Nacho Usual Murder: Hawg Heaven Cozy Mysteries, Book 3 Read online

“Ryan?” she gasped.

  “Your son, he is with your mama,” Consuela supplied.

  “I need to go,” she tried to move her head and was immediately overwhelmed by a wave of pain and nausea, her breath coming in shallow huffs.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Channing, but you’re going to be with us for a while. You’re in no shape to be going anywhere. Your son is with your mother, who I believe will be stopping in this afternoon to see you. You gave your family quite a scare.”

  Dr. Sorenson stayed for a few minutes longer, checking her vitals and giving instructions to the nurse as to which medications needed to be administered via Rossie’s IV. She was exhausted from just having to keep her eyes open, and slipped into a drug-aided slumber before the doctor left the room.

  CHAPTER TEN

  * * *

  Rossalyn’s vision had been clearing, and for the first time since she’d left her cozy house on her way to work three days ago, she was able to sit up without the world going grey. There was a food tray in front of her, but she had no interest in it. Her thoughts were on Ryan, and Hawg Heaven, and everything that she needed to do but couldn’t, while she was trapped in this sterile room. She’d flipped idly through television channels, too restless to settle on any particular show, and wished that she could see well enough to read a book.

  “Knock, knock,” her mother Margo called out, easing into the room, trailed by a somber Ryan.

  “Come in,” Rossie smiled, glad to see their familiar faces.

  Her mother came in and kissed her on the cheek, and Ryan gave her a gentle hug, treating her as though she might break at any moment.

  “Have they said when you can come home?” he asked immediately.

  “No, unfortunately. I’m going to lose my mind if I have to be in here for much longer. I’ve never been so bored in my entire life, and I can’t exactly sleep twenty-four hours a day.”

  “You came pretty close for the past few days,” her mother teased. “Clearly you needed some rest.”

  Ryan was eyeing the lunch tray on her wheeled stand next to the bed.

  “Go for it,” Rossalyn instructed. “I’m not hungry, and even if I were, I don’t think that I would want that,” she grimaced at the perfectly respectable-looking meal of Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes, and green beans.

  “You won’t get in trouble?” he asked, sidling toward the food.

  “I won’t tell if you won’t,” Rossie grinned.

  Ryan tore into the meal as though he hadn’t eaten in days, which, under her mother’s care, wasn’t even a possibility. Rossalyn wondered if all teenage boys had separate snack stomachs.

  “How are things at Hawg Heaven?” she asked her mom softly, while her son scarfed down her lunch.

  “José and Garrett are doing a fabulous job of keeping things running, and Consuela and José’s sisters have been helping out as well,” Margo smiled. “But don’t worry about all that. How are you doing?”

  “I’m perfectly fine. I just want to get out of here.”

  “You’re not eating,” her mother noted.

  “I’m not hungry,” Rossalyn looked away.

  “You have to eat to keep up your strength,” her mother leaned in conspiratorially. “I think José is bringing you something special for dinner,” she whispered.

  “Thank goodness. So has Ryan been staying at your house?”

  “Yes, he and your father have been having a ball doing guy stuff,” Margo grinned.

  “Good. I want to be out of here by the time the weekend is over, so that Rye doesn’t miss any school.”

  “Well, you’re going to listen to what the doctor tells you to do, and if you need to stay longer, I’ll come up here and stay at your house with Ryan,” her mother insisted.

  “Okay,” Rossie yawned.

  Margo glanced at her grandson, amused. “After Ryan finishes his lunch, we’ll stop by the house to get some more of his things, then we’ll be heading back up to Hartman. Your father is cooking dinner, so I have to get home before he burns the house down. José and his mother will come by the hospital to visit you this evening, and they’ll bring some decent food. Is there anything you need before I go?”

  “I’d kill for a candy bar,” Rossalyn sighed, closing her eyes.

  “Well, you get some rest,” Margo kissed her daughter’s forehead. “And I’ll see what I can do about that candy bar. C’mon Ryan, wipe your face and we’ll get going.”

