A Wonder Springs Cozy Mystery Omnibus: Books 1, 2 & 3

by B. T. Alive

She led us into her tea shop, to a table in the far corner. Even here in the corner, the copious natural light bathed us in a soft morning glow, and the blue walls and the faint scent of incense lulled me to relax in the soft, cushioned chair.

  Why did the police on cop shows always do their suspect interrogations in those awful concrete rooms with a metal table? Hello? Stress? No wonder they gorged on donuts.

  Natisha faced us both across the small table, her hands folded and her eyes watchful. The shop was fairly empty, and our fellow patrons all seemed to have headphones, but she still kept her voice low.

  “First off,” she said. “Cade, I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” Cade said.

  “This won’t be like the death of that tourist back in the spring,” she said, with a glance at me. “Una was one of us. She grew up here, in Wonder Springs. Yes, she had to leave for awhile and make her money, but she still came back. She died in her family home. And she may have kept to herself the last few years, but I assure you, she will be missed.”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “Frannie was crying.”

  Natisha nodded. “They were tight. It was before my time, but they were best friends since high school.” Then she stiffened, and her voice grew chill. “And instead of letting folks like her grieve, Ms. Sassafras, you’re snooping around with the Meredith parrot.”

  “What?” I said, stunned. “I’m not… he needs to get outside sometimes…”

  “Busted,” squawked Keegan.

  “Nice,” Cade muttered, truly impressed with our mind-reading parrot.

  Under the table, I kicked his manly work shoes.

  “Summer, please,” Natisha said. “We all know you caught that murderer.”

  “Oh?” I said. This was not something people had talked to me about (besides my family). Like, ever. Casually, I placed my own hands on the table. Close enough, if needed, to give her a Touch. “What do you know, exactly?” I said.

  “We know that with the Merediths,” she said, “you don’t ask questions.” She pulled her hands away and hid them on her lap.

  “Okay,” I said. I tried to tell myself that Natisha was just nervous about her personal space, that she couldn’t actually know about my Touch. But my own hands were trembling now, so I toyed with a packet of stevia. “Does that mean you don’t answer questions, either?”

  “Don’t do this, Summer,” Natisha snapped. “What happened here is a tragedy. But that woman committed suicide.”

  “Frannie said she would never kill herself,” I said. “And you just said they were best friends since high school.”

  “Red-headed twerp,” squawked Keegan.

  Cade smothered a smirk, but Natisha startled. She edged a bit farther from the parrot, and then she glared at me.

  “I know Harriet was running her mouth about me and that orchard, all right?” she said, in a hushed voice. “It’s true. I want to expand. You can see for yourself that I’m busting at the seams here. But good Lord, girl, I wouldn’t kill for it. And kill for what? The chance that her relatives might want to sell? Just because they’re from out of town? And that’s assuming I could even afford it now, and I assure you, I could not. This town’s exploded since I got my start; if those women sell, there’s going to be a bidding war like we’ve never seen.”

  She caught her breath and eyed Keegan. “Satisfied?” she snapped.

  “He’s just a parrot,” I said.

  “PIECES OF EIGHT!” Keegan squawked, with a warning ruffle of his wings.

  “See?” I said.

  “PIECES OF… REAL ESTATE!” Keegan chirped. He flapped again, but with satisfaction, as if he’d finally resolved a confusing puzzle. Then he settled onto my hand and started preening himself, in blessed silence.

  Natisha grimaced.

  Oh, I thought. Pieces.

  “Totally random question,” I said, “but do you think you could afford a piece of the land? If they decided to subdivide?”

  “Didn’t he already tell you this?” Natisha snapped, with an angry glance at Cade.

  Cade frowned. “Natisha, wait a second—”

  “Tell me what?” I said.

  “We talked about this. Months ago,” said Natisha. “I know Cade here loves his orchard, but he did say that if it were up to him, he’d be open to selling me a piece.”

  I turned to Cade. “You were talking about this?”

  Cade was tearing at a napkin. “I don’t remember exactly. I know it came up, but it’s not like it was definite.”

