by Liz Turner
Dr. Hallie Malone
Cozy Mystery
4 Book Box Set
LIZ TURNER
Contents
MURDER A DEADLY STEW
Chapter 1 A New Leaf
Chapter 2 Dinner and History
Chapter 3 A Midnight Call
Chapter 4 Breakfast and Brainstorming
Chapter 5 The Curious Contents
Chapter 6 A Prickly Truth
Chapter 7 Unanswered Questions
Chapter 8 Henry’s Doubts
Chapter 9 Ransacked
Chapter 10 A Cup of Cocoa
Chapter 11 The Librarian
Chapter 12 A Headache
Chapter 13 Snake Charmer
Chapter 14 A Picture Tells a Story
Chapter 15 A Murderer Unveiled
Epilogue
HALF-BAKED BLACKMAIL & MURDER
Prologue
Chapter 1 The X-Ray
Chapter 2 Trouble
Chapter 3 A Very Cunning Con Man
Chapter 4 The Complication
Chapter 5 Warrenton Hotel
Chapter 6 An Unlikely Romance
Chapter 7 The Library
Chapter 8 A Chance to Celebrate
THE SANDWICH MURDER
Prologue The Tourist
Chapter 1 A Perfect Summer Day
Chapter 2 A Late Night Caller
Chapter 3 At the Scene of the Crime
Chapter 4 The Key
Chapter 5 A Lack of Clues
Chapter 6 The Poetry Book
Chapter 7 The Boarding House
Chapter 8 The Garden Shed
Chapter 9 Back at the Police Station
Chapter 10 The Cipher
Chapter 11 Confrontation at Cape Cod Inn
Chapter 12 Mystery Solved
Epilogue
THE BAKERY TRUCK MYSTERY
Chapter 1 That’s a Brand-New Car
Chapter 2 Suicide?
Chapter 3 Inconclusive
Chapter 4 Hit and Run
Chapter 5 The Courier
Chapter 6 Tannen Airport
Chapter 7 Testing a Hunch
Chapter 8 The Cessna
Chapter 9 The Plan
Chapter 10 Flying
About the Author
Preview of: Murder At The Movies
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MURDER
A DEADLY STEW
A Dr. Hallie Malone Cozy Mystery
LIZ TURNER
Chapter 1
A New Leaf
D r. Hallie Malone had just enough time to examine herself in the mirror before she left for dinner. The fifty-three-year-old patted her stomach, thinking she could do to lose a few pounds, but upon overall inspection, declared herself a decent member of society again. She’d cut her hair short after a year of letting it grow wild, and although it was mostly grey, it was still as full as it had been twenty years ago. She had a new job, a new home, and a new set of people who would hopefully take her in as one of their own.
If only she could make her memories new, too. It was 1948, and after the hellish years of war that had brought destruction to so many nations and changed the world and Hallie herself, she was finally looking forward to settling down and finding peace.
Forcing herself to focus on the present and avoid getting lost in the past, she took a deep breath and nodded at her reflection. The woman in the navy blue dress nodded back reassuringly. Her reflection had a kind face and bright blue eyes that shone out from under dark brows—a face that had reassured many a patient lying on his deathbed, and many a soldier with gunshot wounds.
“You’re a young woman still, Hallie,” she said to herself. “You can do this. You won’t make an utter hash of things this time!”
Warrenton, Massachusetts hadn’t been her home since she’d run away to university at seventeen. It felt strange to be back, decades later, having seen so much of the world, to a town that had remained essentially unchanged despite the two great wars. Still, she was back now and looking forward to beginning a general practice that would be tranquil, especially compared to the horrors she’d witnessed in the war. Brushing the last lint off her coat, she turned to the door and gave a start as the bell rang. “Ah, ready, are we?” Gladys Dean nodded at her. She was a sprightly eighty-year-old with a powdered wig and a tendency to talk too fast. She had been a good friend of Hallie’s father and seemed eager to take Hallie under her wing.
“Mrs. Dean.”
“Gladys,” she said. “‘Mrs. Dean’ makes me feel like I’m eighty years old—and I stopped counting my age when I was thirty.”
Hallie bit back her smile. “Gladys, then. It’s really nice of you to come with me. I’m always rather awkward in the presence of new folk, and it will be good to have you by my side.”
“Nonsense,” Gladys said. “The Historical Club of Warrenton will be filled with people far more awkward than you. Why, I don’t believe John Blackstone has ever said a word to a woman without turning a shade of tomato!”
Hallie was soon to witness this herself. John Blackstone was Warrenton’s biggest businessman, the scion of an old family that had somehow managed to get richer with every war in American history. As such, he also considered himself an amateur but passionate historian, and now that the war had ended, he had decided that Warrenton needed its very own Historical Club. Hallie, being interested in history herself, was pleased when Gladys had managed to get her a seat at the table. She thought it would be a good way to become friendly with some of the most solid citizens in town.
“Ah! Dr. Hallie Malone!” John took Hallie’s outstretched hand in both of his own and pumped it vigorously. “Welcome, welcome! Warrenton is proud to have you back! Sergeant Johnson told me you turned down a position at some recently opened institute to be with us?”