  “Love you, Mom,” the teenager hugged Rossie once again.

  “Love you, too, Rye.”

  The duo tiptoed out the door, and Rossalyn’s breath soon became deep and even.

  ***

  When Rossalyn woke again, she could see much more clearly, and was ravenously hungry. The scent of baked ham reached her nostrils before she even opened up her eyes, and when she did, she was surprised to see her mother sitting in the visitor’s chair by the window.

  “Mmm… is that pork?” she murmured, coming to life.

  “I have some food for you that José and his mother brought over for you,” her mother replied, her face serious.

  “They came already? What time is it?” Rossie yawned and stretched, grateful that her head didn’t seem to pound as much as it had been.

  “It’s a bit after eight.”

  “Where’s Ryan, and what’s wrong? You’re acting funny,” she was suddenly alarmed.

  “Oh, honey,” her mother said, then pressed her lips together.

  “What? What is it? Is Ryan okay? What’s going on?” her eyes widened and she struggled to sit up.

  “He’s fine, it’s not about him.”

  “What’s wrong? Talk to me, Mom!” Rossalyn insisted.

  “When we went over to the house today, there was no heat on at all, and the lights weren’t on, so I called the power company.”

  “There was a power outage?”

  “Not exactly,” Margo sighed.

  “Spill it, Mom. You’re killing me.”

  “Someone deliberately flipped the breaker on the outside of your house, cutting off the power.”

  “That’s weird. Why would someone do that?” Rossalyn mused.

  “That’s not the worst part.”

  “There’s more?” her heart dropped.

  “I’m afraid so,” her mother nodded sadly. “The power had been out for some time, and your pipes froze, causing some pretty significant damage to the house. Pipes burst inside your walls, and gushed into the kitchen, the living room, your bedroom, and some other areas in the house. There was flooding, and the places where it flooded turned to solid ice.”

  A tear slid down Rossie’s cheek as she contemplated the damage to her cottage.

  “What about our things?” she whispered.

  Her mother wiped away the tear with a gentle hand.

  “You’ll need new flooring in several rooms, your kitchen cabinets were destroyed, the washer and dryer couldn’t be saved, and much of your furniture was ruined. Oh honey, I’m so sorry. It’s a mess over there. I called a service to come out and try to get some cleanup done, and the insurance company has already been out to take pictures.”

  “This is a nightmare. Did you call the police?”

  “I certainly did. A nice young man named Morgan Tyler came out to take a look.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Just that I should call if anything else happens, and that you shouldn’t have left your garden hose on the sidewalk. That’s what caused your fall.”

  “I didn’t leave my hose on the sidewalk,” Rossie frowned. “I always roll up the hoses and store them in the garage in the fall. They get ruined if you leave them out in winter, Dad taught me that.”

  “I thought it was strange, too. Maybe Ryan did something with it. I’ll ask him when I get back to the house. He’s going to stay with us for a bit, because the cottage is uninhabitable right now. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

  “I just don’t understand,” Rossalyn sighed.

  “I don’t eit
her,” her mom shrugged. “But, look what I smuggled in,” she drew a candy bar out of her purse, glancing furtively around like an undercover agent.

  “Thanks, Mom,” touched by the simple gesture, Rossie’s eyes filled with tears.

  “You’re welcome, but you have to promise me that you’re not going to eat it until you have some of José’s rosemary pork loin. I swear to you, it just melts in your mouth it’s so good.”

  “I’ll try my best to force it down,” she attempted a wan grin.

  “That’s all we can do. Just keep trying,” her mother hugged her quickly and turned away.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  * * *

  Two weeks after her fall, Rossalyn was just starting to re-enter her life. Finally off the painkillers that had left her feeling dopey and stupid, she nevertheless wondered whether the over-the-counter pain medications she was now taking were really up to the task. She’d managed to convince the suddenly overprotective Ryan to let her go grocery shopping by herself. On the drive home, she saw Eliza Bouchard sitting on the front porch of the boardinghouse wrapped up in her thick red parka, smoking a cigarette. Rossalyn impulsively pulled over.