  “You sounded definite to me,” Natisha said. “Like you had a lock on that whole place. Unless she went and changed her will again. Which I assumed she had, when I saw that Jamie woman back in town at the movie night.”

  “Una changed her will before?” I said.

  Cade glared at Natisha. “There is no way I said all that. I think you heard what you wanted to hear.”

  “I think you’re remembering what you want her to hear,” Natisha snapped.

  Cade scowled. But before he could answer, his phone dinged, and he dug it out and read a text.

  “Well, this conversation is moot,” he said. He rose from the table.

  “Moot?” I said. “Why?”

  “Because that was Ambrose. Ambrose James, he’s Una’s lawyer. Jamie’s Aunt Paris just got in.”

  “So?” I said.

  “So it’s time to read the will.”

  Chapter 17

  Cade gave Natisha a curt nod. “Thanks for the… napkin,” he said, and he scooped the shredded pile into his hand.

  “Good luck,” Natisha said. “I hope you get what you deserve.”

  “That’s ambiguous,” Cade said, and with a sudden grin, he seemed to melt away the tension.

  In spite of herself, Natisha flicked him an answering half-smile.

  Cade turned to me and cranked the wattage even higher. “Talk to you later,” he said.

  “I’m coming too!” I clattered up, and Keegan squawked in protest.

  “You can’t bring that parrot,” he said. He was already striding for the exit. “Ambrose’ll kick you out.”

  “Wait!” I said. I turned to Natisha, and held out Keegan. “Natisha, could you take him? I won’t be long—”

  But she recoiled in horror, shielding herself with both hands. “Are you insane?”

  “Freaky parrot,” Keegan chirped.

  “What?” I said. “Huh. That was not me.”

  “I knew it!” Natisha cried, her eyes gleaming. “I knew that parrot could—”

  “Damn,” I said, and I zapped her.

  She rocked back in her seat, looking dazed but also, honestly, relaxed. More relaxed than I’d ever seen her. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, looking pretty much like the other blissed-out patrons with headphones who were listening to their gong baths or whatever and hadn’t noticed a thing.

  Maybe that’s how I could bring in some extra income. I could start charging for a gentle zap. Forget your troubles. Literally.

  Sadly, I couldn’t zap away my own stress, so I raced all the way back to the Inn and up to Tina’s tower. “Tina!” I called, as I struggled to climb her ladder with the ridiculous parrot panic-flapping in my face. “I need you!”

  “Really?” she called down. “Yay!”

  Tina is the only person I know who can actually pull off a “Yay”.

  At the top, she got Keegan soothed instantly, and she settled him into his cage with fresh food and water.

  “He’ll be fine! We’ve got to go!” I said. “They’re reading Una’s will.”

  “Perfect!” she said. “I’ll be right there when Cade hears what he got, so I’ll totally be able to tell whether he’s really surprised.”

  “I thought you said he was Mr. Vault,” I said.

  “Sure, to Keegan.” She winked. “I’m a professional.”

  She was also, I realized, about 110% biased in Cade’s favor.

  Whatever. Maybe she could at least get a read on the other suspec
ts.

  Wait, why had I just thought, “other suspects”? As in, besides Cade?

  Rats.

  The Main Street law office of Ambrose James, Esq., was a cute, renovated Victorian townhouse. (Just like almost every other building on Main Street.) We knocked at the filigreed front door, and after a long moment, we were greeted by the man himself. He was a thin, bald black man in his early sixties and a late model suit, and though the cast of his face was gentle, he scrutinized me through thick glasses with a piercing gaze.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, in a soft, emphatic tone.

  “This is Summer,” piped up Tina, and as she caught his gaze, Ambrose brightened with recognition. “She’s my cousin,” Tina added.

  “I see,” Ambrose said.

  “Cade’s here, right?” Tina said. “We’re here for moral support.”

  “Hmm,” Ambrose said. But he stood aside and let us pass.

  We crossed through a sober reception room, with framed portraits of illustrious old dead dudes and a wide antique desk that, though empty, seemed more capable of commanding a respectful silence than any matron secretary. The most recent piece of technology was a fax machine, and it huddled in a corner, knowing its place.

