sorrow closed in upon her and made the walls of the bedroom collapse around Lydia. She fought the urge to run away by sitting on the carpet.
In one week, her beautiful town experienced vandalism, a surprising assault, a missing husband returned dead and the battering of two teenage boys. She couldn’t unravel it. Ethan brought in Joe so quickly but never mentioned bringing in Mr. Goldman, when Mario’s body was found in his trash cans. Joe’s attackers still ran wild, and though the trash smashers were discovered, they were now in the hospital. None of it made any sense.
A crash clattered outside Cordelia’s window. Lydia startled and crawled over to peek. A shadow hurried across the Cotton’s driveway and ran out into the street and down the block. Lydia rushed down the stairs, forgetting to switch off lights and hoped to get a better look.
Avoiding evidence and dodging blood puddles slowed Lydia’s journey. Once out, she turned to relock the door. Every move cost her dearly, but she couldn’t leave the house open to prowlers. She hurried down the porch, but the intruder was gone. A movement to her right drew her focus.
Flora waved, frantically, from Miss Jacqui’s front porch.