The Real Werewives of Vampire County

“No. There was none of that.”

“Then what makes you think it wasn’t suicide?”

“First, the cable wasn’t attached to anything. It was just looped around her neck. Did she strangle herself by holding it there? Can you do that? Second, can you think of anyone who has killed herself in the middle of her kitchen? It’s such an odd place to pick. Could you imagine her strolling around her house, that cable knotted around her neck, and her stopping right there saying, ‘I think I’ll die right here,’ and pulling the chain? And third, Michelle would never do anything so … dirty … in her kitchen. She was a germ-aphobe, especially when it came to Joshua. He’d been sick a lot that summer. She was bleaching and Lysoling everything. If she ever thought to kill herself, she’d do it someplace safe, somewhere easy to clean, like her bathroom. And I told the detective that.”

“Strangled?” I stared at the floor, almost able to picture Michelle Stewart lying there, her sightless eyes staring back at me. I shivered.

“Yes.” Samantha spun back around. “Wouldn’t you think that the instant she passed out, the cable would loosen and she’d start breathing again?”

“I would.” My throat was dry. I gulped half my glass of cola.

“But you said Jon has an alibi?”

“He does.” I emptied the glass. “Why do you suspect him?”

“Well, everyone knows that the spouse is usually the killer. Plus, I’d heard them arguing that week. More than once.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Married people fight,” I pointed out. “It doesn’t always lead to someone dying.”

“True.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “But I’ve watched enough episodes of CSI to know that a strangling is a more intimate way of killing someone. The killer has to get close to the victim, within reach.”

“Stands to reason.”

“Which is generally why they’re someone the victim knows.” Little did Samantha realize, that statement put her, and her friends, on my short list of suspects.

“It was in her house. The kitchen. There was no sign of a break-in,” Samantha continued. “Yet another reason to believe it was someone she knew well. Like Jon.”

“So tell me, who else would Michelle let into the house?”

“Besides her husband? And me, of course …” Samantha’s eyes widened. “You don’t think … Do the police suspect me?”

I shrugged, doing my best to hide the truth. “I wouldn’t know.”

“But you said you talked to the detective.”

“I didn’t tell you that. How did you know?”

She blanched. “Lindsay told me. Was she lying?”

“Hmmm. I see good news travels fast around here,” I said to nobody in particular. “I did talk to the detective. But he wouldn’t even tell me as much as you did.”

Samantha shifted in her seat, checked her watch. “Oh darn. I need to get back. Need to take the bread out of the oven.” She slid from the stool. “Do you believe what the detective said about Jon?”

“I do. It sounded like there was absolutely no question of his innocence.”

“Well, I guess that’s good news for you? I imagine you weren’t too thrilled to learn you’d just moved in with a suspected murderer.”

“I imagine nobody would be thrilled to learn that.”

“True.” Samantha strolled to the front door, seeming to be in no hurry to get to her baking bread. “I guess I must believe it, too, then.”

“I think you’ll believe whatever you want,” I said as she stepped outside. As soon as I closed the door, I went down to the girl-cave to take some notes. What Samantha said made a lot of sense. At least, the part about the untied cable and the notion that Michelle might have known her killer.

At this point, I was ninety-nine percent sure Michelle Stewart had been murdered. I made a list of suspects. It was short. Very short. And I had serious doubts about all of the people on it. There was Jon, whom I couldn’t remove yet because of that inconsistency in his story versus Samantha’s. But I was pretty sure it wasn’t him. Samantha was on there, too. And Lindsay. Erica was the last name on the list. Because Lindsay, Erica, and Samantha were pushing me so hard to investigate, I was having a difficult time believing any of them were the killer. Jon had an alibi.

That left … who else?

I needed to find out who else might have been close enough to Michelle to be invited inside the house. I was missing something. Something big. The puzzle pieces just weren’t fitting. Who would kill Michelle Stewart? And why?

The more I learned, the more I needed to know.

CHAPTER 7

There was a dead cat on the front porch. Make that, a mangled dead cat. Creepy eyes wide open. Mouth agape in an eternal hiss, teeth bared. It was dead for sure. I’d nudged it with a toe. It was stiff.

I slammed the door and locked it.

Jon, why aren’t you home yet?

I checked the clock. It was after midnight. I’d been so sure the sound I’d heard outside was him, I hadn’t thought twice about throwing the door open to greet him. But instead of getting a nice, warm hug, I’d received the shock of the night.

This whole dead animal thing was getting much too common.

Inching open the door, I checked to see if it was still there.

Yep.

Damn.

I went to the girl-cave and retrieved the shoe box that had originally been intended for Skippy. Then I collected a pair of thick rubber gloves and a set of salad tongs. There was no way in hell I was touching that … thing. Out I went, back onto the porch, yellow gloves gleaming, metal tongs reflecting the overhead porch light. I gingerly grabbed a leg with the tongs, lifted. The foot slipped loose, and the animal hit the porch with a stomach-turning smack. Swallowing bile, I made a second attempt, this time grabbing the base of the tail.

Success. I slammed the box top on and, leaving my tool on the porch, hurried the makeshift coffin into the attached garage, trying hard not to inhale through my nose. As disgusting as the animal had looked, I was sure it smelled even worse. Into a black trash bag it went. And the bag—tied, knotted, triple-knotted—went into a trash can. Lid on. Hopefully the garage wouldn’t stink like dead cat by tomorrow.

That unpleasant task completed, I spun around.

“Gak!” I screamed as I smacked right into a man’s wide chest. I jerked my head back and let out an audible exhale. “Ohmygod, you scared me. I didn’t hear you.”