Taking Out the Trash

Tristi Inc. Pinkston

Description

Estelle Watkins and her next-door-neighbor, Vera, are two older women who will not be taken for fools. In this first mystery, when Estelle's husband and then her son are accused of murder, Estelle and Vera must do whatever they can to solve the case and prove these men innocent.

Sujets

• Detective
• Mystery
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 21 février 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780988629219
• Langue: English

Extrait

Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without prior written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles.
TAKING OUT THE TRASH
Copyright © 2012 Tristi Pinkston
All rights reserved.
Managing Editor - Amanda Meuwissen
Associate Editor - Meagan Hedin
Cover art - Mario Hernandez
A BigWorldNetwork.com Book
Published by BigWorldNetwork.com, LLC
202 North Rock Road | 1303
Wichita | KS | 67206
www.bigworldnetwork.com
ISBN-10: 0988629216
ISBN-13: 978-0-9886292-1-9
First U.S. Edition: July 2012
Printed in the United States of America
Title

by Tristi Pinkston

BigWorldNetwork.com
Kansas
Episode 1

Estelle Watkins stood at her kitchen window, looking north and south for any sign of the garbage truck. It was half an hour behind schedule and she didn’t know if she could stand the wait. What if someone found out? What if someone wandered past the trash can on the curb and glanced in…saw the body…
She startled when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Sweetheart, it’s okay,” the calm, mellow voice of her husband reassured her. “No one will suspect a thing.”
She turned and fell into Sam’s arms. “But how do you know? How can you be sure?”
“I just am.” He stroked her back, and she relished the warmth of his embrace.
Thirty years of marriage, and he still made her feel like the most adored, beautiful woman in the world. He would do anything for her, as he’d proven that morning when the intruder broke into their kitchen. Now the body lay curled up in the trash, and if the truck would just come and carry it away, she could put the whole thing behind her. Except for the memories.
“Maybe we should have called someone,” she said into Sam’s neck.
“But then everyone would have known,” he said, taking a step back and looking into her eyes. “You said you didn’t want anyone to know, not a single soul.”
Estelle thought for a minute, weighing the consequences of both courses of action. She nodded. “We did the right thing. But when is that stupid truck going to get here?”
As if on cue, she heard the air brakes of the large city vehicle as it rounded the corner onto their street.
Sam kissed her forehead. “I need to leave for work. Will you be all right, now that the truck’s here?”
She nodded, wrapping her arms around her stomach to replace the warmth taken when Sam walked away. “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay. I’ll call you at lunch.”
He closed the door to the garage behind him.
Estelle glanced at the calendar. Only three hundred and twelve more work days before his retirement. She wondered what it was going to be like to have him home all day, every day. She imagined they’d get tired of each other eventually, but for just right now, she couldn’t wait to have him home all the time. What if he’d been gone that morning? What would she have done all by herself? She couldn’t help the shudder that ran down her spine.
“Hello? Estelle?” Vera from next door stuck her head into the kitchen. “Are you home?”
“Yes, Vera, I’m right here.” Estelle tried not to meet the bright, inquisitive eyes of her meddling neighbor, who was also her best friend. “Just saying goodbye to Sam.”
“The way you two go on, you’d think you were newlyweds.” Vera pulled up a stool and made herself comfortable, just as she had every morning since they’d moved into this neighborhood.
Estelle had fallen in love with the area at once, while Sam took a little longer to get warmed up to certain aspects, including their new neighbors. Now they were so firmly entrenched in Ruebensville society, it would take a crowbar to fling them out. A crowbar, or a scandal…
What was taking that truck so long?
“Are you all right? You seem awfully edgy.” Vera helped herself to a banana from the bowl on the counter.
“I’m fine.” The truck pulled up to the curb, its long mechanical arm reaching out for their bin, and Estelle took a long, deep breath of relief. It was over. She sat next to her friend and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Everything’s just fine.”
“Good, because I need your help. The Ladies’ Aid asked me to choose some new patterns for the quilts we’re making.”
Estelle must have looked as blank as she felt.
“You know, for the raffle? To raise money for the orphanage?”
Estelle blinked. “Oh, right. Quilts.”
“Anyway, they want patterns that will be easy for every lady in the group to do, but they also want the quilts to be beautiful and special .”
Estelle knew exactly who she was quoting. Mabel Hardy, the president of the Ladies’ Aid, and also someone with the tact of a Howitzer.