  Then we passed into Ambrose’s office, and he really did have the wall-to-wall shelves of leather books, like a commercial. In real life, the tomes smelled of more than a hint of mildew, but that only heightened the grave, solemn mood. As long as no one started sneezing.

  There were several red upholstered chairs with brass brads, and in a chair in the corner sat Cade. As we walked in, he attempted to give us a smile, but he was fidgeting one ankle at warp speed, up-down, up-down, up-down, and I didn’t need to be Tina to feel that the guy was critically nervous.

  In a central chair sat Jamie Graves. She had made herself somewhat respectable, with a dark dress that wasn’t quite black and would at least require some imagination from an attracted male. “Summer?” she said, with a crisp frown. “I assumed this would be interested parties only.”

  “Una was from Wonder Springs,” Tina cut in. “We’re interested.”

  Jamie took in Tina with a disapproving gaze, clearly calculating her threat level. I was sure that these two had met plenty over the years, but it occurred to me that every time Jamie had returned to Wonder Springs, she must have had to face some fresh new beauties in Tina’s ongoing blossoming.

  I feel you there, Jamie, I thought. One of these years, we should both try being kind.

  “I’m not comfortable with this,” Jamie said.

  I looked to Cade for help. But he was fiddling with his phone; I wasn’t sure he’d even heard.

  “Ambrose?” Jamie said. “I’d like to request that you show these women out.”

  “And I’d like to request,” rasped a familiar old voice behind me, “that he do no such thing. The reading of this will can use plenty of extra witnesses.”

  “Sheriff!” I said, turning to greet him with a warm smile of thanks.

  But my smile froze, and beside me, Tina winced. Sheriff Jake looked awful.

  The skin of his face was flu-gray, and droopy, like gravity was hitting him extra hard. His nose was even redder than the last time I’d seen him, his side hair was spiky and uncombed under his crooked hat, and his uniform shirt was wrinkled and coming untucked.

  Then I realized that when I’d talked to Jamie earlier, she’d said the sheriff had called. Not interviewed her in person. Had the sheriff only now finally gotten out of bed?

  Maybe he’d been up really late last night. Right? Sure. No need to worry.

  “You should be in bed,” Tina said, worried.

  “I’m feeling spectacular,” he said, waggling his eyebrows in warning. He cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Is this everyone, Ambrose? I thought there was another relative of the deceased.”

  “Paris Stirling,” said Ambrose, with sepulchral calm. “She should arrive shortly.”

  “How shortly?” said the sheriff.

  “I’m here!” trumpeted a new voice, a middle-aged woman who sounded like she could sing opera. And in strode Paris Stirling, grieving cousin to the deceased.

  At least, she was dressed like she was grieving, with an elaborate black taffeta gown and a black pillbox hat that would have looked quaint on Jackie Kennedy. But her bulging eyes were shining with excitement, and her upturned piggish nose was pulsing like she could smell the cash.

  Not that she seemed to be hurting for spending money. She was probably wearing my weekly income with her makeup and hair job alone. Her chosen shade of chestnut brown was carefully layered with blond highlights, although the gray roots were peeping from her part. For a wealthy woman in her late 40s or early 50s, she seemed to have left her face relatively untouched, which was refreshing, but her bust did look… suspiciously generous.

  Then I caught Tina’s eye, sadly watching me watch Paris, and a flush of shame singed my cheek. I was insta-judging a total stranger. Why was it my business how this older woman spent her cash?

  And then a chill of premonition touched my neck, like someone walking over my grave… and I wondered what choices Future Summer might make as she began to age and deflate.

  Nothing like a will to make you pensive.

  Paris surveyed our small gathering, and when her gaze locked on Cade, she grimaced with open hostility. “Well,” she said. “You look comfortable.”

  “Mrs. Stirling,” said Ambrose, with gentle command. “I suggest we begin.”

  Paris huffed into a chair closest to the desk, and the rest of us took our seats. I slid in next to Cade, but he barely looked at me. He was tapping his jiggling thigh with one hand, and his other hand was clenched tight.

