Laura Bishop Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Grace Topping

  “Parents often yell when they become stressed. You have to admit, finding you missing from home upset him.” I could only imagine how worried he’d been.

  “I know. I guess that was pretty stupid. But we’re meeting with a lady who is talking to us about how my dad and I can deal with each other. That’ll help. You helped a lot that night.”

  “I’m glad it worked out.” I finished the last of my drink and looked at my watch. “I better get back. Hopefully, the power will be back on at the warehouse.”

  Nicki hesitated. “I enjoyed the cookies you gave us the other night. I only get homemade cookies when my grandmother visits. Do you think…when she leaves, we could…bake cookies…together sometime? Of course, if you are too busy, I’ll understand.”

  What would Detective Spangler think of my befriending his daughter and her coming to my home? It was bound to backfire on me, but with memories of my lonely childhood flooding my thoughts, how could I resist Nicki’s appeal? With her mother dead, I could see her going through much of what I’d experienced living with a single parent. In my case, feeling at times like I was parentless. I could well sympathize with Nicki’s situation.

  “Right now, I’m deep in a project. But afterward, with your dad’s permission, I would enjoy that.”

  Nicki looked delighted at what I viewed as such a simple thing—baking cookies. Oh, dear. What had I gotten myself into this time?

  Chapter 17

  Complete a comprehensive cleaning before your house hits the market. Get dirt out of window tracks and windowsills. A clean home appears well maintained.

  Competition Day Four

  We no sooner arrived the next morning when Olivia popped into our cubicle.

  “Everybody, come join us in the common area.”

  We took a seat with the other contestants and the crew. Nearby, Zoe shot me a quizzical look as though asking what was going on. I shrugged, just as puzzled as she was.

  Simon stood at center stage and waited for us to get settled. Olivia, his sometimes keeper, stood on the sidelines, ready to signal him if he went off script or needed to change his tone.

  Trying to get comfortable in a metal folding chair, I glanced over and saw Gloria in the front row, making a blatant show of crossing her legs. Simon winked at her, and she emitted a giggle. Was she now the focus of his attention, or was he an equal opportunity philanderer? Scanning the crowd, he saw me and winked at me as well—as though to let me know he hadn’t forgotten me. If only I were that lucky.

  “Listen up, everyone,” Olivia shouted in her drill sergeant manner.

  Simon dragged his attention away from Gloria, looked over the assembled group, and adopted a more somber demeanor. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why he had gone into production instead of acting. He could turn his moods on and off as well as any well-trained thespian.

  “You are probably wondering why we gathered you here,” Simon said. “Sadly, I have to report that Chris Channing, our lead cameraman, has been charged with Beth’s murder.” He held both hands up, palms facing outward. “I know. It’s a terrible shock to all of us. Hopefully, the police will turn up more evidence that will point to someone else—a crazed killer who targets beautiful young women and happened to get into the building.” He surveyed the audience as though trying to pinpoint whom among us could be the guilty party.

  “Unfortunately, the loss of our production assistant and lead cameraman, the time we’ve lost because of the power outage, and responding to continual questioning by the police, has seriously affected our schedule. We also need to make everyone available for further questioning by the police. So, it looks like we’ll be devoting at least another two days next week to completing the filming.”

  “That’s going to cut us short setting up for the next competition,” an angry voice called out from the back of the crowd. “We were supposed to get some time off between competitions.”

  Simon’s head jerked back, surprised that someone was challenging him. “I’m as disappointed as you are, but to secure another season, we have to turn in a program that will draw a good viewing audience. We need satisfactory ratings as a lead-in to the final episode. Without it, we’ll have plenty of time off, and it won’t only be on the weekends.” That seemed to quiet the grumblings from the group.

  Simon turned his megawatt smile back on as though to cajole his unhappy crew. “With hard work and dedication, we’ll get through these difficulties and within the time allotted.”

  Someone behind me muttered, “Yeah, but he’s not the one doing the hard work.”

  Olivia stepped forward. “As a special treat, we’ve arranged to have a hot catered lunch brought in today instead of our usual box lunches.” She obviously believed that would make up for the extended schedule announcement.

  I watched and listened, wondering how we were to go on so casually when one of the crew had been murdered and another one arrested for her death. Did it affect these people so little?

  Two more days of competition would mean two more days away from my business. I needed to talk to Nita to see if she could manage that. This competition was beginning to take on a life of its own.

  “Tyrone, how are the extra days going to affect your class schedule? If it’s going to be a problem, focus on your classes. I’ll manage.”

  “I’ll have to bug out so I can attend a class or two, but if you can spare me here during those times, I should be able to handle it.”

  “Don’t skip any classes for this. Even if we don’t win, you can add the competition to your resume. I don’t want your schoolwork to suffer.

  Later, Tyrone and I joined the others for lunch, helping ourselves to meatloaf, mashed potatoes, sautéed vegetables, and apple pie. Whoever selected the menu knew the power of comfort food.

  I spotted two seats at a table occupied by Sam and Emma.

  “Mind if we join you?” I asked them. “Or does management frown on the competitors fraternizing with the crew?”

