has a job to do and I'm going to see that he accomplishes it. I'll help him in any way I can." Lilly Beth looked Gretchen up and down. "I'm on the side of the law."
"He's driving a green truck, not a squad car," Gretchen said. "Don't you think that's suspicious?"
"He's undercover." Lilly Beth frowned. "Although, you'd think he'd hide it better. If he shows up in the same truck every time, people are going to start noticing."
Gretchen felt cold. Every time? "How many times has he been here?"
"Three. I watch for him at the window because I want to support the police, and I tell him that every single time. I think he appreciates my efforts. Last time I took out some of my chocolate chip cookies. I had just baked them."
"What did he do? Did he knock on my door?"
"Lucky for you, you haven't been home even once, and I tell him that. I think he's going to arrest you if he can pin you down. What you did, I don't even want to know. The goings-on in this neighborhood are ruining the property values."
"What did he say?"
"Like I told you, he kept it to himself, as he should. Quiet man." Lilly Beth thought a second. "Humph . . . now that I think of it, he didn't say more than a word or two."
Lilly Beth wouldn't have given him a chance.
Gretchen was pretty sure that her busybody neighbor, in her own conniving way, had unknowingly saved her from the same fate as Brett and Ronny. Lilly Beth was like the neighborhood watchdog. She also had pit bull jaws. Once she latched on, there was no getting away.
With any luck, she'd driven him off for good.
"If you see his truck again," Gretchen said. "Stay away from him."
"Oh sure, like I'd listen to you. Whatever you did, you'll have to suffer the consequences."
Gretchen hurried back to her house.
It was time to call Detective Albright and fess up.
* 39 *
Gretchen called Bonnie Albright for Matt's private phone number. Belatedly, she remembered that Bonnie would be on her way to the Phoenician for the Boston Kewpie Club's bon voyage party. She thought about calling Nina's cell phone, but their repaired relationship was still delicate, and she wouldn't disrupt Nina's good time with Eric again unless she had to. She called the police dispatch nonemergency number and was told that Detective Albright was unavailable.
"I need his phone number," she said.
"I'm afraid I can't give that out."
"Can you get a message to him?" she asked.
"Certainly."
"I have important information involving a case he's working. He has to call me immediately."
"We'll see that he receives the message," the dispatcher said, dispassionately taking her cell phone number. Gretchen wondered if he really would be informed and, if so, when. She couldn't wait much longer.
She dressed in somber clothes--black pants and a beige top with decorative black buttons--and ran a brush through her hair. Brace yourself, she thought, this is only the begin- ning. Ronny Beam's funeral was also upcoming, and she knew the next few days would be as sorrowful as the last. Even though she hadn't known either of the victims well, Brett and Ronny meant more to her than mere statistics and canned obituaries in the Phoenix newspaper.
Nimrod and Wobbles followed her into the kitchen. As always, she was amazed that their internal clocks were so accurate, telling them exactly when dinner should be ready. She fed them and nibbled at leftovers in the refrigerator. The invitation hadn't mentioned food. She scooped up Nimrod, locked the door, and drove toward McDowell Road, scanning the traffic around her for signs of the green truck. She hadn't realized how many Arizonians drove pickup trucks until now. On this moonless Phoenix night, every truck seemed dark and potentially dangerous. The Sky Harbor Airport lights grew brighter as she continued. She wound her way to the far west side of the airport and began to check the street signs, searching for McDowell Road.
A plane came in directly overhead, wheels visible in preparation for landing, and it reminded Gretchen that the Boston Kewpie Club would be returning home in the morning. She hadn't spent much time at all with them. If not for the memorial service, she would be at the party at the Phoenician this minute, sipping expensive red wine and nibbling French cheeses.
Maybe she could swing by on her way home if it wasn't too late.
Right now, as she turned onto McDowell and realized how dark and