Kansas City Secrets. Julie Miller
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getting the hint that this was goodbye, he leaned in to kiss her cheek. But Rosemary extended her hand instead, forcing some space between them. “Good night, Howard.”
He gently took her hand and raised it to his lips to kiss the back of her knuckles instead. “Good night. I’ll pick you up tomorrow?” he asked, releasing her from the gallant gesture and pulling away.
Right. More papers to sign. “I can drive, you know.”
“But the drive will give me a chance to explain the trust fund and scholarship you’ll be setting up before you sign anything.” There’d already been plenty of explanation and she’d made her decisions.
“Howard—”
“That way you won’t have to spend any longer than a few minutes at the office.”
Now that was a selling point. Rosemary nodded her acquiescence. “I’ll be ready. See you then.”
She waited until he was backing out of the driveway and waved before turning around to unlock the door. She typed in the security code to release the alarm, but her hand stopped with her key in the lock. She wasn’t alone.
Was he watching her? Would there be another vile message waiting on her answering machine?
I see you, Rosemary. Thinking your money can buy you security. Thinking those dogs will keep you safe. One of these days it’ll be just you and me. I’ll show you how justice is done. I’ll take you apart piece by piece.
With her shaking hand still on the key, she glanced up and down the street at the peaceful normalcy of a summer evening in the older suburban neighborhood. There was an impromptu ball game in the Johannesens’ front yard across the street. Mrs. Keith was out trimming her shrubs while her husband washed the car in their driveway.
Squinting against the reflection of the sunset in her next-door neighbors’ living room window, Rosemary caught the shadowy silhouette of Otis or Arlene Dinkle. The brief ripple of alarm that had put her on guard a moment earlier eased. The Dinkles had lived next door for years, and had been friends with her parents long before Rosemary had moved back home to care for her teenage brother.
Unable to get a good look at which of the couple was eyeing her, Rosemary exhaled a sigh of relief and waved. They’d watched over her for a long time, including that night Richard had attacked her and she’d run to their house to call the police, fearing he’d come back after he’d stormed out. Her wave must have been all the reassurance the Dinkles needed to know she’d arrived home safely. The shadow disappeared and the blinds closed.
Breathing easier now, Rosemary unlocked the door and went inside. “Hey, ladies. Mama’s home.”
Her smile was genuine as she locked the door behind her and dropped to her knees to accept the enthusiastic greeting from the German shepherd with the excited whine and the miniature poodle leaping up and down around her.
“Hey, Duchess. Hey, Trixie. I missed you guys, too.” She spared a few moments to rub their tummies and accept some eager licks before rising to her feet and doing a quick walk through the house with the dogs trailing behind her.
She really should have no worries about an intruder, especially with the yappy apricot poodle and the former K-9 Corps dog who’d been dismissed from the program because of an eye injury on hand to guard the place. If the dogs weren’t alarmed, she shouldn’t be, either. Still, she checked all the rooms, including the guest suite upstairs, before she set her purse down beside the answering machine on the kitchen counter.
No blinking red light.
“Thank goodness.”
Her day had already been long and troubling enough without having to deal with another message from the unwanted admirer she’d picked up the night after news of her settlement being finalized had appeared in the Kansas City Journal. And she was certain the police department was tired of her calling in to report the disturbing calls. She knew she was tired of hearing the subtle changes in their tone once she identified herself. The officers were sympathetic when they saw her name in the system as a victim of domestic violence, but seemed to think she was some kind of crank caller when they read her abuser was dead and that she had once been a suspect in his murder. They probably thought she was some sort of paranoid crazy lady—or a woman desperately seeking attention when, in reality, she’d be far more content to fade into the woodwork.
The advice from the officer she’d finally been connected with had been to keep a log of the calls and let her know if she thought they were escalating into something more serious. If she’d known when Richard Bratcher’s controlling demands were going to escalate into violence, she might have been spared a split lip, a broken arm and... She ran her fingers beneath the collar of her blouse, resting her palm over the old scars there. Talk about a sudden and unexpected escalation. But when images from that horrific time tried to surface, Rosemary pulled her hand away and stooped down to busy her fingers and brain with the much more enjoyable task of petting the dogs and rubbing their bellies.
After a happy competition for her affection, Rosemary kicked off her sandals and relished the cool tile under her toes. With both dogs dancing around her, she unbolted the back door and opened the screen door to let them out into the fenced-in yard to run around.
The warm breeze wrapped her eyelet skirt around her knees and caught the wispy curls escaping from her bun and stuck them to the warm skin of her cheeks and neck. With the nubby concrete of the patio still warm beneath her feet, she glanced up at the sky and tried to gauge how long they had before nightfall. While Trixie sniffed the perimeter of the yard and the big German shepherd loped along behind her little buddy, Rosemary walked to the edge of her in-ground pool and dipped her toes into the water. As tempting as it might be to cool off in the pool, she hated to be out after dark. Besides, Duchess and Trixie had been on their own for most of the day and deserved a little one-on-one attention. A few games of fetch and tug-of-war before bedtime would do just as much to help her forget these restless urges to prod the truth from her brother, rail against the fear and loneliness that plagued nearly every waking moment and live her life like a normal person again.
Laughing as Duchess barked at a rabbit in the Dinkles’ backyard garden, startling Trixie with her deep woof and setting off a not-to-be-messed-with barking from the smaller dog, Rosemary opened the storage unit at the edge of the patio where she kept pool and outdoor pet supplies. One of the shelves was dedicated to a sack of birdseed, grooming brushes and a stash of dog toys.
She pulled out the tennis ball Duchess loved to chase and gave it a good toss, watching the dogs trip over each other in their eagerness to retrieve the faded yellow orb. Then she reached inside for one of Trixie’s squeaky toys and gasped.
The last rays of sunlight hitting the nape of her neck could have been shards of wintry ice as she snatched her hand away from the gruesome display inside.
“I don’t understand why this is happening,” she whispered through her tight throat.
But she couldn’t pull her eyes away from the tiny stuffed animal—tan and curly coated like her sweet little Trixie—hanging from a noose fashioned out of twine from the cabinet’s top shelf. Nor could she ignore the typed message pinned to the polyester material.
I know what you did.
You don’t deserve to be rewarded.
You can’t escape justice.
Who would...? Why would...?
Duchess dropped the slobbery ball at her feet, and the dogs buffeted her back and forth, eager for her to throw it again. When she didn’t immediately respond, the German shepherd rose up on her hind legs to help herself to another toy inside the cabinet, and Rosemary snapped out of her shock.
“Down, girl. Get down.” Rosemary pushed the black-and-tan dog aside and closed the cabinet doors. Then she latched onto Duchess’s collar and swung her gaze around the yard.
Was someone watching her right now? Was