  “Afraid we’ll give you an unfair advantage?” Sam laughed. “I can’t help you with the set design, but if you upset us, I could make your voice sound like Minnie Mouse, and Emma could do a real number on your hair and makeup so even your family wouldn’t recognize you.”

  “He’s pulling your leg, love.” Emma pulled out a chair. “Take a seat.”

  We sat down, and I introduced Tyrone to Emma.

  “I’m sorry about your co-worker,” Tyrone said, liberally sprinkling black pepper over his food.

  “That was awful about Beth.” Sam ripped his bread roll in half angrily, which clearly expressed his views. “And for the police to believe that Chris did it is ludicrous.”

  Emma stopped eating. “Beth reminded me so much of myself at that age. Hardworking and committed to her work. She hadn’t had time to burn out like her predecessors.” She paused. “There was something about her I couldn’t put my finger on—like we weren’t seeing the real her behind that calm exterior and those awful clothes.” She picked up her fork again. “I guess we’ll never know what it was.”

  Sam and Emma soon got up to leave.

  “Emma, at what point do you work on hair and makeup?” I asked.

  She laughed. “Sorry, love. I’m only here for the guest hosts. But if you want some tips, or a cup of tea and a chat, stop by my work area.”

  I quickly finished eating and was so full afterward, I was tempted to unbutton my jeans. “Here, have some apple pie.” I slid the dish toward Tyrone, who always had room for more than one dessert. “I’m going downstairs to check on Josh.”

  “Tell him I said hey,” Tyrone said, digging into the pie. With as much as he ate, I couldn’t understand how he stayed so thin.

  “Were you able to locate the wall covering that looks like river rock or stacked stone?” I asked.

  “I’m going downtown as soon as I finish here.” He to
ok the last bite of pie and sat back with a sigh. “Man, that was good. Almost as good as Gran’s.”

  “Nobody makes pie as good as your grandmother. By the way, if you don’t like the look of the wall covering, leave it, or pick out something else you think will work. I trust your judgment.” Tyrone had excellent instincts when it came to color and design, and I had begun to rely on him more and more.

  Outside the fire doors, I eyed the freight elevator dubiously and decided in favor of the stairs. The elevator alarm had gone off twice that morning. Josh once told me there was a trick to keep it from stopping at the wrong spot. I’d have to ask him again what technique he used. I peered down into the stairwell, looking for any sign of Simon. I didn’t want to come across him alone on the stairs.

  I thought of Emma‘s comments about Beth. The few times I’d been around her, I’d felt there was something about her, too, but I didn’t know what. As Emma said, now we’d never know.

  When I reached Josh’s front desk, I found him reading one of the numerous used books he stocked. He was available to help customers but had lots of reading material to occupy him during slow times.

  “Hi, Josh. What are you reading this time?”

  He held the book cover up so I could see it. The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie by Alan Bradley. “That Flavia de Luce is quite a character. Who would’ve thought an eleven-year-old girl could come up with the solutions to so many crimes?”

  Right now, I could use someone of any age to solve the mystery of Beth’s murder. “That’s a terrific series. One I’d love to discuss with you if I didn’t need to get back upstairs. Definitely another time. Were you able to make copies of the photos?”

  “I did.” Josh pulled a sheaf of papers from what passed as his desk and handed them to me. “In the future, I think I’m going to stick to purchasing items directly from people’s homes. Safer that way.”

  I tucked the papers into my folder. “Thanks, Josh.”

  “Laura, I heard they’ve arrested Chris Channing for that young woman’s murder. From my dealings with him, he seemed a right pleasant fella. Do you think the police got the right person?”

  I shrugged. “They must have a reason to charge Chris. But sometimes things come to light later that point to someone else.”

  Once back upstairs, I placed the folder with the photos in my bag, planning to show them to Nita later. She and I had been to several Louiston homes through our staging business and might recognize an item. If we did and could connect it to someone, it might give us another piece of the puzzle.

  Chapter 18

  Take yourself out of the picture so buyers can imagine themselves and their possessions in your space. Remove sports memorabilia, family photos, and diplomas.

  Arriving home, I opened the back door to the smell of spaghetti sauce cooking and the sight of Aunt Kit and a man sitting at the kitchen table. Louiston was a community where homeowners entertained in the kitchen, mainly because they always served refreshments to whoever came.

  “Hi, Aunt Kit.” I waved to the man sitting there. “Hi, there.” I removed my jacket, hung it near the door, and turned toward them.

  They looked at me and didn’t say anything.

  I studied them. “Is something wrong?” My heart sank, wondering what could have happened. The man cleared his throat as though uncomfortable.

  He seemed vaguely familiar. Could he be one of Aunt Kit’s old friends? Given their expressions, I wondered if I’d barged in at a bad time.

  The man stood up. I looked at him again, and my eyes widened in shock.

  “Daddy?”

  I stood frozen. Was I seeing a ghost, or was my father really there? My mother had told me he was dead. When I was just starting kindergarten, my parents went through a contentious divorce. Afterward, I had visits from him, but they became rare, and he eventually faded from our lives. My mother refused to talk about him and would only say he was dead. I was too young to question her or ask for details. It wasn’t until I became older that I began to wonder.

