Ravenwood Cove Cozy Mysteries Books 1-3

by Carolyn L. Dean

  George’s voice was stern. “Were you trying to get the necklace? Was that why you stayed in town?”

  “You mean the diamond necklace they talked about in the paper?”

  At the police chief’s answering nod, Henry Crabbe shook his head adamantly. “I don’t know anything about that necklace, I swear! I only read about it two days ago, and I was in Indiana until last Wednesday. Ask Truman! He can tell you that I was only here for less than a week!” He was practically stammering as he tried to explain himself. “I’m only here for what’s owed me, and that’s the coins.”

  Amanda could hear the panic in his voice. “Is that why I saw you outside Mrs. Welch’s house? You looked like you were searching for something.”

  Henry looked almost embarrassed. “I figured that if he hadn’t gotten rid of the coins and if his wife didn’t know about them, maybe he hid them somewhere, or buried them. I know it sounds silly, but I was grasping at straws.” He turned to Truman. “I’m real sorry about breaking into your place. I just needed a place out of the weather and I could tell you weren’t using it.” He looked a bit embarrassed. “Oh, and I’m sorry about eating your tuna sandwich, too. You left it in the little fridge in the office and I didn’t think you’d miss it.”

  Truman’s face relaxed into a slow smile. “I’d wondered what happened to that sandwich.”

  “It was tasty. Thanks.”

  Looking at Truman’s suddenly relaxed posture, Amanda knew that unless there was something truly horrible on Henry Crabbe’s record, her soft-hearted friend Truman wouldn’t be pressing charges.

  After a bit of discussion, the officers escorted Henry Crabbe to the waiting patrol car and carefully put him the back seat, slamming the door behind him. Apparently, they weren’t done questioning him about any possible involvement he might have with the necklace or Desmond Martin. Amanda and Truman stood on the sidewalk and watched the car pull away, wondering what Henry Crabbe’s fate would be.

  “Well, so much for my ghost,” Truman commented.

  “Told you it wasn’t a ghost,” Amanda replied, going back inside for her purse.

  “Uh-huh. Is that why you screamed when that bit of plaster dropped on your head?”

  Amanda tried not to laugh. “It startled me, that’s all. I’m heading home to get some sleep.”

  Driving back to the Inn, she mulled over the night’s adventure, thinking back on what Henry Crabbe had said. Some questions had been answered, but he’d actually brought up some new ones. Why had Mr. Welch been passing bad checks? She’d never heard that he was a thief or criminal, or that he’d had any money troubles. All she’d been told was that he was a successful businessman who tended to keep his personal life quiet. He wasn’t active in any social clubs or known for having many friends. She thought back to her one encounter with his widow, when Mrs. Welch was so happy to get the necklace back but wouldn’t let her and James inside her house.

  Definitely something weird there.

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  Chapter 20

  “Mrs. Granger, I’m not giving you any more tape.”

  The old lady huffed in frustration at Amanda’s statement. “I can’t help it that I’m not some super-duper wrapping expert. Some of us need more tape than others to get the job done, that’s all. Why should I be penalized for making sure the presents I’m wrapping are sealed properly?” She thumped her hand on the Ravenwood Inn’s long harvest table for emphasis, trying to ignore the extra bits of tape still stuck to her fingers.

  Meg rolled her eyes and peeled a foot-long strip of scotch tape off her grandmother’s sleeve. “I think what Amanda meant, Gram, was that she’d be happy to help you with the tape. If we keep up at this rate, the kids’ presents won’t be wrapped until New Year’s Eve, that’s all. Pastor Fox said there were forty-two gifts that needed to be wrapped by four o’clock, and we’re falling behind. He won’t be able to take them over to Likely in time to give out to the children if we don’t get these finished.”

  Amanda picked out a boxed Barbie doll and grabbed a roll of colorful red and gold foil paper. She didn’t like putting a damper on Mrs. Granger’s enthusiasm to help get toys to kids who otherwise wouldn’t have a Christmas present, but the packages were starting to look more and more like they’d been wrapped by someone who’d had a few too many drinks.

  “How about we put you in charge of bows?” she offered.

