In the Dog House by V.M. Burns

Author:V.M. Burns
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2018-08-21T15:37:53+00:00

CHAPTER 9

The idea of eating made me want to gag. However, cooking was different. Cooking provided my hands with something to do. If the item I chose to cook was something I’d made many times before, then my mind could disengage and wander while my hands went on autopilot and did all of the work. Cooking was comforting, and I indulged by making a breakfast casserole. In fact, I sent David to the store to buy more eggs, and I made two of them: one for us and one for Marianne. That was what good neighbors did, right? When your next-door neighbor was stabbed, you made a casserole. I forced myself not to laugh hysterically and fried the sausage for the casseroles.

In addition to breakfast casseroles, I made hash browns. Normally, my least favorite part about making hash browns was squeezing the water out of the potatoes. The key to getting crispy hash brown potatoes was to get as much of the water out of the potatoes as possible. I was always amazed at how much water there was in just a few potatoes. So, after I peeled and shredded the potatoes, I put them in cheesecloth and squeezed, wrung, wrung, and squeezed until I couldn’t squeeze or wring anymore.

I hadn’t realized David was watching me until he walked up behind me and removed the dripping, potato-stained cloth from my hands. I was drenched in water from the potatoes. My hands were dripping wet, but the water that dripped from my face had nothing to do with the hash browns.

Today was my turn for support, and David provided the comfort and love I needed. He wrapped his arms around me and held me. I put my head on his shoulder and cried. I cried for all the loss. I cried for the loss of trust when my husband violated our marriage vows. I cried for the loss of life when someone decided to murder him. I cried for Bradley Hurston, who had dedicated years to serving his community, and for the disease that stole his memories and crippled him, putting him in a wheelchair. Finally, I cried for the life next door that was taken so violently. When I was cried out, I stood back and accepted the paper towel he provided.

I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. “It’s not fair.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“Bradley Hurston deserved so much better than to die like that.”

I could smell the casseroles and knew they were done. I washed my face, turned off the oven, and then removed the bubbling goodness from the oven. I wrapped one in foil and walked it across the yard.

The police had taped a boundary around the perimeter of the house, and there was what appeared to be an army of policemen walking, photographing, and scanning the ground.

I walked up to a policeman who was standing at the tape boundary. “I’m Lilly Echosby. I live next door. Could I leave this for Marianne?”

His head was tilted down in my direction, but he wore mirrored sunglasses that prevented anyone from seeing his eyes.

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