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A Killer Plot: A Nosy Neighbor Mystery, Book 2 (Volume 2)

By Cynthia Hickey

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1
“How does it feel to be on the NYT Best Seller’s list again?” My agent, Elizabeth Swanson, asked.
“Just as wonderful as the first time.” Few things were better than seeing my name, Stormi Nelson, on the cover of a book. I sipped my coffee and watched my Irish Wolf Hound, Sadie, chase a squirrel across the yard. After the murders six months ago, and the publication of my first mystery novel, I relished the peace.
“How is your hunky hero?”
“He’s been on an undercover assignment for a few months. I’m lucky if I get a phone call from him.” Not to mention how much I missed his kisses. After all, I’d designed the hero in my book after him.
“Have you started the next book in the series?”
“I’m waiting for inspiration.” Which arrived daily in the form of ever-increasingly disturbing emails. Something I chose to keep to myself at the moment. “I’ll keep you updated. Bye.”
I hung up, dropped the phone on the table next to me and studied the email I had received that morning from “Your biggest fan”.
“Miss Nelson, I continue to anxiously await your next novel and book signing. Maybe I should help move things along for you? I have certain talents that will help take your mystery writing to the next level. If I don’t see a second book soon, I’m afraid I’ll have to implement some serious action.”
I shuddered. The latest email might not be cause for alarm, if not for all the ones prior. I received one a day from this person, and after answering the first one and letting the sender know it would be well into the next year before a new manuscript would be finished, I’d stopped answering.
“Come on, Sadie.” I stood and held the kitchen door open. Sadie bounded inside, almost knocking Mom over in her haste.
“Gracious, that dog is like a bull dozer.” Mom set a plate of pancakes on the table. “I wish I had her energy.”
“Me, too.” I grabbed a pancake, and carrying the disc of fluffy fried batter, headed to my office to start the writing day.
While I ate, I booted up my laptop. Feet pounded down the stairs outside my office. My nephew, Dakota, and niece, Cherokee, were running late for school, as usual. They spent more time in sweep at the high school than they did in class, it seemed. Their mother, Angela, should make sure they’re up before she headed to her job as receptionist at the local police station. Still, it wasn’t my place to judge.
My laptop came to life and alerted me to another email. The blood drained from my head to my feet as I discovered it was from my biggest fan. Was the person going to email me every hour from now on? I really needed to let Matt know the next time he called. Maybe he could trace the emails somehow and tell the person to layoff.
Speaking of phone calls, I’d left my cell phone outside. Getting out of my chair, I yelled for Mom to bring me the phone when she had a minute. Distractions of one sort or another kept me from actually starting my writing until eight a.m. each morning. That gave me ten more minutes to piddle around until the house quieted down.
“Here you go.” Mom pushed open the door and tossed me the phone. “I’m headed out for supplies. A lot of orders to fill.”
Mom had started an in-home bakery three months ago and, to my surprise, worked very diligently filling orders. Someday, maybe she could actually have her own bakery and I could have my kitchen back. I felt as if I rarely got to relax by cooking anymore.
“Thank you.” I checked for messages from Matt. Nothing. I sighed and settled back into my chair, fingers poised over the keyboard. I needed to write a minimum of three thousand words to stay on track of finishing a rough draft in less than two months.
Two hours and the first chapter done, I was well on my way to a juicy little murder. I’d chosen the crime of, A Killer Plot, to be about an author cyber-stalked by a fanatic fan. A bit close for comfort, considering I’d received two more emails, one an hour, from my very own stalker, but the annoying emails needed to be good for something, right? Why not fodder for a new book? It might be just the thing I needed to avoid an all-out fear fest.
I saved the manuscript and headed to the kitchen for lunch, sticking my phone in the pocket of my new skinny jeans. Matt hadn’t called in over a week. Today might be the day he called and erased my worry about him.
Mom had a rack of cupcakes cooling on the table and filled another pan with batter. “I haven’t fixed lunch, yet. Sorry.”
“I can fix myself a sandwich. I know you’re busy.”
“Haven’t bought groceries, either.”
I sighed. Hadn’t she said earlier that she was headed to the store? “No problem. I’ll go.” I grabbed my purse from next to the refrigerator and grabbed the never-ending list of groceries my family couldn’t, or wouldn’t, live without. I really needed to start charging people rent.
Once behind the wheel of my Mercedes, I backed out of the driveway and headed to the grocery store. I filled my shopping cart with almost everything on the list, how many candy bars did a teenager need anyway? And got in the long line by the cashier.
“Stormi, it’s good to see you.” Sarah Thompson, local erotic and horror novel writer, tapped me on the shoulder. “It’s been so long, you haven’t seen my newest work.”
