Betty Pierre - Murder.Com

Angie lay back in the tub and closed her eyes. "Later, Marty, later. Just let me be for awhile. I need some time alone."

Marty started to leave the bedroom just as the phone rang. She picked up the receiver on the bedside table. "Nevers residence." Her back stiffened. "What the hell are you calling here for?" she hissed. "Don't you ever ring this number again." She dropped the phone back on the cradle and glanced toward the bathroom door.

Chapter Eight

It had been three weeks since Bud's funeral, but Angie still struggled with daily activities. This morning, she'd made up her mind to get up and start the day right. After her bath, she stood in the middle of the bedroom with a towel encircling her body and a turban securing her hair. Her mind seemed to be in a fog. No more tranquilizers, she vowed. Time to get a grip on her volatile emotions. She felt it wouldn't take much for her to slip over the edge.

She glanced in the mirror and grimaced. Her eyes seemed dull and makeup couldn't hide the dark circles. Crossing over to the closet, she stared at the clothes inside. Everything hanging there reminded her of Bud. He'd never failed to make some sensual or teasing comment on so many of her clothes. She searched through the outfits and settled on a recent purchase of a soft pink lightweight

sweat suit.

Her lawyer had been bugging her about the legalities of Bud's death and they needed to be taken care of as soon as possible. She just hadn't had the heart nor the energy to move into that avenue, but this morning she made herself go to the wall safe. As she pulled out the insurance policy and will, a CD dropped to the floor. She picked it up and studied it for a moment. It had no label. Strange, she thought, but shrugged it off at being some song Bud had recorded and wanted to keep, so she tossed it back into the safe, definitely not wanting to deal with that at this time. She tucked the papers into a small briefcase, planning to drop them off at the lawyers sometime today.

After securing the safe, she took a deep breath, shoved back her shoulders, and silently ambled down the steps, running a hand along the smooth banister. She stopped at the kitchen door. Marty stood facing the window with the phone pressed against her ear. From the arch in her back, she appeared upset.

"No," Marty hissed. "You can't do that. I won't permit it." Suddenly, she turned and spotted Angie at the doorway. Her face paled. "I'll talk to you later." Visibly shaken, she faced Angie. "Mrs. Nevers, I didn't hear you come in."

"You look upset. Is something wrong?"

"I'm having a run in with a bill collector. They're trying to overcharge me on my credit card for a sale item." She waved her hand in front of her. "Now don't you go worrying your head over me. I've got it under control."

"That's good."

Marty pulled out one of the chairs at the breakfast nook. "Come in here and have a seat. It's a clear day and the view of the valley is beautiful. I'll fix you a bite to eat. I know you're hungry."

Angie didn't move. "Just a sandwich. Don't think I could handle anything heavy. While you're fixing it, I'll go get the mail."

The mailbox stood on the road, outside the gate. Normally, Angie walked it, but today she didn't feel like it, so she climbed into her car and headed over the crest.

She dumped several days' worth of mail onto the passenger seat and decided to sit in the car for a few minutes with the windows down while she sifted through it. A hand-addressed envelope caught her eye, reminding her of the one Bud had received some time ago. She stared out the window, thoughtfully gnawing on her lip, trying to recall what it had said. In fact, she couldn't remember ever reading or seeing it again. It must have gotten tossed into the trash.

Bringing her thoughts back to the letter she held in her hand, she ripped off the edge and pulled out a single sheet of folded paper. She clutched her chest as she stared at the short message.

Dear Mrs. Nevers,

I need to talk to you. Call this number, (605) 968-3486, between the hours of eight and ten on Thursday evenings only. Don't tell anyone.

Melinda

After recovering from the shock of seeing Melinda's name at the end of the page, she turned the sheet over. No last name, no return address, only a telephone number. She shoved the paper back into the envelope and slipped it into her purse. Driving back to the house, she pondered whether to tell Tom about this now or wait until after she had called to find out what the woman wanted. She'd decide after lunch.

Marty made the simple sandwich look so appetizing. It sat on the plate, regally speared with a long toothpick, topped with an olive. A sprig of parsley adorned the side. The clear soft drink sparkled, with a lime drooped over the lip and a colorful straw swimming in the middle.

"That looks delicious." Angie said, dropping the bundle of mail on the opposite side of the table.

Marty studied the flyers and bulk-rate envelopes, then shook her head. "If this junk mail keeps up you might have to get a bigger mailbox."

Angie smiled. "It's definitely something to consider."

"Uh, Mrs. Nevers. Do you need me this afternoon?"

Angie glanced up as she spread the napkin across her lap. "As a matter of fact, no. I'm going to spend the rest of the day getting the bills paid and returning calls. Would you like to take off?"

"If you don't mind. I have an errand to run. But I'll be back before dinner."

Angie waved her hand. "Don't worry about that. I'll fix myself something. Go run your errand and whatever else you need to do and I'll see you in the morning."

"Thank you."

*****

Marty hurried to her car. She left the Nevers' property and sped toward Highway 237, making good time in the light traffic. It took her less than an hour to reach the small apartment complex located at the south end of San Francisco Bay. She climbed the creaky stairs to the second floor and knocked on apartment number 24, the home of Melinda Smith.

The long-haired blond beauty opened the door. She frowned at the sight of Marty. "What are you doing here?"

Marty shoved her way into the room, only to encounter a tanned, bare-chested young man with long brown hair, braided into a ponytail, sitting on the couch. She turned and confronted Melinda. "Tell him to leave. We need to talk."

The man slipped his bare feet into a pair of sandals and stood. "No problem. I'll come back later." He walked past Marty, gave Melinda a peck on the cheek and went out the door.

Melinda whirled around and put her hands on her hips. "What the hell are you doing barging in on me like this?"

Marty sat with her back rigid on the edge of the overstuffed chair. "We need to talk. You're going to ruin both our lives if you continue this charade."

Melinda took a cigarette from a pack on the coffee table and lit it with a match.

Wrinkling her nose, Marty glanced up at her. "If you must smoke, why don't you use a lighter instead of those horrid sulfur-smelling matches?"

Flopping down on the couch, Melinda blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling. "Is there anything else you can find to bitch about? And I'm not going to ruin our lives. It can only get better."

Marty gripped the arms of the chair. "You're going to get caught in all these lies and we'll both pay the price. I'll lose my job and you'll be thrown in jail."

"Ha! By the time I'm through, you won't have to be a slave to Mrs. Nevers. You can quit that damn job and move into your own place."

"Melinda, please keep Mrs. Nevers out of this."

"She's already involved. I sent her a letter. She probably received it today."

Marty felt the blood drain from her face as she stared at her. "What did you say to her?"

Melinda rolled her eyes. "Oh, Mom, get off it. She doesn't know I'm your daughter and I don't plan on telling her. But™" Melinda pointed a finger at Marty, "on Thursday night, she's going to know I'm Bud's daughter." With a gleam in her eye, she flicked ashes into an already brimming-full plastic ashtray on the coffee table "Of course, she may already know that from the letter I sent to Bud before he died."