  That didn’t placate the old lady one bit. “Bows are for losers,” she said darkly, as she crossed her arms across her chest in disgust. “I can handle tape.”

  Glancing over Mrs. Granger’s head, Amanda telegraphed a silent plea for Meg to somehow change the subject.

  Meg nodded, understanding. “Gram, did you hear about the guy they found who was staying in Truman’s attic? Guess he’d been there for a couple of weeks.”

  Mrs. Granger looked at her like she was an idiot. “Yes, dear, of course I heard about that. Read it in the Tide the day after it happened. I think he’s awfully lucky that Truman isn’t pressing charges. I’d have had his butt in a sling if he was staying in my attic, eating my tuna sandwiches.”

  Amanda tried not to laugh at the thought of the elderly Mrs. Granger taking down some imaginary fiend who would dare stay in her attic and snoop through her fridge.

  She cut a length of paper and carefully pulled it around the doll’s box. “I guess they’d been worried he was somehow tied to the Desmond Martin case, but his story checked out. The cops confirmed that he was in Indiana during the time when Martin was murdered, so he’s off the hook.”

  “Well, lucky him,” Mrs. Granger said, still crabby.

  Meg ignored her grandmother. “I hear Truman’s letting him stay in the attic over the bookstore, rent-free. Awfully nice of him. Oh, and on another subject –“ she turned to Amanda and shook a pair of closed scissors at her, “—someone came into Cuppa and hung a huge bundle of mistletoe over the doorway. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?”

  It was impossible for Amanda to keep a straight face. “I plead the Fifth.”

  “I KNEW IT.” Meg tried her best to look hurt. “You didn’t need to do that, Amanda. It’s not like I can’t get someone to kiss me without having to resort to mistletoe. I can find my own guys, you know.”

  Amanda got up and hugged her friend around the shoulders. “It wasn’t a statement about you not having a guy right now, sweetie. Lisa and I just thought that it would be a nice addition to the coffeeshop. That’s all.”

  Mrs. Granger nodded, apparently agreeing. “You’re a sweet young woman and any man would be lucky to be with you. That being said—” she added, looking over her glasses, “—those eggs of yours aren’t getting any fresher at your age, young lady.”

  “Gram, that’s horrible!” Meg’s mouth was open in mock offense. She was far too used to her grandmother’s eccentricities to be truly shocked by her speaking her mind.

  Mrs. Granger put an open hand on her chest. “Horrible? ME? Honey, you know I love you and I always want what’s best for you. I’m just saying that you may have to step things up a bit so you don’t hit your expiration date, if you know what I mean.”

  Definitely time to change the subject, Amanda thought, watching the two women frown at each other, the lines in their faces definitely showing a family resemblance.

  “So, Mrs. Granger, is it all right if I ask you a few questions about the Welches? I mean, there seems to be some confusion about what type of business Mr. Welch was actually in.”

  The old lady snorted, her face hardening. “What business wasn’t he in? Anything that some fool was selling to other fools as a get-rich-quick scheme was exactly the sort of business Mr. Welch liked.” She shook the huge red bow in her hand for emphasis, as if she was shaking Mr. Welch himself. “That man lost more money than most people see in a lifetime. Heck, in a dozen lifetimes. He was always moving on to the next new thing and his poor wife was just along for the ride. In the twenty plus years they lived h
ere, he never had a steady job at all. Natural wheeler-dealer.”

  This was news to Amanda. “What happened when he died? Did he leave anything behind?”

  Mrs. Granger shook her head. “I think his widow was lucky to have a roof over her head after he was gone. If he’d lived long enough, he’d probably have lost that, too.”

  Meg pulled off a large strip of tape and eyeballed the wrapping paper she’d cut, finally deciding that it would just fit the boxed dump truck. “Did they have any kids?”

  “Well,”—Mrs. Granger’s voice dropped to a near-whisper–“rumor has it that he’d been married before and left his wife and kids somewhere else. Just took ‘em home to her mama and dumped them there, then moved out to Ravenwood with a brand-new bride. Of course”— she added innocently, leaning back in her chair— “that all might just be gossip, but I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “Kind of personal, talking about people like that, isn’t it?” Amanda asked. She didn’t want to sound too judgmental, but sometimes the old lady got a bit too close to gossiping when she talked.