I didn’t want to either. The last I’d read had given me nightmares for a week. My neighbor definitely had a twisted mind, and the writing wasn’t very good either. “How’s the self-publishing business?”
“Booming. There’s a real market for steamy stuff. You really should change genres.”
I fought back a shudder. “I’m having too much fun to change.” My bank account wasn’t suffering much either.
“It’s a lot more fun to research murder, mayhem, and deviant acts.” Sarah wiggled her eyebrows. “Oh, but you’re man has been away for a while, hasn’t he? You poor thing.”
Thankfully, the cashier motioned me forward, saving me from having to answer. At one time, I’d suspected Sarah of being a murderer. After all, she’d said she’d do anything for a story, and her last book had followed the crimes happening in Oak Meadow Estates to a Tee. Still, it had also given me plenty to write about and landed me at number five on the NYT Best Selling list. Write about what you know, right? Since I had been the one to stumble across the first dead body, I’d had plenty of words to put to paper.
“That will be two hundred dollars and thirty-six cents,” the cashier said.
I definitely needed to charge my family rent. I pushed my heavy cart back out to the car.
Bill Olsen waved a hand in greeting. His wife, Norma, promptly shoved him away from me and toward the store. The woman’s jealousy hadn’t dissipated one iota. I grinned. Maybe some women found older, balding, paunchy men attractive, but I was happy with my hunky detective. Now, if he would only call. Matt, not Bill.
Trunk full of food I wouldn’t have to buy if I still lived alone, I drove home, unloaded and put away the groceries, and let Sadie into the yard to run. I watched for a few minutes, then filched one of Mom’s cupcakes. “Oh, filling!”
Mom glared. “I only made enough extras for each of the family to have one. Don’t think you’ll get another one tonight when everyone else is enjoying theirs.”
“As if Angela would risk the extra calories.” I would get my sister’s for sure. “Who are these for?”
“The Women’s Auxiliary at the church is having a bake sale. They paid me fifty dollars to make two hundred of these to sell.” Mom chuckled. “I would have made them for free.”
“No sense if they’re willing to pay.” I took another bite and bit back a moan. “You are a baking genius.” Maybe I could help set my mother up in her own shop. I had the money. They could be partners, with me handling the financial aspect.
My pocket vibrated, alerting me to a call. I dug the cell phone out and dashed to the back porch and privacy. “Matt.”
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“I’ve missed you.” I plopped onto a lawn chair. “When are you coming home?”
“A few more days, I promise. How are things over there?”
I almost told him about my cyber-stalker, but hesitated. He had enough to worry about. “I’ve started my next book, which will make my agent happy. I could use some research help for the love scenes.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
His husky voice sent my pulse racing. “I’m thinking about funding Mom’s bakery.”
“That’s sweet of you.”
I grinned. “Her birthday is tomorrow. I’ll tell her then. She’s amazing, Matt. I’ve gained five pounds since she started this venture.”
“In all the right places, I bet.”
“Maybe.” And maybe not. My pants had grown a bit snug. I closed my eyes and leaned against the chair back. “Are you staying safe?”
“As much as I’m able. Look, baby, I’ve got to go. Take care of yourself, okay?”
“You, too.” Tears pricked my eyes as I said goodbye and sent up a prayer for his safety. Less than a year ago, I hadn’t known he existed, now he filled my heart. Six months was a long time for him to be undercover. Each day, each week, that passed filled me with dread. Each sight of a squad car driving down the street left me cold.
“Hey, Aunt Stormi.” Dakota joined me on the porch, handing me a cold diet soda. “Things aren’t the same out here without a murder, are they?”
“Don’t tell me you’re missing a nighttime hike at gunpoint.” I popped the soda tab.
“Maybe a little.” He grinned and guzzled his soda. “The good thing is it brought us all closer together, don’t you think.”
I clapped a hand on his knee. “I know it did. I might have grumbled at first when y’all moved in, disrupting my quiet life, but I prefer the occasional bouts of noise.” To my surprise, I truly did. Living alone had been a miserable existence. Now, instead of living between the pages of my novels, I actually lived. “Now, to get your sister and you to stop fighting and get to school on time.”
“Doubt that will happen.” He finished his drink and crushed the can in his hand. “I’ve got football practice. See you at supper.” He bounded away with all the energy of a sixteen-year-old.
I sighed and transferred my attention to Sadie digging under a hydrangea bush. “Sadie, stop that.” When the dog ignored me, I pushed off the chair and went to investigate. “I’ve spent a lot of money on this landscaping, you scoundrel. No digging.” I grabbed the dog’s collar.
Sadie pulled against my grasp. In the dirt, lay a new rawhide bone, still clean and pristine against the mulch. “Where did that come from?” I picked it up.
“Flowers.” Mom called from the house. “Just arrived for you.”
Matt! I dashed toward the house, dropping the bone in the garbage on the way.
On the kitchen table sat a bouquet of spring flowers. I grabbed the note and tore open the envelope.
“Does your dog like my gift? Careful. You shouldn’t take treats from a stranger.”

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