Relative Chaos by Kay Finch

business."

    "It sure as hell is Vicki's business," I said. "Does she know you're
out here?"
    "Keep Vicki out of this," he growled.
    I took that as a no.
    "I've heard about you." I remembered Vicki's comments about
her father. "And apparently what I've heard is true."
    "Show me some ID," he said. "I'm president of the homeowners
association, and I know everyone. You don't look familiar."
    "I don't carry my ID when I take a walk, Mr. Fletcher. See you
around." I turned and headed back toward Aunt Millie's. If it had
been daylight, Fletcher might have seen angry steam rising from my
head. I didn't care if he was President of the United States-he
shouldn't be trespassing in the dead of night.
    Back in Millie's kitchen, I poured a fresh mug of coffee and retrieved the package of fudge cookies I'd stored in the pantry. Enough
fresh baked goods to feed the Fort Bend County Sheriff's Department
for a week were going to waste back home. These would have to do. I
tore into the cookies and ate half a dozen before coming up for air.
    Aunt Millie was right-Barton Fletcher was a mean-tempered
jerk. He sure had rubbed me the wrong way. I wouldn't bother Vicki
Rhodes with this tonight, but she deserved to know about her father
skulking around her house in the middle of the night.
    I gulped down more cookies, dropping crumbs on the dusty floor.
I fetched a mop from the broom closet and pushed the crumbs and
dust bunnies into a pile. Then I leaned on the mop and told myself to
focus. There was no point in wasting energy on Barton Fletcher. I'd
made a big dent in my project, but there was a lot more to do. I could
take the garbage bags to the Dumpster at daybreak-if I didn't collapse by then.
    I entered the crowded dining room and looked around. That's when
I heard a noise coming from Aunt Millie's first-floor bedroomlocated opposite the dining room, on the other side of the foyer.
    The back door had been unlocked while I was out of the house.
Anyone could have come inside. Maybe I was paranoid, translating
creaking old house noises into something more. Just in case, I tiptoed into the kitchen and armed myself with the mop. Back in the
dining room, I flattened myself against the wall, listening.

    No doubt about it. A door creaked open, then closed. I heard a
slight shuffling sound. Had the killer returned?
    My mind raced. He'd come back for something. No, he came
back to leave something. To plant evidence. No, that's crazy. But he
wouldn't risk being spotted for no good reason. So why was he here?
    Aunt Millie. He thought she knew something. He'd come for her.
    Stop it, Poppy. Do something.
    I should leave. Go out the back door before he saw me. But I
wanted to see him. I couldn't let him get away. There might not be another chance. I inched through the dining room, across the foyer. He
was still moving around in there, though I could barely hear above the
blood hammering in my ears.
    I reached the bedroom, holding the mop like a baseball bat, ready
to beat this jerk to a pulp. I tiptoed across the carpet toward Aunt
Millie's dressing room and screamed bloody murder when a man
rounded the corner.

     

I was already swinging my makeshift weapon when I recognized
the intruder.
    Wayne McCall grabbed the mop handle in the nick of time.
    "Whoa there," he said. "That could be lethal."
    I stared at him, my pulse racing. "What in the world are you doing here?"
    "Looking for you," he said. "Your truck's parked out front. Saw
lights on, but you weren't here."
    "I was here."
    "Not when I showed up. And the door was open."
    "I know. I left it open when I went outside."
    "Bad move," he said. "In case you forgot, there was a murder in
the neighborhood."
    "Smart aleck." I lowered the mop and propped it against the wall.
"The cops don't know where the murder actually took place."
    "Come on. That's a technicality."
    No doubt some women would be thrilled to have Wayne McCall
looking out for their safety. I wasn't one of