I continued up her driveway regardless, towards her car. I noticed something. It was leaking from her boot. Perhaps it was oil, my brain asked. Perhaps she was going through a string of unlucky situations—an oil leak.

  Pressing a hand against the liquid. I held a hand up into the light of the sky. The liquid was red, and as I rubbed it between my forefinger and thumb, it appeared quite liquid and didn’t leave a grease mark oil would have.

  “B—b—b—” my throat filled with nausea. “It’s b—b—” I glanced at the ground. It was all over the place. Was she running an abattoir? That was certainly against the law. I hurried as fast as my limbs would carry me, a power walk back home. I threw my shoes out into the garden, and rushed inside, locking the door behind myself.

  It was indeed a shade of red—the type you’d find after a nosebleed.

  Quickly, I rushed into the kitchen and washed my hands, scrubbing at them with warm soapy water. I needed to get it all off. I needed to be clean, and hours after talking to Betsy and Arthur about my hatred of blood, it almost seemed like the universe was out to get me on this one.

  My next stop was DC Fletcher’s direct line.

  “Look!” I said. “I’ve just been to Vera’s house. There’s blood in her drive. I think she’s a serial killer.”

  He laughed. “Vera’s at the station,” he said. “Please don’t spread rumours, Delia.”

  “It’s true. It’s everywhere. My shoes are covered in the stuff.”

  His chuckle petered off. “Okay,” he said. “I think you should have some dinner, calm down, and maybe double check.”

  “No, no, no. I know what I saw.”

  He hummed. A pause. “Okay, Delia. Vera’s not home, so it’s not possible she could have done anything. I’m going away tomorrow, so I won’t be able to answer any calls. Understand?”

  No. I didn’t. I didn’t think it was okay. None of this. Vera’s drive was covered in a layer of blood. “And what about the neighbourhood watch meeting?”

  “I understand it was pushed back,” he said. “I wasn’t scheduled to come to this one anyway.”

  “Well, when is Vera coming out?”

  He huffed. “Sorry, Delia. That’s private information, and I’m not even on the case,” he said. “Please, if you have anything real to report, call the police.”

  I hung up, slamming my phone in place.

  I was calm. I didn’t need to eat, I just wanted someone to listen.

  Drawing my curtains shut, I glanced out to my shoes on the garden. I’d thrown them haphazardly, not wanting to contaminate them.

  It took me several moments to think about who was next on the calling tree, I knew it was Betsy, but I hoped to think of someone else.

  She answered within two rings.

  “I did something,” I said breathlessly.

  “I’m coming over.”

  And within three seconds, she was in my home, worried sick with a cream face mask covering her entire face.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, her face stiff with cracks around her mouth and forehead. “You sounded panicked.”

  I shook my head. “Oh, Bet,” I said. “I went over. I went to see Vera.”

  “I think she’s still being held by the police,” she said.

  My voice broke into a slight cry. “I know that. But there was blood in her driveway.”

  “Blood?” Her face cracked entirely, the mask crumbling down her top and shedding onto my floor. “Are you okay?” she grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight. “Are you sure it was blood?” she asked, guiding me to the sofa.

  I took a seat. I didn’t want to think about the blood, I didn’t want to think about anything to do with it. My stomach wanted to void everything through my mouth and nose, and at such a pleasant image in my mind, part of me hoped it would—It would at least occupy me.

  “I would volunteer to check, but—”

  I pointed in the direction of the front door. “Believe me, you don’t have to,” I said. “Just go and grab my shoes. They’re out in the garden. I stood in it. I think I left footprints.” My shallow voice didn’t know what to talk next—that I left a map of footsteps all the way back home, or that I was just in the midst of a bloodbath.

  Apprehension struck Betsy as her body weight became heavy on the sofa. “I don’t think I’m going to look,” she said. “It’s getting dark out, and I don’t think my sight would be able to see between blood and just clay dirt.”

  “Clay dirt?” laughter struck my throat. “Oh—” she was being serious. “We don’t have that dark orange dirt here. If we did, I’d know about it.”