  “Hello,” she greeted Eliza, who flicked away some ashes and stared at her suspiciously. “I don’t know if you remember me, but…” she began.

  “I know who you are. You always seem to show up when there’s trouble. Maybe that fool Sheriff is right, maybe you are just a troublemaker,” she observed casually, seeming bored rather than hostile.

  “Well, that’s rather unfair,” Rossalyn blinked at her, feeling the first needles of a headache poking in. Maybe the ibuprofen wasn’t enough after all. “I just came by to see how you were doing. It must’ve been scary, having a body found in your house.”

  “I don’t know why you’d give a rat’s kneecap about what goes on around here, and whether or not it scared me,” Eliza’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Does that cop, who won’t quit askin’ me questions, have you believin’ that I had somethin’ to do with that whole mess? Cuz that ain’t right. He ain’t got no right to be accusing me of nothin’,” she became very agitated.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just stopped by to be nice, but clearly that was a mistake,” Rossalyn shivering with cold, turned and walked back to her car.

  “I don’t need your charity. You don’t need to feel sorry for me. I got all I need. I don’t need you or nobody else,” Eliza called after her.

  “That’s fortunate,” Rossalyn muttered, not bothering to turn around.

  ***

  “Hey, Mom, guess what?” Ryan bounced into the house that they were renting while their cottage was being renovated after the ice damage. Rossalyn had returned to work, but was keeping very abbreviated hours, per Dr. Sorenson’s advice.

  “What?” Rossie grinned, delighted to see him smiling after all they’d been through lately.

  “I got an A on my ancient civilizations village and my ancient civilizations paper!” he announced proudly.

  Rossalyn had missed the school board meeting where she was supposed to discuss Ryan’s teacher’s policy on late work, and her son had begged her to just let the matter go. She’d done so reluctantly, but she still intended to address the policy at some point with the school board.

  “I thought that Ms. Simpson didn’t accept your paper,” she frowned, confused.

  “She didn’t, but she’s been sick or something for a few days, and the sub that we’ve had accepted it and said it was ‘very impressive,’” Ryan looked as though he just might burst with pride.

  “Wow, that’s wonderful,” his mother grinned, giving him a hug. “Congratulations. I hope your teacher is okay. Do you know what’s wrong with her?”

  “Nope, dunno,” he replied, with a tone which very clearly indicated that he didn’t care. “Is José bringing us dinner tonight?”

  “Hmm… I don’t know. Maybe since you got such good news, we should go out and celebrate.”

  “Heck, yes! Can we go to Roscoe? The Pancake House over there is supposed to have pancakes the size of the whole plate,” Ryan pleaded.

  Roscoe was a bit bigger than Chatsworth, and the two towns shared a police department.

  “Pancakes it is,” Rossie agreed. “Get your homework done and we’ll head out.”

  ***

  Tom Hundman was glad that he ran his business entirely online, not just because of the convenience and portability of it, but because being online talking with clients, contractors, and his virtual assistant allowed his activity to be tracked on a nearly constant basis, which had come in handy more than once.

  “This is probably this most solid alibi I’ve ever run across,” Officer Morgan Tyler sighed, having pored over the biker’s computer activity more than thoroughly.

  “Told you,” Tom crossed his arms, his feet stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, glowering at the officer across the interrogation table from him.

  “Thanks for your cooperation,” Morgan ignored the comment, frustrated at having no clear leads in the case of Jesse Nickerson’s murder.

  “Seems to me that the best place to start looking is the place that’s closest to home,” the biker stood, towering nearly a foot over the strapping officer.

  “What does that even mean? Do you know something that I don’t know?” Morgan asked, eyes narrowed.

  “Nope. Just being logical,” Tom shrugged. “We done here?”

  “Yeah, we’re done. Come on, I’ll show you out,” the officer opened the door.

  “I believe I know the way,” the biker brushed past, dismissing formalities, and Morgan let him go. He had work to do, which included another stop to talk to Eliza Bouchard.