“The American Academy of Forensics,” Hallie said. “A colleague of mine has been instrumental in founding the institute. He was quite eager to have me as his right-hand woman. However—” She hesitated. She had no way to say the next words without sounding cowardly. In her own mind, the act of coming to Warrenton was one of great cowardice. She still remembered her friend’s words: “America needs you now more than ever, Hallie! We’re at a turning point in history. Crime has taken hold of many of our cities, and we men and women of science must come together to help eradicate it!”
“But you felt that the time had come to return home,” John nodded. “I understand. I admire you greatly for your service to the country.”
“Thank you,” Hallie said, rather stiffly. She found herself quite tongue-tied in front of the eloquent, silver-haired industrialist. John was a big man. Hallie herself was no midget at 5’8”, but John was nearly a foot taller than her, and twice as broad. He had a powerful jaw that seemed to tilt back his head and a caterpillar-like moustache above his upper lip. His eyes, though friendly, flicked over Hallie in the same way that they had no doubt flicked over many a business document, taking in the most important points and discarding the minutiae.
“I myself was regrettably unable to join the force, though my business has helped the nation as well as it can!” John said.
“Ah, and what line of business are you in?” Hallie asked.
John looked almost offended. “Steel,” he said. “Surely you’ve heard of Blackstone steel! We’re behind some of the fine weapons our soldiers used to hunt down Nazis.”
Hallie hadn’t heard of the company although the factories that loomed over the town were hard to miss.
“Oh, come now, John, don’t bore the poor woman to death with all this talk of steel.” A tall woman in
her forties with a fur wrap around her shoulders and calculating green eyes walked out from the parlor. She held out a hand, which Hallie obediently and automatically shook, before ignoring Hallie altogether. She gave a cool nod to Gladys, and Hallie thought she saw dislike bloom in the older woman’s eyes.
“Ah, Hallie, this is my dear departed wife’s cousin Sheila. She’s—er—temporarily living here,” John said.
“The group is all here, John dear. Won’t you come have a drink?”
John looked rather like a puppy that had been offered a treat as he followed her into the parlor. It was a cozy space with a roaring fire and plush sofas. On the wall above the fireplace hung a rather bizarre painting with bold lines and people with twisted eyes. Hallie found herself staring open-mouthed at the painting as she sipped her whisky.
“Rather disgusting, isn’t it?” A woman said, coming up beside her. Hallie glanced at her. John had introduced Hallie to the five other guests, and she’d already forgotten half their names. As though she sensed Hallie’s confusion, the woman gave a tinkling laugh. “I’m Ethel Hastings. The local librarian.”
“Of course,” Hallie said, immediately remembering. I should have guessed that she was the librarian, she told herself. Of all the people gathered there in their finest dress, Edith stood out, wearing an old tweed coat and a grey skirt. Her hand, when she extended it to Hallie, had calluses on the palm and dirt under the nails—unlike the smooth satin of Sheila’s hand. Edith was clearly a hardworking woman.
Hallie said to her, “John was praising your wartime efforts. He said you gathered books for our boys overseas.”
“Literature is more important in times of war than of peace. We need them most to make sense of the world when the world doesn’t make sense at all,” Edith said.
“That’s a remarkably wise thing to say.” Hallie smiled, liking her instantly.
“I’ll be glad if those books gave some peace of mind to the soldiers that read them.” Edith smiled back. “Oh! How careless of me—speaking of books, I completely forgot to return one to John.” She rushed to John, handed him a book from her purse, and reappeared back at Hallie’s side in a minute, looking more relaxed. “I’m such a ditz sometimes,” she said. “But to the matter at hand. How do you like that painting?”
“It doesn’t matter if I like it.” Hallie shrugged. “I met the painter in Barcelona—Picasso—rather a bull of a man. Got as much force inside him as this painting does—and that’s a lot!”
“You’re sidestepping my question,” Edith said. “Do you enjoy the painting?”
“Not in the least though I recognize a good artist when I see one.”
“Interesting. Not many people would dislike a painting but still admit the artist is talented.”
“Well, I suppose it’s because I’m a doctor,” Hallie replied. She hesitated, knowing the next words would probably strike Edith as odd. “I hate diseases for what they do to my fellow men. But knowing that the microbes are forced by evolution to want to spread themselves, I cannot help but admire them at the same time.”
Edith looked appalled. “You admire disease?”
Hallie hesitated. “I don’t mean to sound callous about the lives that are lost to germs. I’m only saying that after studying germs, I’ve realized they have a beauty of their own, albeit one that is harder to appreciate. It’s harder to appreciate this kind of art,” she added, gesturing to the painting, “but I’m sure it, too, has a beauty of its own.”
“It’s all rubbish if you ask me.” A man with a martini in his hand walked up, chewing on the olive. “Vertical eyes and squashed faces!”