  She looked at me with the side of her eyes. I knew she wanted to believe everything I was saying, but this time it seemed quite far from anything that would have happened, and the only proof I had was outside in my garden.

  “I don’t want to say you might have seen something that wasn’t there,” she said. “But there might have been any number of things clouding the view. Like the actual clouds.”

  “Let me guess,” I said, jumping her gun on how to be perfectly reasonable and rational person. “I should wait the night, see what sticks in the morning.”

  She toyfully grabbed my arm in a giant squeeze. “Wow, only thirty years and you’re getting what I’ve been telling you.”

  Betsy’s only real-life motto was, of course, to wait it out, sleep on it, and see things from a different perspective in the morning. To think everyone was reasonable in the morning was quite a crazy idea to believe, because unless I was one coffee down, I don’t think I was ready to see anyone.

  “And then tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow, I’ll come over and see what all the fuss is about,” she said. “If there was anything so hideous or heinous coming from her home, you’d think everyone in the neighbourhood would be talking about it already.”

  Unfortunately, I was listening to what Betsy had said. I was taking into account everything, and I was taking notes; I shouldn’t be going around like a headless chicken, screaming about a woman who was already in jail at this very moment, she couldn’t have possibly been responsible for the blood in her drive.

  Throughout the night, I woke to the rain chattering on the window pane at my bedroom. It was the nail in the coffin for what I was hoping to achieve. I wrapped my head inside a pillow and grumbled hard, it was short of a scream itself. I didn’t like to know there was something happening, and I couldn’t do a single thing about it.

  “Pull yourself together,” I said as I settled down for the remainder of the evening. It was silly to pin everything on one hope. “What would Doctor Manhattan do?” I asked myself, slapping my lips together like I was tasting a fresh idea spring from the musty air.

  That morning, I woke with the same idea in my mind, because it was the only thought worth thinking about. Doctor Manhattan had gone through adversities, and so had I. So, what would he do in the same scenario as me? That was a question for the day.

  And for Betsy. “So, what do you think Doctor Manhattan would do?” I asked her as she entered through the back door.

  “What about?” she asked with a shrug.

  “About Vera.”

  She swotted a hand in the air. “Still going on about that?”

  “Sorry,” I gasped in shock. “I mean, I slept on it, and I still want to know what all that blood was doing.”

  She chuckled. “I say sleep on it because I think you’ll forget.”

  I shook my head at her. “Not quite,” I said. “I woke up to that god-awful rain and all I could think about was how it was destroying evidence.”

  “What you need is a camera phone,” she said.

  It was true. I did, but I didn’t have the time or effort in me to learn how to use any of that new-fangled electronic equipment. “Good heavens, no.” I shrugged. “I know all the kids are obsessed with it and such, but it wouldn’t go well for me. I’d always be phoning Caroline, and she doesn’t even pick up my calls from the house phone.”

  Betsy sighed, sitting in the chair at the table. “We can go over to Vera’s,” she said. “With any luck, whatever you saw, is still there.”

  “And with any luck,” I began, pointing a finger into the air. “Vera is still in a cell.”

  She chuckled, although I could tell it was out of nerves. I was being deadly serious, whatever it is I’d seen, it knocked me sick to the core of my being, and that wasn’t easy to do, not at all, not in the slightest. It was not an easy feat that many had achieved or accomplished in my lifetime. “If she was, I’m sure we would all have known about it by now.”

  It was true. If Vera had been kept in the cell overnight, I would have had Norma and Arthur over first thing in the morning, talking about how they were both shocked such a thing could happen—Norma, perhaps not quite so shocked, but equally still in a state of wanting to tell people about it; even putting herself first.

  I had my own version of events to recount, and I didn’t need it to be clouded with what everyone else was doing. “What would Doctor Manhattan do?” I asked aloud, glancing over toward Betsy.

  “Catch them in the act,” she said without a second thought.