  ***

  “Oh man, I’m stuffed,” Rossalyn patted her pancake-filled stomach.

  “Me, too,” Ryan agreed with unbounded enthusiasm. “Those pancakes were the best. Can we go back tomorrow?”

  “Definitely not,” his mother laughed. “The Pancake House is a once-in-a-while treat, not a daily occurrence.”

  They climbed into the SUV and drove toward home, both riding in contented silence. When they pulled up in front of the house that they were renting, Rossalyn realized that she had forgotten to turn on the porch light, because the sun hadn’t yet set before they left. It was a short walk to the front door from the detached garage, and as they approached, Rossie saw that there was something in front of the door. Ryan had bounded up the steps ahead of her, and before she could call out to him, he bent down to pick up the object.

  “Hey, check it out,” he grinned. “You got flowers.”

  “They must be from Grandma,” she replied, hiding the tremor in her voice and the pounding of her heart. “Here, use your key to get in. I’ll take them,” she reached for the flowers, which smelled wonderful. Clearly they hadn’t been on the porch for very long, the water in the bottom of the clear glass vase didn’t even have a skin of ice over it yet.

  “Aren’t you going to read the card?” Ryan asked, shoving his key back into his pocket.

  “Of course I will. Later. Why don’t you go find a movie for us to watch, and I’ll make some popcorn, if you have room for it,” she suggested, shooing him toward the living room, then turning to take the flowers to the kitchen.

  The bouquet seemed different somehow… less polished and a bit raggedy. She waited until Ryan was settled on the couch, then she tossed a bag of popcorn into the microwave, plucking the card from arrangement.

  Drink deeply of their fragrance,

  As deeply as you dare.

  These blossoms touch your heart,

  So suitors must beware.

  Rossie swallowed hard. The message was so similar to the ones sent by Jesse Nickerson, but how could that be? He was dead. Had the police been wrong all along about who was stalking her? The calm feeling of safety that she was just beginning to experience again was shattered in a heartbeat. She wanted to fling the whole vase against the wall, smashing it and the flowers to
bits, but doing so would alert Ryan to the fact that something was wrong. And the poor kid had been through enough lately. She wasn’t about to ruin his celebration night with a frustrated tantrum.

  There was only one other person, besides Officer Morgan Tyler, who knew about the flowers and the poems, and when Rossalyn heard the distant rumble of a motorcycle engine, her throat clenched in fear.

  ***

  “I talked to her this afternoon. Told her she needed to move on and mind her own business. Why?” Eliza Bouchard regarded Officer Tyler with suspicion.

  “That doesn’t sound like the way that neighbors typically treat each other,” the officer observed. “Is there some bad blood between you and Ms. Channing?” he asked casually.

  “First off, we ain’t neighbors. Her place is blocks from here. Secondly, there ain’t no bad blood, she just ain’t my type of folk. If you know what I’m saying.”

  “No, I don’t know what you’re saying, Ms. Bouchard. Why don’t you tell me a little bit about that? What do you mean when you say she’s ‘not your type of folk’?”

  Eliza squirmed uncomfortably in her chair, clearly resenting the question.

  “She wears them designer jeans, raising that son all by herself instead of gettin’ a man, thinking she’s a hotshot just ’cause she owns that flea-bit restaurant, you know the type.”

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t. You’re unmarried and running your own business too, right? And if I’m not mistaken, those are designer jeans,” he glanced down quickly, then challenged her with his gaze.

  “Thanks for noticin’, Officer,” her voice dripped sarcasm. “But these are broken in,” she rationalized.

  “I see. So, would it be accurate to say that you harbor some negative feelings toward Ms. Channing?”

  “I ain’t harborin’ nothin’. She just needs to leave me alone and stay outta my way.”

  “Do you know if she was acquainted with Mr. Nickerson?”

  “Heard that he was sniffin’ around her café a time or two. Why? You think she killed him? Maybe he violated her precious virtue,” Eliza rolled her eyes.