Getting Rid of Bradley Read online

  “Who does he think he is?” she asked the dogs. “He just comes in here, out of the blue, and tells me somebody’s been shooting at me, and orders me around. Just what I needed. Somebody else ordering me around.”

  Only she hadn’t let him. She’d fought back.

  And it really felt good.

  “I think I’m on to something with this independence thing,” she told the dogs. “I really enjoyed arguing with him.”

  Of course, it hadn’t had much effect on him. He’d just glared at her and charged on ahead. And he hadn’t been all that mad, anyway. A minute after the glare, he’d been grinning at her again. She pictured him again, those bright blue eyes heating her and that crazy grin scrambling her thoughts, and she had to remind herself that she was mad at him. “This is my problem,” she told the dogs. “I’m too easygoing. I should be mad at him. I should want to kill him.” She stopped on the last thought.

  He’d said somebody was trying to kill her.

  Who would want to kill her? That was ridiculous. That was something that happened on TV. A car backfired and kicked up a stone. People did not go around shooting guns in downtown Riverbend.

  He must be wrong.

  Wrong, but gorgeous.

  She pictured him again, much against her better judgment. That grin, that swagger, those blue, blue eyes that connected with hers with such impact on her breathing. “The thing is,” she told the dogs, “even though I know he’s a policeman, he doesn’t look like a policeman. He looks like a very, very sexy bad guy.”

  She heard a noise in the vestibule and looked up to see Zack leaning in the doorway, and she blushed so hard she almost passed out.

  “You talk to the dogs,” he said.

  “Well, of course I talk to the dogs.” Lucy prayed he hadn’t heard what she’d said. “It’s not like I talk to plants or anything non-sentient.”

  “What I was going to ask was why you have such expensive locks on this place. You must have dropped a small fortune on the front doors alone, and from what I can see from the front, the windows are locked, too.”

  “Oh, they are,” Lucy said, eager for a change of subject. “Even the attic windows. Did they really cost a lot?”

  “So they weren’t your idea.” Zack looked satisfied. Smug, even. “Bradley ordered them, right?”

  “No. It was my sister.”

  His satisfaction disappeared. “Your sister was afraid you’d be robbed?”

  “No, my sister hates my ex-husband. She did it to annoy him. She said it was to keep him from taking anything out of the house that I might possibly be able to strip him of in the divorce. My sister plays hardball in divorce court.”

  “I bet she does,” Zack said, taking out his notebook again. “And when was this?”

  “Oh, she had them put on as soon as I told her about...the blonde. I mean, within the hour, the locksmith was here with a crew. That was about two weeks ago.” Lucy thought back. “The end of January.”

  Zack went out to the vestibule. “Do you have burglar alarms?” he called back to her.

  “No.” Lucy followed him. “Look at this place. Does it look like it needs a burglar alarm?”

  Zack glanced around the high-ceilinged hall. “It’s not bad. It’ll be nice when it’s fixed up. So, for protection, you’ve got the locks and the dogs.” He looked down at the three dogs who had followed them to the vestibule and were now sitting in a row, watching him.

  “Don’t make fun of my dogs,” Lucy said.

  “I’m not making fun of your dogs. Dogs are a good deterrent for thieves. They make noise. Thieves hate noise. Killers aren’t crazy about it, but they’ll cope.”

  Lucy folded her arms. “Nobody is trying to kill me.”

  Zack spread his arms wide. “Look. Humor me, okay? Just in case somebody really is trying to get you?”

  “Who would want to get me?”

  He cocked his head at her. “Well, ex-husbands have been known to go after the wives who locked them out of their houses.”

  “Bradley didn’t want this house. He signed the divorce papers without a fight. He didn’t want the house or me.” Lucy stopped. “Sorry about that last part. I’m not really that pathetic, it’s just that—”

  “You’re not pathetic at all.” Zack flashed his grin at her. “Bradley, however, must be an idiot.”

  “Thank you,” Lucy said.

  “You’re welcome,” Zack said. “Now stay inside.”

  ZACK WALKED AROUND the house, checking the windows and the back door. The basement door was in the back near the neighbor’s alley on the right, an old-fashioned, sloping wood door that had two metal bars across it, both with locks. The locks, like every other one he’d seen on the house, were very new, very efficient, and very expensive. Sister Tina either hated Bradley a whole lot or really worried about Lucy.

  And possibly she had a reason to be worried. Zack frowned at the scratches on the basement-door lock. He was peering into the lock with his penlight when someone screamed at him, startling him so much that he dropped the light as he spun around.

  “I’ve called the police so you might as well run off like all those other young punks,” she screeched. “Go on. Go on!”

  “Damn it, lady, you scared the hell out of me!”

  The gray and wizened woman on the back porch of the next house was hunched over the rail in a nothing-colored coat three sizes too big for her. Her clawlike hands waved at him while the pleats of skin on her face worked soundlessly for the moment in indignation. Then her voice came back.

  “Get out,” she screeched. “Smart-mouthed good-for-nothing!”

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” Zack said, gritting his teeth. “I was startled. I’m a police officer.”

  “Well, if you are, the world’s in worse trouble than I thought, and I thought it was in the toilet.” She stared at him viciously, and Zack wondered briefly about the evil eye. If such a thing was possible, this hag could deliver.

  “Hello, Mrs. Dover,” Lucy called out from the back door. “It’s all right. He’s with the police.”

  “I knew this neighborhood was finished when you moved in,” Mrs. Dover shouted back. “Torturing my cat. Bringing those vicious dogs in. Coming and going at all hours.”

  “Lovely day, isn’t it?” Lucy came out onto the porch and looked down at Zack.

  “Torturing her cat?” Zack asked and Lucy shook her head.

  “Phoebe hasn’t been the same since the Porters moved in,” Mrs. Dover said. “I’ve called the humane society, but they won’t do anything. Oh, no.”

  “Usually the sun doesn’t come out much in February,” Lucy said brightly to no one in particular. “We’re very lucky today.”

  “And now this trash.” She gestured at Zack. “Does your husband know you’re entertaining hoodlums?”

  “Actually, I’m divorced now, Mrs. Dover. And Detective Warren really isn’t a hoodlum. I made the same mistake, too, but he’s really very nice.” She looked at Zack. “I think it’s your jaw and the five o’clock shadow. I know you can’t do anything about your jaw, but you would look much more reassuring if you’d shave. And get a haircut. Really.”

  “Thank you,” Zack said.

  A patrol car pulled up in front.

  “Maybe he’s the police.” Mrs. Dover climbed down her back porch steps while she kept an eye cocked on Zack. “Maybe. But I bet he’s on the Most Wanted list Ha! We’ll know soon.” She nodded and hobbled down her driveway to the street to meet the uniforms.

  “Great,” Zack said. “This makes the second time today somebody’s called the cops on me.”

  “Well, as I was saying, I think your image needs work. I realize you’re probably undercover—”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Forget it.” Zack started for the street. Then he screamed in pain.

  A large dirty yellow cat had leaped on his leg, burying her claws deeply into his calf through his jeans. Zack kicked out, and the cat droppe