  Mrs. Granger looked her in the eye and set down her newly-wrapped package. “It’s all public knowledge.” She dug another bow out of a nearby plastic bag, then brightened up as if she’d remembered something. “Did you know that I set up a betting pool with the ladies in the historical society? We’re trying to figure out who the murderer is.”

  Meg had been taking a drink of her coffee and her grandmother’s bizarre announcement made her choke a bit. “A betting pool? On murder? Gram! That’s just sick.”

  “What?” The old lady managed to look both innocent and surprised at the same time. “It’s just a bit of harmless fun. It’s not like we killed Desmond Martin ourselves.” She grinned. “Besides, the winner gets over a hundred bucks, and that’s not chicken feed.”

  Amanda tried not to laugh. “And you’re planning on winning this, I take it?”

  “Darn tootin’.”

  Meg was obviously mulling it over. “Who’s the top pick? I mean, who’s the odds on favorite?” She waved her hand, as if dismissing a bad thought. “It’s not that I still don’t think it’s a bit morbid. It’s just that I’m interested, that’s all.”

  “Well, there are several suspects. My money was on Henry Crabbe, but now that he’s got an alibi, I’m going to have to change my bet.”

  Amanda got up and brought a large cardboard box over to the kitchen table so she could put the wrapped presents all together. “Well, we know there’s something weird going on with Mrs. Welch. Is she in your betting pool? She’s definitely keeping secrets.”

  Mrs. Granger instantly perked up. “What kind of secrets?”

  Amanda knew better than to fall for the innocent look of her ninety-year-old friend. “Nothing to worry about,” she said. As crass as a murder betting pool was, giving details of Mrs. Welch’s jewelry being up for sale seemed even worse.

  Maybe Desmond Martin was bribing her to get Moonlight back, she thought, trying to ignore Mrs. Granger’s determined stare. Maybe she killed him and then found out he didn’t have the necklace with him.

  “I think I’m going to put my money on Mrs. Mason,” Mrs. Granger said as she sat back in her chair, all pretense of wrapping packages for needy families completely gone. “She’s probably a long shot, but I know she couldn’t stand that guy, and right now she’s the only one we know that was yelling at him publicly.”

  Meg shook her head. “My money would be on some transient coming through here and killing Desmond Martin for his wallet. You know, they never found that on him, and I hate the thought that someone from Ravenwood Cove might be the killer.” She paused, her face sad. “I like the people here. Well, most of them.”

  Mrs. Granger grinned. “If you want a real long shot, you should bet on Truman. Last I heard he was running at a hundred-to-one.”

  Setting her tube of wrapping paper down in frustration, Amanda tried to keep her voice even. “Ladies, we need to think about what we’re doing. Here we are again, talking about other people.”

  Mrs. Granger sighed and glanced at her granddaughter. “Beats talking about the expiration date on eggs.”

  Chapter 21

  “There’s no way you’re gonna get that through the door.”

  She could barely hear James, and couldn’t see him at all, he was so engulfed by the branches of the huge fir tree wedged in the Ravenwood Inn’s front doorframe. There was a bit of movement as he readjusted something to try a different angle of approach.

  “It’ll fit. Give me a minute…”

  “I thought George was coming over to help.”

  Amanda heard a muffled comment, then he replied. “He had to fill in at the Rotary Club meeting. Guess the normal chairman was sick.”

  “Want a hand with that?” She was pretty sure she knew what his answer was going to be.

  “Nope, I got it.” From the muttering and the several minutes when the tree hadn’t moved any further, Amanda was suspicious that he didn’t, but she stepped back and crossed her arms, ignoring the cold air streaming in through the open door and patiently waiting.

  A bit of mumbling, a sharp exclamation, and the huge evergreen was finally shoved inside, the branches bouncing into place once they were free of the doorjamb. James popped his head out from the branches by the base, his baseball cap gone and his hair rakishly tousled. Giving her a grin, he said, “Okay, now I can use some help. Can you grab the top and we’ll wrestle it into the stand?”

