Citizen Insane - By Karen Cantwell Page 0,4
my turn to roll some eyes. “Secondly, she’s looking much better to me. We’ll sit her down with a cup of tea and she’ll be fine.” I looked at Bunny who was rubbing her head. “Bunny, you okay?”
Her response, although slower than I would have liked, was positive.
“Yeah. I’m . . . I’m okay. I’m . . . well . . . I’m, you know . . . embarrassed. I just don’t understand.”
“Don’t understand what?”
“Why I’m . . . in this van.”
“Do you remember walking through the woods?”
She shook her head.
“Do you remember a rabbit?”
She shook her head again.
“Do you remember asking about Howard?”
Her face went red. She shook her head yet again. “Why would I . . . ask about Howard? He’s your husband.”
“Yeah, my thoughts exactly.” Suppressing an urge to reach back and strangle her skinny little neck, I started to query her further, but was interrupted by Peggy.
“Uh oh,” she said. “This can’t be good.”
Scooting back around, I agreed. Either an accident had occurred or else someone’s house was on fire. Red lights flashed on fire trucks—I counted two of them. There was also a fire rescue vehicle and an ambulance. As we got closer, I realized they were parked right in front of Bunny’s house. Two black sedans with more antennae than a radio station and a Fairfax County police car topped off the circus.
All of this for a dead rabbit?
I put the gift certificates to my mouth and kissed those Sweet Tangerine Spice Pedicures goodbye.
Chapter Two
“I THOUGHT I HEARD SIRENS a few minutes ago,” Roz said.
“Who could hear anything with Bunny wailing like a cat in heat?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. The comment was unkind. Roz shot me a look to shame, and rightly so. I whispered under my breath. “Sorry.”
Peggy slowed to a near crawl and whistled. “Hey girls, look at the sexy cop in the sunglasses. If I weren’t married . . .”
Dressed in a black suit, hands in his pockets, revealing a gun in a chest holster, and moving toward an unmarked car, was a man I had known for over twenty years. I slapped Peggy hard.
“That’s not a sexy cop. That’s my husband.”
“That’s Howard?” She squinted for a better look. “He cleans up nice. You know, it’s really true—he does look like George Clooney.”
Roz piped up from the back. “Why is Howard here?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” Full of fury, I bounded out of the van and slammed the passenger-side door a little too hard behind me. “Sorry, Peggy!” I yelled as I stomped forward, eyes focused on Howard. He stood at one of the two unmarked cars, talking to a uniformed policeman.
Green Ashe Place was a much longer street than my own White Willow Circle. Bunny’s monstrosity of a house was third from the left. She had one of the largest properties in the neighborhood: over an acre of land graced by an enormous brick front colonial house. Two tall white pillars added a hint of dignified Southern charm to the enviable homestead that sat back nearly two hundred feet from the street. A long macadam driveway made a bee-line to her three-car garage.
The flashing, rumbling emergency vehicles lined both sides of the street, while the police cruiser blocked access to Bunny’s house. Howard’s car was parked behind a fire engine on the right hand side of the road, not far from where we had stopped.
The problem was, Peggy was right. Howard always looked incredibly sexy when he wore a suit, sunglasses and a gun. And the FBI badge on his hip really got my juices flowing. The whole hot-guy crime fighter look was new and always robbed me of a breath or two. By the time I reached his side, the wind had practically gone out of my angry sails.
“Barb! What are you doing here?”
“I live in this neighborhood remember? What are YOU doing here?”
“Official business.” He looked at the van. “Is that Peggy?”
“Yeah. And Roz. And . . . a friend.” I coughed. “Of sorts.”
“Get back in the van and have Peggy take you home. I’ll come over and see you when I’m done here.”
He went in for a kiss. I stopped him at the pass.
“Uh, we can’t go. We have a crazy lady in the car. She showed up on my doorstep all loopy and asking for . . . who was she asking for again?” I tapped my forehead in mock forgetfulness. “Think,