by Maris Soule
Something to Crow About
(Another P.J. Benson Mystery)
by
Maris Soule
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Maris Soule
First Tier Press
ISBN 13:978-1-7326493-1-6
All rights reserved
Including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatever.
Cover design by Christopher Wait
,High Pines Creative, Inc
www.highpinescreative.com
Cover images © Getty Images
Dedicated to P.J. Benson’s fans who begged for one more book.
What Others Have Said about the P.J. Benson Mysteries
“Romantic suspense just doesn’t get any better. Mary Higgins Clark fans will find much to enjoy here.”
Library Journal on The Crows
“The intensity of this taut drama builds from page one. Understated characters drop clever clues, and subtle subplots with cunning twists dovetail into a startling finale. 4 Stars”
Romantic Times on The Crows
“Combines just the right amount of romance with a puzzle good enough to keep readers guessing.”
Kirkus Reviews on As the Crow Flies
“If you like your cozy mysteries with a local flair, I highly recommend this interesting read along with The Crows and As the Crow Flies”
Diane at KDL on Eat Crow and Die
Contents
Copyright
What Others Have Said about the P.J. Benson Mysteries
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
What’s Next?
Acknowledgments
About the Author
EYE OF THE CROW
Chapter One
“He caught me,” a female voice said from the other side of a stall door. “I didn’t even know he was in the store. I was at the computer looking at the pictures I’d taken when he came up behind me. I barely had time to disconnect from the USB port and get out of there.”
I stopped where I was, still holding open the door to the women’s bathroom. All I could see was a pair of snow boots under one of the two stalls and an Out of Order sign on the other. I didn’t want to eavesdrop on the woman’s conversation, but with this baby pressing against my bladder, I was lucky to have made it this far without peeing my pants.
“Yes. These pictures show everything you need,” Snow Boots continued. “The hidden compartments, origins of the shipments, everything. If I can get to a computer, I’ll send you the pictures.”
The woman’s voice reminded me of a former coworker’s, and I might not be one to eavesdrop, but Snow Boots now had me wondering where those hidden compartments were located and what was being shipped. It didn’t sound like legitimate merchandise if having those pictures meant she had to get away as fast as she could.
Slipping into the other stall and listening in on the conversation wouldn’t have been a problem if there hadn’t been that “Out of Order” sign on the stall door. I debated what to do next. The church had an upstairs bathroom, but I wasn’t sure it would be unlocked, or if I could make it up there without losing control.
“No, I’m not home,” Snow Boots said. “He threatened me and came after me, so I didn’t want to go there. I’m at the church near the brewery where we met last week. I’m pretty sure I gave him the slip, but you and I gotta meet. You promised you’d take care of me. Well, these people don’t play around, so take care of me.”
I let the entry door close behind me and cleared my throat. Loudly.
“Oh, shit. There’s someone in here with me.”
“Just a pregnant woman who needs to pee,” I said. “Really, really needs to pee.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just give me a minute,” she answered, and then said, “I’m in the church’s bathroom. There’s some sort of meeting going on down here.”
One I was supposed to be attending. I squeezed my thighs together. “Please hurry,” I begged.
“Keep your pants on,” she snapped back.
Keep your pants on? That did sound familiar. More than once Brenda Cox had said that to me when I wanted a set of figures for a tax form.
“I don’t care,” Snow Boots continued, “I ain’t got no family. Just put me somewhere where they can’t find me.”
“Brenda, is that you?” I asked.
For a moment my question was followed by silence, then a hesitant, “Who’s out there?”
“P.J.,” I said. “P.J. Benson.”
“P.J.?” she repeated, then, “Oh my gosh. I . . . Look . . . I’ll be done in a minute.”
I hoped it wouldn’t be a long minute. With pressure building, I glanced at the stall with the “Out of Order” sign.
Brenda went back to talking to the person on the phone. “It’s a friend,” she said. “Someone I’ve known a long time. Yeah, she’s safe. Listen, you’ve gotta meet me. At the brewery. Okay?”
Come on, Brenda, finish up, I mentally urged.
“What do you mean you’ve got to get this approved?”
I closed my eyes and clenched my thighs.
“Okay. Ten minutes.”
I sighed in relief when I heard her flush the toilet.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” she said over the rush of water. “Maybe I’ll pray this all works out.”
Brenda was slipping her cell phone into her purse when she stepped out of the stall. Although it had been over a year since I’d last seen her, she looked the same. Fifteen years my senior, Brenda took me under her wing when I first started working at Quick Sums, and we quickly became close work friends.
