ear.
“It looks like you have company.”
I jumped and screamed, my heart racing a million miles a minute. The voice came from my nosy “friend” Waldo. He was easily three inches shorter than me, with fuzzy, dark hair that hovered over his eyes like a flying saucer, a waxy complexion that made him look sickly, and a wardrobe that screamed for a fashion consultant. Even though he was new to the neighborhood, he’d already succeeded in meeting just about every married woman within a two-mile radius and offering himself as “someone to listen” since he was a psychotherapist by trade.
“Waldo! Don’t scare me like that.”
“I’m so sorry. I would never mean to scare you.” He pointed at the red GTO convertible pulling in behind my mother’s Mini Cooper. I knew that GTO well. And its driver, my friend and Howard’s roommate, Colt Baron. Colt is just plain yummy. Blond, wispy hair and a smile that makes a woman’s heart palpitate. Women fall for Colt everywhere he goes. He’s also a private investigator who agreed to teach me how to shoot a hand gun. I assumed this was the reason for his visit.
“Hey, Curly!” Colt flashed his smile as he bounded up the walkway like a happy puppy. He and Waldo slipped me awkward I-don’t-know-him glances, so I felt obligated to make introductions.
“Waldo, this is my friend Colt. Colt this is –”
“Oswald Fuchs,” he interrupted, thrusting his hand toward Colt. “But you can call me Waldo. That way, when you’re wondering where I am, you can just say, ‘Where’s Waldo?’” He laughed at his own joke. It was his standard line and, since I had already heard it at least ten times, it was really becoming a sore point with me. Mostly because I felt required to laugh at it every time even though what I really wanted to do was stick my finger in his eye like Moe giving it to Larry.
Colt took Waldo’s hand, but I could see he wasn’t impressed. “Nice to meet you.” He dismissed Waldo quickly turning to me, “You got a minute?”
I nodded. “You can walk with me to the bus stop. Waldo, I have to go. Did you . . . want something?”
He just grinned and shook his head. “Nope.”
“Okay, then.” I started walking, hoping he’d get the message and skedaddle. “See ya later.”
The message wasn’t received. “I hear there was quite a commotion over at Bunny Bergen’s house today,” he said. “Do you know what happened there?”
I stiffened a little.
“Really?” I said. “A commotion? I don’t know anything about that.”
“You don’t?” Waldo looked puzzled. “Maria Nichols told me that fire engines and police were swarming around her house. She said a medic pulled Bunny out of Peggy Rubenstein’s van while you talked to someone who looked like George Clooney. Doesn’t your husband look like George Clooney?”
Colt stifled a laugh.
“Listen, Waldo, I’m really not supposed to be talking about this. Best if you left it alone.”
“I’m just so concerned about poor Bunny.” He clicked his long, gross fingernails. “Hopefully the incident wasn’t related to her obsession with Howard.”
Chapter Four
WALDO SLAPPED A HAND OVER his mouth.
“What?” My right eye twitched once.
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“But you did.” Twitch.
“Pretend you didn’t hear it.”
“I can’t.”
He checked his watch. “I put a flan in the oven before taking my walk. Must take it out. Be good, stay healthy and nurture the spirit within you.” Waldo touched my forehead lightly then turned and sprinted through the woods on the path that led back to his own house.
Colt watched him scurry away. “Never trust a man that makes flan.”
“I need a vacation—from life.” My cheek puckered, indicating the genesis of a cry. We trekked down my driveway toward the road.
“What was that all about?”
“Long story.” I stopped. “Is Howard having an affair? Tell me the truth.”
“Oh, geez.”
“I saw him last