Read Online The Deadly Neighbors (The Zoe Hayes Mysteries) by Mery Jones - Free Book Online
Authors: Mery Jones
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it anymore.”
Susan unlocked the car, and the girls climbed in. Nearby, a young woman ran down the sidewalk chasing a toddler. When she caught him, she tried to pick him up; he arched his back, shrieking, trying to slip out of her grasp. Watching them struggle, I wondered how I’d manage to keep up with a little one. I was over forty, a lot older and more tired than she was. I rested a hand on my swelling belly, wanting food. Susan and I got into the car, and she continued my to-do list as she pulled out of the parking spot.
“The most important thing is to find him a good home. He has to live somewhere.”
No matter how I tried to deny it, she was right. If my father was, in fact, unable to care for himself and the house, I was going to have to take charge of his life. Make his decisions, handle his affairs, secure his future.
“Look, Zoe. You can’t manage this on your own, especially with the baby coming. You’re going to have to make use of all of us— me, Nick, your other friends. I’ll make a list of what you have to do—the real estate, finances, medical stuff—remember, I had to do all this with Tim’s mom.”
I was reeling, light-headed. Already, I was over my head decorating the baby’s room, looking at bassinets and playpens and mobiles while working full-time. How was I to take on my father’s affairs, too? And where was the restaurant? I was ravenous.
“Mom, are you talking about Grandpa?”
“Yes, Molls.”
“Emily,” she continued. “Guess what? I went to see my grandpa yesterday.”
“So?” Emily was unimpressed. “I go to my grandpa and nana’s condo all the time. Except in the summer, we go to their house down the shore.”
“Yeah,” Molly bragged. “But yesterday my grandpa killed a lady.”
Emily paused. “No, he didn’t. You’re making it up.”
“Emily,” Susan interrupted. “Let it go.”
I closed my eyes, wanting to disappear.
“No, I’m not making it up,” Molly insisted. “He killed her. I saw it myself.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not lying—ask my mom.” Molly turned to me, indignant. “Mom, tell her: Didn’t Grandpa kill that lady?”
Susan glanced my way, frowning.
“W-we don’t really know what happened, Molls,” I stammered.
“Grandpa killed her,” Molly insisted. “Right in his kitchen.”
“The lady was in the kitchen. And she was dead,” I began. “But that doesn’t mean that Grandpa killed her—”
“So?” Emily, ever competitive, was not to be outdone. “That’s nothing. My pop-pop was in the war. He killed lots of people— hundreds …a thousand. Didn’t he, Mom?”
Susan didn’t answer. She pulled into a parking spot near Wing Yee’s Restaurant in Chinatown. “I’m up for some hot and sour soup.” She backed into a spot, looking over her shoulder. “And a big fat spring roll.” She turned off the engine. “Last one out’s a ninny.”
Seat belts came off instantly, and with a bunch of happy chatter, as if their argument had never occurred, the girls burst out of the car and ran toward the entrance holding hands, best friends ready for lunch.
T WELVE
S USAN WAS RIGHT ABOUT Nick. When we got home from Susan’s early that evening, Nick greeted us, his arms wide open for hugs, and as I accepted mine, I saw that the ice in his eyes had thawed, melted to mush. Nick’s eyes were uncertain and tender. And he touched me gently, protectively, as if even his hands were sorry. He had shopped and planned a feast for dinner, preparing it himself. Steaks, pineapple slices, corn on the cob and Portobello mushrooms grilled outside on the patio. He’d made fresh lemonade and set the table with a centerpiece of tiny pumpkins and bright orange lilies.
We devoured our meal, but Molly was so tired from the long day of soccer and playing at Emily’s that her eyes rolled and her lids drooped as she chewed. As soon as we finished dinner, Nick carried her up to bed, and together we tucked her in. Then, with dishes still on
Susan unlocked the car, and the girls climbed in. Nearby, a young woman ran down the sidewalk chasing a toddler. When she caught him, she tried to pick him up; he arched his back, shrieking, trying to slip out of her grasp. Watching them struggle, I wondered how I’d manage to keep up with a little one. I was over forty, a lot older and more tired than she was. I rested a hand on my swelling belly, wanting food. Susan and I got into the car, and she continued my to-do list as she pulled out of the parking spot.
“The most important thing is to find him a good home. He has to live somewhere.”
No matter how I tried to deny it, she was right. If my father was, in fact, unable to care for himself and the house, I was going to have to take charge of his life. Make his decisions, handle his affairs, secure his future.
“Look, Zoe. You can’t manage this on your own, especially with the baby coming. You’re going to have to make use of all of us— me, Nick, your other friends. I’ll make a list of what you have to do—the real estate, finances, medical stuff—remember, I had to do all this with Tim’s mom.”
I was reeling, light-headed. Already, I was over my head decorating the baby’s room, looking at bassinets and playpens and mobiles while working full-time. How was I to take on my father’s affairs, too? And where was the restaurant? I was ravenous.
“Mom, are you talking about Grandpa?”
“Yes, Molls.”
“Emily,” she continued. “Guess what? I went to see my grandpa yesterday.”
“So?” Emily was unimpressed. “I go to my grandpa and nana’s condo all the time. Except in the summer, we go to their house down the shore.”
“Yeah,” Molly bragged. “But yesterday my grandpa killed a lady.”
Emily paused. “No, he didn’t. You’re making it up.”
“Emily,” Susan interrupted. “Let it go.”
I closed my eyes, wanting to disappear.
“No, I’m not making it up,” Molly insisted. “He killed her. I saw it myself.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not lying—ask my mom.” Molly turned to me, indignant. “Mom, tell her: Didn’t Grandpa kill that lady?”
Susan glanced my way, frowning.
“W-we don’t really know what happened, Molls,” I stammered.
“Grandpa killed her,” Molly insisted. “Right in his kitchen.”
“The lady was in the kitchen. And she was dead,” I began. “But that doesn’t mean that Grandpa killed her—”
“So?” Emily, ever competitive, was not to be outdone. “That’s nothing. My pop-pop was in the war. He killed lots of people— hundreds …a thousand. Didn’t he, Mom?”
Susan didn’t answer. She pulled into a parking spot near Wing Yee’s Restaurant in Chinatown. “I’m up for some hot and sour soup.” She backed into a spot, looking over her shoulder. “And a big fat spring roll.” She turned off the engine. “Last one out’s a ninny.”
Seat belts came off instantly, and with a bunch of happy chatter, as if their argument had never occurred, the girls burst out of the car and ran toward the entrance holding hands, best friends ready for lunch.
T WELVE
S USAN WAS RIGHT ABOUT Nick. When we got home from Susan’s early that evening, Nick greeted us, his arms wide open for hugs, and as I accepted mine, I saw that the ice in his eyes had thawed, melted to mush. Nick’s eyes were uncertain and tender. And he touched me gently, protectively, as if even his hands were sorry. He had shopped and planned a feast for dinner, preparing it himself. Steaks, pineapple slices, corn on the cob and Portobello mushrooms grilled outside on the patio. He’d made fresh lemonade and set the table with a centerpiece of tiny pumpkins and bright orange lilies.
We devoured our meal, but Molly was so tired from the long day of soccer and playing at Emily’s that her eyes rolled and her lids drooped as she chewed. As soon as we finished dinner, Nick carried her up to bed, and together we tucked her in. Then, with dishes still on
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