Physically, we were totally opposite. Her burnished brown skin was a stark contrast to my pale coloring, she was five-feet-seven in bare feet, and she used makeup like a fashion model. I, on the other hand, barely made it to five-feet-two and rarely put on anything more than lipstick. We did both have curly hair that we would alternate between calling a blessing and a bane, and we both had brown eyes, though hers were so dark they looked almost black.
Seeing her now, I felt guilty for let
ting so long go by without reconnecting with her. Of course, I’d been busy during that time, first finding a body in my dining room, then being accused of murder and having my life threatened. I’d also been busy doing other things.
“What the hell have you been up to?” Brenda said, her gaze locked on my nine-month swollen belly. “Weren’t you the one who said you were never getting pregnant?”
“Yeah, well, I’ve learned not to depend on birth control pills.”
“An ‘oops’ huh? Do you know who the father is?”
“Yes.” Just like Brenda to ask. She was the one who used to talk about the men she dated and slept with. She used to tease me about my lack of dates. “I married him. And—”
Brenda cut me off. “Whoa, that’s something else you said you’d never do.” She glanced toward the exit door, then back at me. “Look, I’ve gotta meet someone, but seeing you gives me an idea. When you left Quick Sums, you moved, didn’t you? Started your own accounting business?”
“Yeah, I have a home-based office. If you’re in trouble, my husband might—”
Again, she didn’t let me finish. “You got a business card or something?”
“Yes, but . . .” I was going to ask her to wait until after I used the toilet, but as edgy as she seemed, I decided it would be just as fast if I gave her a card, especially since she now blocked my way to the toilet. I quickly dug into my over-sized purse.
Brenda took the card I handed her and nodded. “Yeah, that’s it. Zenith, Michigan. Small town, right? Hard to find?”
“It’s small,” I agreed, then grimaced, my bladder once again reminding me why I was in the bathroom. “Look, I really need to pee,” I said, trying to edge around her as she slipped my business card into her purse, “But I couldn’t help overhearing what you were saying. I don’t know who you’re meeting, but if your life is in danger, you need to call 9-1-1.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said and grinned. “But give me a hug, girl.”
I didn’t have a chance to refuse. Brenda wrapped an arm around my shoulders and jerked me close. Her hug was awkward, primarily because of the size of my belly, the differences in our heights, and my bulky cross-body purse.
“I can’t begin to tell you how good it is to see you,” she said close to my ear. “Running into you here is perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
“Right,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t squeeze me too tight. “Call me. Okay?”
To my relief, she stepped to the side, and I rushed into the vacated stall. I barely heard her say, “See you soon.”
Chapter Two
As I left the bathroom and headed down the hall to the meeting room, I thought about my encounter with Brenda. What I’d overheard sounded like a scene from a spy movie. These people don’t play around, she’d said.
Who were these people? What exactly did the pictures show? And who was she meeting?
I could almost hear Wade saying, “Don’t get involved, P.J.”
Well, my husband wouldn’t have to worry about me this time. I was two weeks from my due date and could barely get from one bathroom to the next. All I wanted was an easy delivery and a healthy baby. As much as I liked Brenda, this baby was my priority. I wasn’t going to get involved in her problems, but I would tell Wade what I’d overheard.
As quietly as I could, I entered the classroom.
The Mothers-to-Be group appropriately met in the church’s downstairs preschoolers’ classroom. Two windows on the outside wall allowed natural light into the room but were set too high to cause a distraction to toddlers. On the walls, next to religious posters showing Jesus as a baby, were childish crayon drawings. It was a cheerful room with a decorated toy box, a colorful rug where children could play, low shelves with children’s books, a variety of stuffed animals, and chairs sized for preschoolers. Thankfully, the room also had adult-sized chairs, six of them now placed in a circle near the door—two of them empty.
“I am so tired of always having to go pee,” Sarah said as I slid into the nearest empty chair. “There are times I’m not sure I’m going to make it.”
I just barely did, I could have added.
Sarah is the youngest member of the Mothers-To-Be group. Barely out of high school and unmarried, she talks about her boyfriend as if he were her husband and acts as though being pregnant is a fun adventure. She has purple hair and colorful tattoos, and I’ve found it hard to identify with her. Actually, I’ve found it hard to identify with any of the women in the group.
Connie Ryder, the founder of the Mothers-to-Be group, is in her early fifties, a widow with two grown sons. She’d been an OB/GYN nurse for twenty-five years. Two years ago she’d retired to become a midwife. She told us Michigan had one of the highest infant mortality rates in the nation—especially for Black and Hispanic infants—and, even though the Kalamazoo area’s infant death rate wasn’t as high as Detroit’s, in her opinion any death that could be prevented was one too many. That was why she created the Mothers-to-Be group. This was her effort to save as many babies as she could by preparing first-time mothers.