  It was another ten minutes before the massive tree, cut fresh from James’ family ranch, was set upright and properly secured in the massive stand by the front parlor window. Oscar had eyed the goings-on with a critical eye, but stayed curled up on the upholstered chair closest to the brick fireplace. His tail twitched from time to time when it seemed that the humans couldn’t figure out if the tree was straight or if the stand was in the right spot. Silly humans.

  At last the tree was secure and Amanda and James stepped back to survey their accomplishment. It was a beauty, towering at least ten feet tall and filling the Inn with the clean scent of freshly-cut greenery.

  “You said you wanted a big one,” James said, gesturing at the huge tree. “Should be dry enough by now to decorate. I kept it in that big bucket on the porch, so most of the rain should be off it.”

  “Well, you did take me at my word. Big it is.” Amanda pushed aside a couple of the branches, peering toward the trunk. “Just promise me that nothing’s living in there, okay? I don’t think I could take finding a squirrel or some critter who’s ticked off that he’s suddenly in my living room.”

  James laughed and crossed his heart. “I promise. One squirrel-free tree, ma’am.” He looked at Oscar, who had dozed off again. “You don’t think he’d try to climb it, would he?”

  Amanda shook her head. “Takes too much effort, and he’s too fat. I think the tree’s safe.”

  He caught the nearly-wistful expression on Amanda’s face. “What is it?”

  She picked up the nearby broom, obviously uncomfortable. “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking that this Christmas is going to be so different than the ones I’ve had in the past. This year everything seems really…” she groped for the right word, “…traditional.”

  At his look of surprise, she explained. “I never had traditional. Not traditional anything. When Mom was alive we’d give each other a gift on Christmas Eve, and after she passed away, I’d go to my aunt and uncle’s apartment for Christmas. We’d eat a big meal without anyone talking and then I’d sit and watch TV with them. I couldn’t wait to get out the door.” She shrugged, sweeping up the stray needles that littered the hardwood floor. “Not exactly Norman Rockwell.”

  Picking up the dustpan, James nodded. “That must’ve been rough. My family has a lot of traditions, maybe too many. If my Mom tries to make me eat one more slice of her fruitcake, I’m gonna lose it.”

  “Hey, I kinda like fruitcake.”

  “You’re crazy, lady.” James crouch
ed down to hold the pan so she could sweep the needles toward him. “I know you’re going to have the Christmas Eve party here at the Inn, but it sounds like it ends early enough that you could go with me to the candlelight late service at the Presbyterian church. Starts at nine. Both my nieces are going to be in the nativity pageant. You want to go with me?”

  Amanda gripped the broom handle as James dumped the needles in a nearby trashcan. She’d met some of James’ family, but not his two nieces. “Your whole family’s going to be there?”

  “Yep, the whole clan. If Derek can get there, I mean. He’s on call for the fire station.”

  Amanda was still considering his invitation. She couldn’t remember ever being to a Christmas service before. Most of the times she’d stepped into a church had been for weddings and funerals. The thought of being in a packed church, with James’ family in the same pew, kind of made her nervous.

  She tucked the broom in the hall closet, still thinking. “James, I didn’t know you were a religious person.”

  Brushing his hands together, he flopped down on the nearest sofa. “I don’t consider myself religious.” He grinned at her. “I consider myself a man of faith. There’s a difference.”

  Oscar had been watching and the moment he saw an open lap, he jumped down from his chair and up onto James, purring loudly as soon as James started scratching under his chin. Settling onto the tall man’s chest, the big orange cat’s eyes closed in contentment.

  “I never grew up in a church, either, Amanda. One day a friend in high school had me read the gospel of John, and I was hooked. I’d thought church was all about following rules and it turns out I was wrong.”

  “No rules?” she settled into Oscar’s abandoned chair, glad for the heat of the coffee she’d set on the table when James had arrived, and for the dying embers still in the fireplace. “Doesn’t sound like any church I know. What about the whole ‘thou shalt not steal’, and all that sort of stuff? Aren’t those rules?””