Apples, Appaloosa and Alibis by Maria Swan (feel good novels TXT) 📕

relationship. I could tell. I must have dozed off because at some point I realized we had just left the 51 and were on Shea Boulevard, nearing home. Imagine my surprise when Bob’s headlights shone on Brenda’s Honda Pilot parked in front of her closed garage door.

“How, how...” Did I sleep with my mouth open? My lips felt so dry I could hardly talk.

“Tristan texted me,” Brenda said. “He left the keys under the back doormat. What a kind soul. In the midst of all this tragedy he made sure my car would be waiting when I got home. A nice, nice boy.”

I kept quiet, aware she was looking at me from the rearview mirror.

That was my cue to jump out of Bob’s squad car and run to unlock my door so I could cry my eyes out in the privacy of my own home. First, I kicked off my shoes, noticing the heels covered with caked mud from running on that grassy field. Then off came the bra. I already felt much better, but I couldn’t help checking my phone for texts every five minutes.

Sunshine already filtered in from between the closed bedroom louvers by the time I fell asleep. Tristan never called.

It was minutes before noon when I dragged myself over to Brenda’s back door. Just like old times.

“There you are, sleepyhead,” was her welcoming greeting.

I walked up to the kitchen sink where she was rinsing something and hugged her from the back. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

She laughed and tried to free herself from my hug, but she didn’t try too hard. Dior was jumping around like a crazy mutt. I bet he also had missed his old place.

“You hungry? I’m making cheese omelet, baked apples instead of potatoes, and crescent rolls I had in the fridge. That’s the best I could do until I run to get some groceries.”

“Sounds heavenly,” I said, my head still resting on her shoulder. “Did you watch the news?”

She shook her head. “No. But Bob called. The stolen truck has been located, minus the thief of course.”

I went to pour myself some coffee. “Oh, where was the truck?”

“Somewhere around Sun Lakes.”

“Sun Lakes? That’s not the way to Mexico from the ranch; it’s the opposite. Isn’t Sun Lakes a retirement community?”

“It is, but it wasn’t in Sun Lakes. The detectives speculate the truck ran out of gas and maybe Angelique Dumont picked him up. Both Angelique and the Escalade are also missing. And Lois... that concerns me, I wish I had paid more attention when she came around and complained about Angelique’s behavior.” The oven timer chimed. “Let’s eat,” Brenda said.

Neither of us mentioned Tristan, and yet I knew he was as much in Brenda’s thoughts as he was in mine. Dior acted rambunctious. He wanted to go for a walk I supposed. I cleaned up the dishes after we ate, walking around the kitchen with Dior’s nose inches from my fanny. Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Brenda, I’m going to get some real clothes on and take sad eyes here for a walk.”

“Yes, but you need to promise me you won’t go anywhere near the Dumonts’ place. Promise?”

What?

“Why would I do that?”

“Monica, look at me. I can see it in your eyes, and I understand. But this is not the time. I’m sure Tristan would call you and ask you over if he thought that was a good idea. The house fire made front-page news last night and this morning. Along with Angelique Dumont’s disappearance. The cockroaches of humanity are all over the Internet expressing their opinions. You cannot let yourself get mixed up with this. Tristan understands that; he’s keeping his distance to protect you.”

Deep down I prayed she was right and that was the only reason for Tristan’s silence. Funny how I got religious in time of need.

“Ok, you’re right,” I conceded. “Just a quick run around the block.” I swear Dior speaks English. He was wagging his tail faster than windshield wipers in a hurricane even before I reached for his leash. We made a brief stop by my place so I could trade my bathrobe and slippers for dog walking clothing. Then I pocketed a few treats and a few poop baggies, and out we went.

It had been weeks since Dior and I had walked the neighborhood. And on a Sunday too. The familiar streets seemed unusually quiet—a few older folks working in their front yards and waving at us, a kid rushing over to pet Dior. The usual. But this wasn’t enough to keep my mind from drifting toward Tristan and his quandary.

Where had he slept if his room was charred? Had the firefighters been able to save some of his mom’s personal belongings? Luckily, he left his car parked by the police headquarters. Stop it, Monica. Might as well head back.

“Well, he did poop. So that’s good,” I said to Brenda as I removed the leash from Dior. He made a beeline for his water bowl and drank and splashed water around as noisily as he usually did after a walk. I didn’t know if Brenda heard us. She was busy measuring liquid soap next to the washing machine, and the dryer was on. And so was the television. Our local ABC channel was announcing breaking news.

A young reporter who looked familiar, but whose name escaped me, said something about reporting events, “...as they happened, where they happened.” I don’t know what he was reporting. Visible on the screen were the desert, dirt, rocks, and some dried-up bushes. Oh, wait, uniformed cops and other people also in uniform gathered around a wreck of some sort, and then the young man said, “It appears they located the missing car of Silvia De Aguilar, the woman found...”

“Brenda, Brenda, they found it. Hurry. Come see. Where is this place? That doesn’t look like a car... Brenda.” I shook like the last autumn leaf in the wind.

“Calm down; don’t scream. I’m right here.” Brenda patted my arm.

Dior seemed confused