Page 18 of Sweet Like a Psycho (Secrets of Suburbi 2)

She sat down on the couch all the way on the end, like she wanted to be as far away from me as possible. She balanced her plate on her lap and took a bite.

I sat down only one cushion away from her and took a bite too. The chicken parm hadn’t survived well in the microwave. The coating was soggy and the meat was a little rubbery. I was about to make a joke about it when she broke the awkward silence.

“I don’t know how to thank you for this. And the furnace. We probably would have frozen tonight if you hadn’t stopped by.” She laughed like what she'd just said wasn’t a big deal.

“I’m sure a repairman would have come out if I hadn’t. It was no problem.”

She sneezed. “No one could come for two days.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. You should have called a different company.”

“I called five. And I’m sure they do come out quickly for most people. Just…not for me.” She took a bite of chicken and sighed like it was the most delicious meal she’d had in ages.

If only she knew what it tasted like when it had been fresh. “Why not for you?”

She took another bite, and for a minute I thought she was going to ignore my question. But then she set down her fork and knife and looked up at me. “Because no one wants to come all the way out here.” She scrunched her mouth to the side. “That’s a lie.” She laughed. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind that. It’s me. I told you earlier…I’m the crazy lady on the hill. Everyone avoids me like the plague.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“You don’t know me very well.” She tapped her fork against her plate a few times before looking back up at me.

“I have a feeling I’ve gotten to know you better than most of the people you’re referring to.”

“You’re really not from around here, are you?”

“No. I was transferred to this department about a year ago.” I didn’t want

to talk about me. I wanted to know more about her. “Zeke mentioned earlier at dinner that you were doing that thing. What was he referring to?” She had been opening and closing one of the takeout containers continuously. Like she was stuck in some sort of trance.

She put her fork back down. “I have a little bit of a nervous OCD thing. Well, not just when I’m nervous…it’s also when I’m upset, agitated, anxious, and nervous.”

“You said nervous three times.”

“Yeah. It’s especially bad when I’m nervous. But really whenever I feel at all uncomfortable.” She tapped the side of her plate.

I watched this time. She tapped it three times and then stopped. Then she proceeded to do the same thing with the next finger. “Are you uncomfortable right now?”

“No.” She pressed her lips together. “I think you make me nervous, Detective Reed.”

“Tucker.”

“Right. Tucker.” She continued to tap the side of her plate. “Why are you here?” She didn’t give me a chance to respond. “I can pay you for the furnace.”

“I’m not here for your money. I just wanted a chance to really talk to you.”

“You mean to question me? I’ve already answered all your questions.”

I set my plate down on the ground and moved closer to her on the couch. And I swore I heard her gulp. “Your son is adorable.”

She smiled. “He is. He’s funny and brilliant and so sweet. I couldn’t have imagined a better son into existence.”

“And his earned day off?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “One day isn’t a big deal.”

“It's almost the weekend.”

“Kids need a break every now and then. Just like adults.”

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