Carolyn and I bought a pack, each took a couple of puffs and immediately regretted that we’d wasted money on something that didn’t taste good when we could have bought chocolate. Consequently, I’m pretty sensitive to the smell, and there was no doubt in my mind that somebody had recently emptied an ashtray or two in that spot even though I didn’t see any butts.
So what? I asked myself.
I picked up the hammer and straightened.
Probably teenagers.
But we didn’t have any teenagers in the immediate area.
Visiting teenagers, then.
Yeah, right, like any self-respecting, rebellious teenager would voluntarily hang out in Pleasant Grove.
I wasn’t sure why, but this whole thing gave me kind of a creepy feeling.
I told myself I was only being paranoid after the scene with the cops at Paula’s house, but I’ve been known to lie to myself before…like all those months I told myself I believed Rick.
I pushed the grass aside with the toe of one sneaker and looked for cigarette butts.
I didn’t see anything. Either I was imagining the smell or the ashes had sifted through the grass and somebody had very tidily cleaned up every butt.
Tidy teenagers? I was pretty sure that was an oxymoron.
Then I spotted a bit of white. I squatted for a closer look. It was a portion of a filter that had been crushed into pieces. The tidy smoker must have found the other parts but missed this one. It was still white. We’d had rain on Wednesday, so this was fresh.
So what? I asked myself again, aware of how absurd this whole thing was. I definitely needed to get a life if a bit of cigarette butt could fascinate me that way.
I started to rise, then noticed a sort of tunnel through the hedge. The leaves had been clipped. This was not a natural phenomenon. Someone had deliberately created a tunnel that was bigger on this side and narrower as it went through a hole in the chain link fence then out to the other side. From that other side, it wouldn’t be noticeable at all, though it gave anyone sitting on the grass and smoking cigarettes a perfect view of Paula’s house.
Chapter Four
An hour and a half later I was sitting in Fred’s breakfast nook at his table with the glass top that never seemed to get dirty or smudged, overlooking his back yard where the trees didn’t drop leaves and the birds never pooped.
I took a bite of his chicken salad on homemade bread, savoring the delicate flavors. If I could persuade Fred to come to work at Death by Chocolate, we’d all be rich, but he prefers to sit in front of that computer screen all day and do whatever it is he does.
“This bread is wonderful,” I told him.
He studied the uneaten portion of his own sandwich and scowled. “The crust’s not crisp enough.”
“It’s perfect.”
“My oven temperature must be inaccurate.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Maybe.”
He spoke the last word with as much dignity and solemnity as he’d voice d his criticism of his bread.
I laughed and Fred smiled.
I knew that Fred knew Rick had spent the night even though my driveway was on the other side of my house with several trees in between and Fred hadn’t opened his blinds until after Rick left. The man knew everything that went on. I’ve accused him of having a periscope leading from his computer up his chimney as well as bugs in every house in the neighborhood that feed into his computer. He acts surprised every time I bring it up, claiming he lives in his own little world and sometimes doesn’t even know what the weather’s like outside.
Yeah, right, and Rick just happened to have that jar of instant coffee in his briefcase.
However, I really didn’t want to think about Rick at that moment, and Fred would never bring it up if I didn’t. So I chose another topic.
“Cops came to visit Paula this morning,” I said.
He nodded.
“Now how could you possibly know that if you don’t have a periscope?” I demanded.
“You just told me.”
“You nodded ,