“Dog poop,” wailed the female voice. Oh, no. A second deposit from Darling.
Zona heard the male voice swear. She felt her cheeks heating and was glad no one could see her. Her face probably looked lobster red. She would have to go over later and explain about Darling getting loose. Once she’d filled Alec James in on what was going on with her mother, he’d understand. Hopefully.
She patted down the dirt she’d replaced, returned the shovel to the shed, and then came in and washed up. Louise and Martin were still chatting, so it seemed the perfect time to go next door and apologize.
Darling was immediately dancing at her side, ready to go with her. “I’ll take you out in a little bit,” she promised, “but I don’t think you’ll be welcomed where I’m going.”
He whined as she gave him a gentle shove away from the front door and then slipped out.
Some of the day’s heat had drifted away, leaving behind a pleasant warmth, and the gardenias from the bush in her mother’s front yard were sending out their perfume. She could hear children’s shouts and laughter coming from a few houses down, a sure sign that the grade schoolers who lived there were enjoying the pool in their backyard. Her neighborhood could have been a movie set, all calm and tranquil: Mayberry, the California version.
Except as she approached her neighbor’s front door, doggy-do bag in hand to show she intended to clean up both messes, it didn’t sound like Mayberry. She could hear raised voices inside through the front door, though she couldn’t make out the words. She leaned in closer and heard what sounded like a cupboard slam. And was that something breaking? What was going on in there? The living room drapes were closed so she couldn’t see. Should she ring the doorbell and find out?
She pressed her ear to the door, but words were still muffled. Suddenly, she heard a shriek. It made her jump a step back. The rumble of an angry male voice pushed her another step away.
This was obviously not a good time to come calling. She backed off the porch, half afraid the front door would fly open, and her neighbor would come out and demand to know what she was doing on his property.
She had a good reason for being on his property, looking like an eavesdropper. The little bag was proof of that.
But she could apologize for Darling’s bad behavior another time. She hurried over to the scene of Darling’s crimes and scooped up the mess sitting on the walk as best she could. Next, she stopped at the yard, where Darling had also left a present, and got that, too. Then she speed-walked back to her own property, her heart beating fast for no good reason, and got rid of the evidence.
Back in her mother’s house, everything was calm. Martin and Louise were still talking, demonstrating how civilized people behaved.
Although Louise was looking drawn and tired.
“How are you doing, Mom?” Zona asked.
“I’m starting to hurt,” Louise confessed.
“You need to stay ahead of the pain,” Martin cautioned, and she nodded. He stood. “I’d better scram and let you relax.”
Louise didn’t encourage him to stay, a sure sign that she was, indeed, done for the day.
Zona walked him to the door. “Thanks for everything,” she said.
“Anything for your mother,” he replied. “I’ll be happy to stop by and look in on her while you’re at work. And walk Darling.”
“You’re a good friend, Martin,” Zona said.
He wanted to be more, she knew it, and he probably knew that she knew it. But he left that unspoken. Instead, he said, “Call if you need anything.”
“We will,” she promised.
She stood for a moment, watching him go down the front walk. He was so easygoing, so caring, so... unimpressive. Her own father had been handsome and fit. Louise had always been a little too proud of his looks, and she would probably never settle for less in a partner. It was too bad, really, but the heart wanted what the heart wanted.
Zona frowned. What a stupid expression. Hearts neverwanted what was good for them. She was sure never letting hers have its way ever again.
She looked over to Alec James’s house. The red PT Cruiser was still parked out front. She strained to listen for sounds of arguing but heard nothing. Of course, she wouldn’t. She was too far away.
“None of your business,” she told herself.
Then remembered her mother’s conversation with Gilda about murdering spouses. “Oh, stop,” she muttered, and shut the door.
Louise was already up on her crutches. “I’m pooped.”
“I bet you are. Let’s get you in bed and get another pain pill in you.”
“Let’s get you to bed,” Louise repeated bitterly. “I feel like I’m five.”
