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

stood right across from Rogelio, looking like a real mean dude. He would have scared me to death had I not known him. Wow.

In minutes we were surrounded by cameras, microphones, and media people. But no police? Someone helped me up, someone else handed me the bag I had thrown, and before I could check my left side, Detective Ross was splitting the crowd and arresting Rogelio Avondo.

He didn’t even put up a fight. The weirdest part of all was when the people standing around spontaneously clapped and shouted bravo to Neighbor Bob.

And me? I craned my neck as hard as I could hoping to get a glimpse of that mansion on the low hill. Was he watching? Did he see the man who may have killed Silvia De Aguilar now trying to kill me? Detective Liz Reid, rosy cheeks and steady stride, approached her partner to help with the arrest.

I nodded at her and returned to stare at the hill. Detective Reid stepped closer, patted my arm, and whispered, “He’s not there. He’s staying with a friend.” Then she went to talk to Neighbor Bob.

Was I so transparent? Some of the lookie-loos, like a changing wave, surrounded me, asking my name. But Detective Reid stepped in and reminded me I would need to go with her and Neighbor Bob to give a statement. Another police car arrived in a squeal of tires. Someone handed me the denim jacket, covered in dust. Whatever spunk had sustained me I didn’t know, but it was quickly evaporating. I offered to drive my own SUV to the police headquarters.

Reid shook her head and pointed to my hands. Wow, didn’t know how badly I was shaking. Then she moved even closer and bent to check out my waist.

“Monica, you’re bleeding. Let me see. We need to get you checked out.”

I attempted to convince her it wouldn’t be necessary.

“It doesn’t look deep, but we must follow protocol,” she replied. “Come sit in my car while we wait. How are you feeling? All that adrenaline must have kept you going. You probably didn’t know that creep cut you.” Suddenly Detective Reid was speaking to me as a friend, or even more, as a sister.

I should have said something, thanked her, I don’t know. But I couldn’t. It was as if my whole being had sprung a leak and my soul had seeped out. All I wanted was to sit and cry and have someone close to keep me warm and dry my tears and tell me everything was going to be all right.

But houses, even the special ones, don’t have a beating heart, only shuttered gates.

EIGHTEEN

THE EMT WHO cleaned my small cut and applied a butterfly bandage was from the fire department, not the police. Apparently, they had a whole emergency call system with smaller vehicles equipped for situations like mine. I thought that was a very clever and practical thing. He took his time while Rogelio was getting loaded into a vehicle for his trip to jail.

With a little bit of luck, the pack of rabid news seekers would follow the police cars to catch shots of the man just arrested. They did, and soon only a few vehicles and one bicycle were left, and those might even have belonged to some of the crew working on the Dumont house.

Once the emergency vehicle left, I went back to my SUV and took a slow ride by the front gate and then the side of the house on my way to Shea Boulevard and home. I looked up one last time and noticed the smoke damage to one of the windows. That was it. Still, it felt so personal.

By the time I parked the SUV in the garage, Brenda was standing smack in the center of the entrance. No way to quietly let the door slide shut and run home without crushing her to death. Might as well listen to her lecture and be done with it. After all, I got lucky, it could have been a lot worse. And regardless, Neighbor Bob was bound to chat up the saving-my-life incident to the whole street. While getting my cut attended to, I gave Detective Reid a rundown on my second unfortunate encounter with Rogelio Avondo and had at least temporarily postponed a trip to the PD to make a formal statement.

Now came the dreaded part, looking Brenda in the eyes and explaining why I went over to the Dumonts’ place after she spent thirty minutes warning me not to.

To my surprise, all she said was, “Are you okay?”

A loaded question... so I shrugged, rolled my eyes, and started to walk toward my place, ostentatiously bouncing the Fry’s plastic bag with the lonely salt purchase.

She shook her head. “Bob called.”

Nooo, so fast? “Neighbor Bob?” I nearly choked on the name.

“Officer Bob Clarke. He said you were hurt.”

Busted. “Oh.” I lifted my shirt. “It’s nothing, see? Tiny bandage.”

“How about you come sit on my couch for ten minutes and get me up to speed?” Without waiting for my answer, she clicked the garage door. It shut behind me as Dior scratched at the back door, eager to join the party.

Her TV was on, and even if it wasn’t time for the evening news, images of Rogelio Avondo being walked into jail filled the screen. Brenda totally ignored the arrest unfolding on the local channel, pointing to an envelope resting on the coffee table.

What was that? I looked up, and Tristan’s home flashed on the screen. The sound had been muted. Dior circled around the coffee table with his perfect rendering of the so-sad eyes. I petted him, but the letter held my attention.

“A young lady, forgot her name, delivered it for you. You weren’t home, so she left it with me.”

“I see.” I tapped my finger on the top of the coffee table. Something didn’t feel right. Was this a trick? The envelope looked rather generic, maybe a little on the square side, like for birthday cards and