  Granted, he would do just that, but he was also much more tech-savvy, and catching someone in the act usually meant getting a camera set up on a tripod ready to record—neither of us had that sort of experience, and we couldn’t even begin to think about where would even find such items.

  Once I was dressed and Betsy had sold Billy on the idea of taking a walk to Norma’s house to seek updates regarding the meet tonight, we were ready to go. Billy was even more suspicious with the so-called reckless behaviour I’d been showing recently. The thought made me grumble, and it wouldn’t have bothered me too much, but Finley had even told my daughter, she was threatening to visit—chance would be a fine thing!

  “My shoes are clean,” I said, scowling. “Can you believe it rained?”

  She smiled. “Yes, I can,” she said. “It was forecast.”

  “It’s that Mother Nature.”

  “Global warming, more like.”

  I scoffed at the thought. “If it’s getting colder and wetter, how can they have the nerve to say it’s warming.”

  “Oh, Delia,” she said with the shake of her head. “C’mon, let’s get to it.”

  In the light of day, I could see further ahead and into Vera’s driveway. Her car, still parked, the gravel on the ground completely clean—not a single stone a shade darker than grey. It wasn’t a good sign, not for my sight and not for my trust either. I was glad I didn’t spread the message further than DC Fletcher and Betsy.

  “Don’t think she’s in,” I said. “It looks the same, but without the blood, obviously.”

  Betsy gave me a familiar look—I knew what that look meant, it meant, are you really sure?

  I was sure. Incredibly sure.

  “I want to look in her boot,” I said. “That’s where the blood was coming from.”

  Betsy sucked in deep. “Bad idea.”

  I knew it was a bad idea, but I needed to make sure I saw what I saw. “I think you should be lookout. I’ll open it and see.”

  Betsy followed the command, she stood on guard, watching the driveway and the street. I scanned Vera’s car carefully. I pulled my gloves from my coat pocket, they were velvet, unlike the plastic surgical gloves Doctor Manhattan would be found sporting.

  Wiping a hand along the underside of the car, searching for a small button to press and lift the boot open. I found it, soft on the fingertips. Pop.

  “What are you doing?” a voice of anger echoed from the house.

  We froze in place. I didn’t know what to do, or what to say, but her car boot didn’t open, so I had no answers to the question on my mind. What exactly was inside Vera Cooper’s trunk? Another question sprung to mind, quick on my toes; what would Doctor Manhattan Do? He’d feign innocence of course.

  “I could ask you the same question,” I immediately responded. “I mean, I heard something coming from your boot.”

  She chuckled. “Oh, no,” she said. “This old thing has been making sounds for ages.” Her eyes shifted to Betsy. “And why are you standing all the way over there.”

  “I was seeing if you were up or down the road,” she said. “Didn’t think anyone was in.”

  Vera scoffed, moving a hand towel away to reveal a cleaver’s knife. “I hope you didn’t think I was locked away,” she laughed. “Case of mistaken identity.”

  I let my head go back as I laughed. “Norma’s not gonna like that,” I said, cutting myself off as I noticed the knife once again.

  “Want to come in for some tea?” she asked.

  Normally, I’d say yes. Normally, I’d be the one who wants to go and investigate. Normally, this wasn’t about a potential killer.

  “Sur—” Betsy began.

  “Absolutely not,” I said. “We’re busy. We only popped by because of the sound.”

  Polishing her knife with the kitchen towel, Vera sighed. “Maybe another time.”

  “Maybe you should come to the watch meeting tonight,” Betsy suggested.

  “Maybe I will,” she said. “What biscuits does Norma hate?”

  I shrugged. She didn’t hate any if she didn’t buy them, that was a fact, and even after what went down over the false imprisonment, I doubt she’d even refuse from Vera. “None,” I said.

  “I might just put a little rat poison in ‘em then,” she laughed, this time harder, almost cold—it nipped at me, the intent in her voice was very real, and I didn’t doubt one bit that she was capable of putting poison in biscuits, especially after what I’d seen.

