pane of glass set into the wood door. âLooks like the TVâs still on.â
âMight be Maybelleâs in the little girlâs room.â
I stepped off the porch and wedged myself between the boxwoods under the picture window. Cupping my hands around my eyes, I tried to peek through a narrow slit in the drawn blinds. âWhat if Maybelleâs fallen and canât get up? Like in those television commercials.â
Reba Mae edged closer. âYou mean the one with the lady layinâ on the floor all old and helpless? Then sheâs all happy again after buyinâ herself one of those gadgets to wear around her neck?â
âThatâs the one.â I straightened and stood, hands on hips, staring at a nearby crepe myrtle ready to burst into bloom. âYou stay here while I go around back.â
âYou donât think Maybelle is avoidinâ us on purpose?â
âNonsense,â I replied, although privately thatâs exactly what I thought. Still ⦠âWhat if Maybelle is hurt and needs help? What kind of persons would we be if we turned our backs on a friend? We need to make sure sheâs safe. We owe it to her.â
âYouâre right,â Reba Mae agreed. âMaybelle couldâve sprained an ankle. Or broken her hip. Do you think we should call nine-one-one? Ask McBride to send one of his men over to check on things?â
âUmm ⦠Letâs wait,â I said as she started to reach into her pocket for her cell phone. I knew Maybelle to be a private personâa very private person. Sheâd never speak to us again if we called the police to break down her door. âWhy donât we check this out more thoroughly before calling for reinforcements?â
âPiperâ¦?â Reba Mae raced over to me and clutched my arm, her eyes wide. âI just thought of something. What if the same psycho who killed Becca came after Maybelle? After all, the two of them are single women, livinâ alone, and approximately the same age.â
âAre you nuts?â I hissed. âSurely youâre not suggesting thereâs a serial killer on the prowl in Brandywine Creek? A killer who bludgeons his victims with a brisket?â
âStranger things have happened,â she retorted, her tone defensive. âYou read about serial killers all the time in the newspapers. Or see stories about them on TV. I even saw a show once about vampire serial killers.â
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. âNext youâll try to convince me Buzz Oliver flipped out and is systematically knocking off all the women in his life.â
âThatâs exactly what Iâm talkinâ about. Just think of it as a possible movie of the week on the Lifetime channel.â
âStay here,â I instructed. âKeep ringing the bell and pounding on the door while I check around the back.â I didnât know what I expected to find but thought it worth a shot. Maybe the kitchen curtains would be open and give me a better hint of what was going on inside. Could be Maybelle was playing possum. Could be she really was injured or ill and needed help.
Iâd no sooner gone a half-dozen steps when the front porch light flicked on, bathing us in its jaundiced glare. A lock snicked and a door opened, revealing a haggard-appearing Maybelle Humphries clutching a fleecy robe tightly around her throat.
âWhat in heavenâs name!â she exclaimed at seeing us. âYou two are making enough noise to disturb the neighbors.â
âHey, Maybelle,â I said, taking in the womanâs drawn face, the dark circles under her eyes. âReba Mae and I were worried about you. Thought weâd stop by and make sure youâre all right.â
Reba Mae stepped forward, motioning for me to return to the porch. âMy boy Clay said he came by the Chamber this afternoon to pick up some flyers, but the office was closed.