  I continued to stare at him. Perhaps I was wrong. All of his photos had disappeared, probably destroyed by my mother who remained bitter to the day she died. When I renovated the house, I found a box in the attic containing a few faded photos of him. But he had been relatively young in them.

  “Sweetheart, I’m sorry.” He opened and closed his hands into fists, looking as uncomfortable as I felt.

  My legs felt like they’d turned to jelly. I grabbed a kitchen chair to keep from falling and sank into it.

  Aunt Kit placed her hand on my arm. “Laura, dear, I was surprised as well. I didn’t have time to warn you.”

  I felt dumbfounded and couldn’t speak. What could I possibly say? My emotions were a mix of elation that he wasn’t dead and anger that he’d disappeared from my life without a word—only to show up all these many years later.

  I became aware of Aunt Kit placing a cup of tea in front of me. She always felt, like the British, that tea made everything better. Or, as she called it, the British panacea for everything that ails you. Not in this case. Even the bottle of Harvey’s Bristol Cream Sherry I kept stored in a cupboard for Aunt Kit’s visits wouldn’t help.

  When I finally was able to get my wits about me, I looked at him—a man who was a stranger but my father. “Where have you been all these years?”

  “In Florida.”

  I tried to absorb that. My chest ached as though a vice gripped my heart. Was this how people felt when they experienced a heart attack? Then the anger surfaced. “And why are you here now?”

  “Because my son, Chris, has been accused of murder.”

  I was even more dumbfounded than before. Chris? The cameraman? The man accused of killing Beth? Then it struck me. “I have a brother—half-brother?”

  “And a sister, Abby. She’s working in England.”

  All those years of having only my mother and Aunt Kit, when I could have had siblings in my life—even if they were long-distance ones.

  I didn’t know which made me angrier, having been deserted for so many years or having been deprived of a sister and brother. Had Chris known we were related when we met? I thought of how we had joked about his last name being the same as mine before I married.

  “So you didn’t come to town to find me but because your son is in trouble?”

  I jumped from my chair, grabbed my jacket and bag, and escaped through the back door.

  Chapter 19

  Sometimes adding a swimming pool or converting a garage can go against you when it comes time to sell your home. Consult a real estate expert before making either of these changes.

  After driving aimlessly without a destination in mind, I decided to visit Sister Madeleine, not for spiritual guidance but for a practical sounding board. She was a no-nonsense type who always told it like it was. As much as I wanted Nita’s comfort, her outrage on my behalf would only add fuel to my anger. The same with Mrs. Webster.

  The sadness I felt realizing my father hadn’t wanted me in his life cut right through me. Overwhelmed by emotion, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to put into words why I was there.

  Sister Madeleine had played a major role in my life during its most pivotal moments, so it was natural I would turn to her. She had come to Holy Spirit School as a young nun and became my second-grade teacher. It didn’t take her long to recognize that my home life lacked any joy, so she’d nurtured my friendship with Nita, hoping her loving and jovial Italian-American family would take me under their wing.

  Over the years, Sister Madeleine and I had remained close, partially due to our shared love of mysteries. She had introduced me to my first Nancy Drew books, followed by all types of mysteries. As a result, reading comforted me when I was lonely.

  I tapped on the door of Holy Spirit Convent and asked to speak to her. When the tiny nun entered the reception room where they receiv
ed visitors, she took one look at my face and stopped in her tracks. “Who’s been murdered?” She knew of my involvement in some past cases in town.

  Her assumption made me smile. “A young woman at Josh’s warehouse, but that’s not why I’m here.”

  She sat on the sofa across from me. “From the look on your face, whatever it was has upset you.”

  I gulped, wondering if I could hold myself together. “Sorry, Sister, to come here like this without calling.”

  “It must have been important for you to come this time of day. So tell me. What’s going on?”

  I became aware of the smell of food and realized I might be holding Sister Madeleine from her dinner.

  “You remember that my mother told me my father had died?” I paused and took a deep breath. “Well, after all these years, he’s risen from the dead.” Fortunately, I knew Sister Madeleine well enough to know she wouldn’t view my statement as blasphemous.

  “What? Where has he been all these years?” She looked as befuddled as I felt.

  “Living a comfortable life in Florida—at least comfortable enough to get married again and have two children.”

  “And he’s returned to reconcile with you? From your angry expression, I don’t think his gesture has made you very happy.”

  “That’s the thing. He didn’t return to town to find me….” I gulped again. “He came because the police have accused his son of committing murder.”

  That surprised the usually implacable nun. “That would have brought him to town in a hurry.” She reached over and squeezed my hand. “That must have hurt, Laura. I’m so sorry. Did you ask why you haven’t heard from him?”

  “No. I was so shocked to find him sitting in my kitchen with Aunt Kit that I freaked out and ran.”

  “Understandable. I would have been shocked, too.” She studied me. “Are you feeling guilty about that?” Just like Sister Madeleine to drill down to the heart of the matter.