Bert Bigelow, owner of the historic Warrenton Inn, Hallie reminded herself. The man had been sniffing constantly all evening and had a manic glint in his eyes. He kept glancing at the doorway as though he expected someone to come in. Yet Sheila had explicitly mentioned that everyone was here already. So who was Bert waiting for?
“You don’t like the painting either, Bert?” Edith asked.
“You know I only like natural beauty, Edith.” Bert winked. “Modern art and overly painted women have never held my interest!” As he said this, he gave a pointed glance in Sheila’s direction. Sheila stood across the room from them and was talking to Gladys and John. She had a grip on John’s hand and wore a rather bored expression on her face. John, on the other hand, was looking most animated as he ran his finger down the page of a leather-bound book. Gladys had her glasses on and was also peering at the page.
“Oh, don’t be nasty, Bert. Hallie will think we’re all a bunch of gossiping small-towners,” Edith said. “So what if she flirts with him? He’s single and so is she.”
“Not for long.” Bert grinned. He tapped the side of his nose. “Don’t tell anyone, but there’s an engagement coming up soon!”
“No! Really?” Edith looked thrilled. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you really think he’ll propose to her?”
“He’ll roll over and beg if she snaps her finger,” Bert said. “The man’s madly in love. I’ve never understood how these industrialist-types can be so foolish when it comes to beautiful women.”
“Well look who’s talking.” Edith grinned. “There was a time when you were head over heels for Tina, weren’t you?”
“Tina?” Hallie asked.
Edith sighed. “I forget that you’re new here. Tina was John’s wife and Sheila’s cousin. She passed away last year. Bert was quite in love with Tina when we were children. The three of us were next door neighbors—it’s how we came to know John, actually. Tina would invite us over every week for dinner.”
“Yes,” Bert said, a little bitterness entering his voice. “Otherwise, a great man like John would never have had the time to talk to us lowly folk!”
Hallie was surprised. Had there been a romance between Bert and Tina as Edith had insisted? Bert certainly had turned stony when her name was mentioned—even if the romance had been one-sided, Bert clearly had had feelings for Tina.
“Join us for dinner, everyone,” John called out. “We have quite the treat for you!”
Chapter 2
Dinner and History
T he dinner that followed was probably one of the most sumptuous Hallie had ever seen. Tragically, she couldn’t eat any of it. In her excitement at being invited to the party, she’d forgotten to inform her host that a recent illness she’d picked up while traveling had left her confined to a diet of salads and bread for the next few weeks. Hallie felt rather mournful as the dishes were brought in one by one from the kitchen. The golden dishes were placed on the table, next to the elegant blue-bordered cutlery and gleaming silverware. There was a selection of cheeses from Europe, as well as a basket of fresh fruit of peaches, oranges, and grapes, accompanied by a huge freshly made salad. Creamy mashed potatoes sat side-by-side with a huge hunk of freshly baked sourdough bread and hot dinner rolls. Finally, in the center of the table, was a huge bowl of stew, its aroma instantly filling the dining room.
John was quite disheartened when he found out that Hallie would have nothing but the bread and a little cheese. “But won’t you have the stew?” John asked. “The lamb is so tender it will melt in your mouth! Just a little bit can’t hurt.”
Edith, who was serving everyone, paused with the ladle just above Hallie’s plate. Hallie covered her plate with her hands. “Terribly sorry,” Hallie said. “I’ll stick to gentler fare. It looks and smells delicious though. My compliments to the chef.”
“That’s Leon,” John said. “He hopped over the continent from France as soon as the war started. I poached him from a rival of mine. He’s an absolute gem.”
“It’s delicious,” Edith said, as she took a bite. “What’s in it?”
“Well, I believe he adds fennel, carrots, and peas,” John said. “Though the real secret to its taste, I’m told, is an ingredient he’ll never reveal!”
Bert slurped a spoonful and smacked his lips. “Let’s make a game of it, then! We’ll all try to guess the ingredien
ts!”
Sheila sighed, “I’m not having any either.”
“What? Why ever not?” John asked.
Sheila smiled at him and ran a hand over her stomach. “I’ve been growing fat with all the delicious food Leon has fed me lately. I can’t possibly eat tonight!”
There were protests from across the table about her figure being absolutely marvelous, but Sheila was stubborn. She picked at her salad and refused even a bite of the stew. Gladys gave Hallie a look from across the table that solidified Hallie’s suspicions: her friend didn’t like Sheila one bit!
“Orange zest,” Edith was saying to Bert. “I’ll bet there’s orange zest in the stew. I taste a citrusy element in there.”
“Do you?” Bert frowned. “I’d say there was a bitter note in there. I can’t put my finger on it, though.”
“Reminds me of one of my favorite sayings,” Edith said. “Society is like a stew—if you don’t stir it once in a while, all the scum floats to the top!”
A roar of surprised laughter erupted around the table though John looked offended. “I don’t agree at all,” he said. “Society exists to build on tradition. The kind of men who invent these ‘sayings’ are bad influences!”
“Who said it, Edith?” Bert asked.
“Oh, I can’t remember,” Edith said. “I know I read it in that book of quotes you lent me, John.”