  “Your knuckles are bone white,” I whispered. “I didn’t know that was actually a thing.”

  He glanced down and gave me a wry smile. But then he looked back toward Ambrose.

  Nerves of steel? Right.

  Sitting at his wide desk, Ambrose cleared his throat. The light reflected off his glasses, hiding his eyes and giving him a ghostly air.

  “I know it’s unconventional to summon you so quickly,” he said. “But due to the unusual circumstances, I felt it was best for all concerned to… ‘clear the air,’ so to speak. As you know, Ms. Graves had accumulated substantial assets, and she devoted considerable thought as to how best they should be allocated.”

  Paris was leaning forward in her seat, nostrils flared. Jamie, though ostentatiously languid, was watching the lawyer with python eyes.

  Tina, who’d taken a seat between them, looked like she might puke.

  “Unfortunately, Ms. Graves had difficulty settling her priorities,” the lawyer continued. “And I could not help inferring, from certain comments that she made, that she may have intimated her evolving decision process to one or more of you.”

  “You mean she wouldn’t make up her mind?” Paris blared. “You mean she kept threatening to leave it all to this, this—” She scoffed back toward Cade.

  “Yes,” Ambrose said. “That is what I mean. And she did.”

  Cade gasped, a short hard laugh of disbelief.

  Paris screeched, and even Jamie couldn’t disguise that her eyes flashed with hot, lethal rage.

  Poor Tina.

  “You’re certain?” Paris demanded. “She actually wrote that in her actual will?”

  “Yes. Six months ago, Una Graves made this will,” Ambrose said, lifting a leather portfolio from his desk and extracting a thin stack of paper, which he laid on the polished oak. “In it, she leaves her entire estate to this young man here. Both her liquid assets, which are considerable, and all her property.”

  This was about when my brain finally processed that the “young man” in question was Cade, my semi-boyfriend. As much as I’d loathed his choices with Una, they’d paid off. He’d gotten his orchard. And possibly a fortune as well.

  Was Cade rich now?

  What would that even mean? What if he wanted to ditc
h me? What if he didn’t… we could do anything…

  “Oh my god,” Paris said. “This is not happening.”

  “You are correct,” said Ambrose.

  “What do you mean?” snapped Jamie, sitting up ramrod straight. “What are you getting at, Ambrose?”

  “She asked me to… revise her will,” Ambrose said. “On the morning which would prove to be her last. In this, her last will and testament…” He extracted a second sheaf from the portfolio and laid it on top of the first. “… her fortune goes entirely to her next of kin. Cade Jackson is omitted completely.”

  No one spoke.

  Cade was stricken. He was staring in disbelief, his mouth slack.

  Tina stifled a groan.

  “Oh my god,” Paris yelped. “Oh my god, please say you’re not jerking us around. She did leave it to us? You’re sure? You swear?”

  “She did,” Ambrose said. “The estate will be split between you and Jamie, as her next of kin. You will need to negotiate how you want to split the assets: both the orchard property with the family home, and also the liquid assets, which, after taxes, will amount to some two million dollars.”

  “Two million dollars?” I blurted. I wheeled on Cade. “She almost gave you two million dollars? What happened?”

  But I knew exactly what had happened. The night before she’d cut him out of her will.

  Because I’d insisted on confronting her.

  In my mind, I saw her again, striding toward Cade and me in the orchard night, glaring, demanding, incensed. What is this person doing on the grounds?

  Yes, I’d wiped the memory, but then Cade must have told her somehow that he was ditching her to take me to the movie night. And then… and then…

  “Oh, Cade,” I said. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. His voice was small and monotone, and he was staring at his hands. “It’s fine.”

  “Is it?” said Ambrose, and for the first time, he shifted his ghostly glare directly at Cade. “That’s very courteous of you, I must say.”

  Sheriff Jake had been slouching in a side chair, but for the first time, he roused himself and spoke. “What do you mean by that?” he wheezed.

  Ambrose James elaborately shrugged.