Being white, thirty, and in relatively good physical shape, I don’t really fit the “at risk” criteria; however, my doctor highly recommended I join this group. She’s worried about my mental state, and so am I. So, for the last two months, starting right after the first week in January, I’ve been coming twice a week to meet with Connie and four other pregnant women: Sarah Fry, Tamara Trulain, Maria Gonzales, and Anna Carr.
My guess is Sarah is in the group because of her age and obvious immaturity, and Tamara is here because she is thirty-five and has had two miscarriages. She is eight months pregnant and so far everything seems to be going well for her, but she is very nervous. Maria, on the other hand, comes across as angry. More than once she’s said she didn’t want to join the group and only did so because she was ordered to. By whom she won’t say. Considering how often she badmouths her husband I don’t think he’s the one who gave the order.
Anna is the member I feel the closest to. Although she’s a self-proclaimed lesbian and Black, she also graduated from Western Michigan University with a major in business and a minor in accounting. Numbers are important to both of us. In fact, since she’s only four years older than I am, there’s a good chance we had accounting classes together, though I don’t remember her.
Once settled in my seat, I saw the other missing member was Maria, but before I had a chance to wonder if Connie had said why Maria wasn’t there, the door opened, and she entered the room, frowning and shaking her head. “Sorry,” she said. “Husband call. Big problem.” She sat beside me and gave an irritated grunt. “He iz an idiot. He can do nothing right.”
“You’re a newlywed,” Tamara said. “Give him time. He’ll learn.”
Maria shook her head. “He make more mistakes like this, he not live long enough to learn.”
“Oh-ho,” Connie said, frowning. “That’s pretty harsh. You want to talk about it, Maria?”
“No,” Maria snapped, then looked around at the rest of us. She must have realized how angry she sounded, because she finally smiled and said, “Iz okay. All will be okay.”
Personally, I doubted that. This wasn’t the first time Maria had sounded off about her husband’s intellect, or lack of. The day I met her, she told me she’d only recently moved to Michigan and that things were done different in Mexico, where she had lived all of her life. Although she is twenty-seven-years-old, Hispanic, and probably Catholic, I’m guessing she was forced to marry the guy. It didn’t take a master’s degree in accounting to figure being eight-and-a-half months pregnant but only married for six months indicated some hanky-panky went on before the wedding.
Connie waited for Maria to say more, but Maria said nothing. The blare of a car horn outside of the church broke the silence, and Connie turned to Anna. “Last time we met you said you were having leg cramps. How are you doing?”
“Better. Those leg stretches helped, but I sure would like to see my feet again.”
“Me, too,” I echoed. Anna’s even shorter than I am, and last month she and I laughed about the size of our bellies and the loss of our feet. The closer I was getting to my due date, the less funny that was becoming.
Connie’s focus turned to me. “How about you, P.J.? Any swelling? Legs? Ankles? Feet?”
“No, no swelling, but by the end of the day, my legs are really tired. And,” I patted my belly, “some days I feel like my skin has been stretched to its limit.”
“Use the lotion I gave you last week. That should keep your skin supple. As for your legs, tonight when you get home, sit down, put your feet up, and let your husband fix dinner.”
The idea sounded great, but not possible. “Actually, the three of us—Wade, Jason, and I—were planning on coming into town together and going out for pizza after this meeting. But Wade got an emergency call just before we were about to leave.”
“Jason’s your stepson, right?” Tamara said. “Do you just leave him home alone when you and your husband are gone?”
“Oh, no,” I assured her. I didn’t want her thinking I’d leave a seven-year-old alone by himself for several hours. “Today I dropped him off at my grandmother’s house before coming here. I’ll pick him up from there, and we’ll go have pizza.”
“Emergency call?” Maria made the idea sound questionable. “Iz Friday. Date night. Maybe his girlfriend want him to spend evening with her, not you and his son.”
I turned to face her. “My husband does not have a girlfriend. This afternoon he’s investigating a possible murder.”
“You sure no girlfriend?” Maria smirked. “Last week you say he keep getting calls from some woman. It make you really upset.”
“I was upset with her, not him.” Though the fact that he took Marge’s calls and went into the other room to talk to her, did bother me. “I was overly tired that night, and she called at a bad time.”
“Hey, I’d be upset if some woman had the hots for Tommy,” Sarah said. “I told him if I ever caught him seeing another woman behind my back, he’d be out the door.”