Now that the sound of the garbage truck had receded in the distance, Estelle felt she could turn her attention to something else. She took the pattern book Vera offered and thumbed through the pages, stopping here and there to offer her opinion on certain designs. Vera jotted everything down in a notebook, and an hour passed before Estelle even realized it.
A knock on her front door brought her out of a deep contemplation of cotton and thread.
“Who’s that?” she asked aloud. “No one ever comes to the front door.”
“Either a salesman or the police,” Vera said.
Estelle hopped off her stool and walked through the living room, throwing the front door wide. On the porch stood two uniformed police officers.
“You were right, Vera,” she called over her shoulder.
“It’s a salesman?” Vera came up behind her. “Oh, it’s the police. Well, I told you it had to be one or the other.”
“Ma’am, were you expecting us?”
“No, not really. Vera just said…” Estelle’s voice trailed off at the serious expression on the man’s face. He wasn’t selling tickets to the policeman’s ball, that was for sure. “What’s going on?”
“May we come in?”
Estelle had heard about this. Police officers weren’t supposed to give you bad news unless you were sitting down. She wordlessly stepped to the side. What was it? Had Sam been in an accident?
The officers took seats on her overstuffed couch, looking out of place amongst her cross-stitched throw pillows. She perched on the edge of her chair, squeezing her hands together in her lap.
“Ma’am, we’re here with some upsetting news.” The older officer, whose name tag gave him away as Anderson, cleared his throat before continuing. “It seems something unusual was found in your garbage this morning.”
Estelle took a deep breath. “I know, and I’m sorry. I thought that would be the best way to dispose of…” She glanced over at Vera. She didn’t want to make the confession in front of her friend, but she had no choice. “The body.”
Vera blinked wildly, obviously confused.
The other officer, bearing the unfortunate last name of Gruff, leaned forward. “You knew?”
Estelle nodded. “I did know. My husband put the body in the bin this morning before he left.”
Officer Anderson pulled out his notebook. “Where is your husband right now?”
“At work.”
“And where is that?”
Estelle gave the location of Sam’s branch of the Jackson-Hewitt tax preparation service, then added, “He might be too busy to speak with you today, though. It’s almost April 15 th .”
“Ma’am, he’ll have to speak with us. We’re talking about murder.”
“Murder?” Vera turned to Estelle. “What’s going on here?”
“Murder?” Estelle came to her feet. “It wasn’t murder! It came waltzing into my kitchen, just as bold and brazen as you please. My husband was just protecting me, that’s all.”
“He entered your house?”
“He, she—I didn’t check.”
Officer Anderson raised an eyebrow. “Ma’am, do you mean to say that the man in question came into your kitchen, and your husband took measures to protect you?”
“Man?” Estelle looked back and forth between the policemen. “I’m talking about a mouse! A mouse came in my kitchen, and my husband smacked it with a broom and put the body in the garbage. What are you talking about?”
“I’m sorry to say, another body was found in your garbage bin, Mrs. Watkins. A real body.” Officer Anderson cleared his throat again. “A human body.”
Vera gasped.
“In my garbage?” Estelle found herself strangely faint.
“In your garbage.”
Estelle sank back into her chair. “All Sam did was kill a mouse,” she whispered. She blinked a few times, trying to understand. “Are you sure?”
“We’re sure, ma’am.”
“How do you know it was in Estelle’s garbage?” Vera asked. “There are tons of houses on this street.”
“The driver was looking in his rearview mirror as he operated the mechanical arm, and he noticed something large fall out of your trash. He stopped to investigate, and then drove straight down to the precinct.”
“So he saw…it…fall from my garbage,” Estelle said. She closed her eyes, trying not to imagine what the poor driver must have seen.
“Yes, ma’am. So there was no question it came from this location.”
“But I don’t understand. Wouldn’t Sam have seen the body in the bin when he put the mouse in there?”
“That’s why we need to talk with your husband,” Officer Gruff said.
“Will you be home the rest of the day?” Anderson asked.
“Well, I did need to run to the store…”
“We’d like you to delay your trip. We have a lot of questions to ask you, Mrs. Watkins, after we’ve spoken with your husband.”
“All right,” Estelle said. She supposed she could make do without the fresh mozzarella for her lasagna. Sam wouldn’t mind.
“I can run to the store for you,” Vera offered, and Estelle nodded. That was probably the best idea—she needed milk, as well as cheese. Sam enjoyed a warm glass of milk before bed, and she had used the last of it on her cereal that morning.
But what was she saying? Sam was going to be questioned by the police. What if they arrested him? What if he wouldn’t be home to eat lasagna, or have his warm glass of milk? She pressed her