  “C’mon Delia,” Betsy called with a slight chuckle.

  There was no loosening up her humour. Betsy hooked her arm around mine when I reached the path. We huddled close together, my breath letting out in short spats.

  “We can phone the detective,” Betsy said.

  “He’s away, on holiday,” I told her. “What if she meant it, what if she tries to kill Norma.”

  She waved her hand at the situation. “Since when were you team Norma anyway?”

  “I’m not—I wasn’t.”

  Betsy laughed. “I think she was kidding,” she said. “And when was the last time we saw her at one of those meetings?”

  “Never,” I answered, my voice a little meek. “I mean, there’s a first for everything.”

  “Like—”

  “Murder.”

  Of course, my best accessory was to turn anything into a sarcastic response. I couldn’t quite think about Vera turning up to Norma’s with the machete in hand, forcing her into submission by eating, or by the knife itself. I know if someone falsely accused me and I spent any amount of time in a jail cell, I wouldn’t be too happy.

  Arthur stood outside my house, a hand and his face pressed against the window.

  “I hope you’ll clean that when you’re finished,” I said.

  He gasped, standing upright. “Delia,” he said with a nod. “Betsy.”

  We nodded back to him. “How can I help you?”

  He grinned—the grin of someone who had a secret, or information that hadn’t been made public knowledge yet. It was eating him whole, I could see it. I could feel it in his shifty glances, and his irritable stance.

  “What is it?” I asked, walking indoors. “Spit it out.”

  “Yes, spit it out,” Betsy said, bumping him slightly at the side.

  “Norma is seething,” he said in an excited chuckle. “She’s completely lost it now.”

  New information. New intel about Norma. It was what I was wanting to listen to and had been waiting on for the longest time. “Go on,” I said. “What else?”

  As we sat and caught up over a coffee, I found out Norma’s actions of reporting a false crime hadn’t been taken lightly, and now she was going to be watched to make sure she wasn’t going senile. I was surprised this hadn’t been rolled out to me, I wondered with a smile if this meant she was going to be wearing an ankle monitor or some other device to keep her at bay—and best of all, perhaps it would mean we could all track her whereabouts.

  “Well, I hope she’ll cover it tonight,” Betsy said.

  “Fin won’t be there,” I added. “He’s on holiday now, hopefully, he’s not being replaced by someone else.” A shudder ran through my back. “I can’t quite imagine anyone else having the same compassion for the neighbourhood.”

  Arthur cleared his throat. “So, where were you two coming from?” he asked.

  “Oh.” I hadn’t told him yet. Betsy only knew because of the panic I’d been in, and I wasn’t sure if she had believed anything I was saying in the first place, but Vera’s appearance with the knife in hand must have proved something, even if it was that she had the utensils to commit something so heinous. “I found blood in Vera’s driveway last night,” I said. “We went to investigate this morning.”

  “Without me?” he scoffed.

  “Without you,” I repeated. “After the last time, you ran away, I don’t know if we could trust you to keep your calm or peace.”

  Betsy hummed. “But I didn’t see any blood,” she said.

  “Okay, okay,” I said, shaking my head. “Well, I did, and I do not wish to bring my sight into question. I have perfectly good sight, and only need glasses for driving.”

  They chuckled lightly.

  “So, what happened?” he asked.

  “Vera appeared with a knife as Delia went to look in her car boot,” she laughed, this time clutching at her stomach from all angles. “It was a sight. I didn’t know what was going to happen next.”

  I mumbled beneath my breath, between a sigh and a grunt. “I don’t know where or how she got that knife, but she shouldn’t be handling such tools.” I stood. “I’m going over there tonight, actually. I’m going to find evidence of what I saw.”

  “But the mee—” Arthur began.

  “That’s where she said she’s going,” Betsy said. “But I think she wasn’t being serious.”

  “Me either,” I said. “That’s why you’re going to collect her.”

  “And what about—” Arthur started.

  “You’re just going to go like you do usually,” I said.

 

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