Murder, Mayhem and Bliss (Myrtle Grove Garden Club Mystery Book 1)

by Loulou Harrington

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Other Myrtle Grove Garden Club Mysteries

  Excerpt

  Dedication and Acknowledgements

  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

  Recipes from the Gilded Lily Tea Room

  Dear Reader

  Murder Most Thorny ~ Excerpt

  Myrtle Grove Garden Club Mystery Series

  MURDER, MAYHEM AND BLISS

  A Myrtle Grove Garden Club Mystery

  Loulou Harrington

  Murder, Mayhem And Bliss

  Copyright © 2014 by Loulou Harrington

  Cover art by: Mark Combs of DzinDNA.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this work may be reproduced in any form or manner, except as allowed under “fair use,” without the express written permission of the author.

  Other Myrtle Grove Garden Club Mysteries

  Murder Most Thorny

  Murder on a Silver Sea

  A Misty Morning Murder

  Excerpt:

  …Jesse walked to the back of her pickup and stood. She momentarily debated raising her hands, then reminded herself that she was making a new effort not to be deliberately irritating.

  So, she hooked her thumbs in the front pockets of her jeans and tried not to tense as she watched the tall, raw-boned sheriff exit his truck, slam the door shut, and then stand there staring at her across the vehicle length separating them.

  Hat pulled low, sunglasses hiding his eyes, he looked intimidating as hell, and Jesse steeled herself not to fidget. She’d been really sleepy when she’d dressed that morning and now regretted the blue jeans, pink-and-black plaid flannel shirt and fuschia running shoes she’d settled for. It wasn’t exactly a power look.

  “I wasn’t speeding,” she said, unable to stand the silence any longer.

  He jerked his head up an inch or so and motioned. “Walk toward me.”

  “I wasn’t weaving either.” Jesse didn’t like the sudden vision of her doing a heel-to-toe drunk test across the twenty or so intervening feet. It was the middle of the day on a Sunday. You couldn’t even buy liquor around there on a Sunday.

  Ignoring her, he motioned again. “Just walk normally. To here.” He indicated a spot about a foot in front of him. His voice was firm but not raised, and the words came slowly, as if he were speaking to someone who might not understand English well. “And then just stand still. I want to talk to you.”

  Obediently, Jesse walked toward him and stopped where he’d indicated, which was uncomfortably close. “Okay. I’m here.”

  “Good. Now, what the hell did you think you were doing wandering around a taped off crime scene unescorted? Huh?” His voice was a low growl, and he practically bounced on his toes as he leaned in…

  This series is dedicated to my mother, who is my inspiration for the character of Sophia. One of my greatest joys in writing my Myrtle Grove books is the chance to spend time again with the woman who was my friend as well as my mother—to hear her voice in the dialogue and to relive the fun and the kindness that was so much a part of her. Thank you, Mom, for your wisdom and your spirit. You made me laugh, you helped me be strong, and you let me be me. I miss you so much, and I hope I can pass on just a little of your love to everyone who reads the books in the Myrtle Grove Garden Club series. To moms everywhere, you’re our first BFF.

  Acknowledgements: None of this would be possible in its present form without the feedback and support of my fellow writers and friends who make up my critique groups. You share your expertise in areas that are far beyond writing. You keep me honest, and you laugh when you’re supposed to—what more could I ask for?

  A special thanks to Emrys Moreau for technical support that has made so much possible. Also to my wonderful beta reader and proofer who saved me when I had so much happening all at once. And to Mark, who gave me a new vision for my covers and made it all come together.

  Don’t miss the recipes at the back of the book!

  And for even more recipes, special offers and gifts, plus all the latest news, go to loulouharrington.com and sign up for my mailing list.

  Chapter One

  Jesselyn Camden bolted upright, squinting through eyes that didn’t want to open. Her hand flailed behind her for the alarm clock next to the bed and batted empty wood instead. Confused and just the tiniest bit irritable, she leaned over and peered through blurry slits at the silent clock blinking up at her from the floor.

  “Wow,” she muttered, “that must have been some dream.”

  “Jesse! Are you dead in there?” Sophia Camden’s voice accompanied the pounding of her fist on the door of Jesse’s private apartment. “The Lily is filling up fast and SueAnn called in late again. Lindsey was wondering if you could cover until the truant makes it in.”

  Jesse fell back onto the bed and groaned. Sleep pulled at her, and her eyes burned beneath lids that stubbornly refused to part. She was almost positive this was her Saturday off.

  “Sure.” She forced one eye open to stare at the ceiling. “Be right there.”

  “I’m the only other one working, and I’m a cook, not a waitress,” her mother called through the door.

  “I know, Mom.” Jesse tugged at the covers that were wrapped around her like a tourniquet. “Tell Lindsey I’m hurrying.” Rolling toward the center of the bed, she felt behind her for a corner of the comforter, found it, and pulled herself free.

  Propelling herself out of the bed, Jesse made it to the bathroom and groaned again at the pale-skinned, smudgy-eyed, tangled-haired creature looking back at her from the mirror.

  “Whoa,” she said softly, “that is not good.” Leaning closer, she inspected the dark circles under her bloodshot eyes and held one lock of snarled, sun-bleached hair out from her head. If a restless, sleepless night was looking for a spokesperson, she was it.

  “Can I bring you some coffee, sweetheart?” Sophia’s voice asked gently from a few feet away.

  A hot shock of surprise went through Jesse and she jerked, pulling hard at the hair that was tangled around her fingers. At the same time, she screeched in surprise and banged her knee on the vanity. “Good heavens, can’t you at least make some noise when you do that?”

  Unrepentant, her mother grinned. “Rough night?”

  Jesse slowly disengaged her fingers, one at a time, from her hair, which did nothing to help
the original snarl. “Sometimes you’re like living with a cat,” she grumbled. “An unsympathetic cat.”

  “Well, if you would lock your door, or maybe not stay up so late reading,” Sophia suggested, “I wouldn’t be ‘sneaking up’ on you.” She made quotation marks with her fingers. “And you wouldn’t be so grumpy about it.”

  “I wasn’t reading.” Jesse rubbed at the side of her head, then massaged the kneecap that had collided with the vanity front. “I was working on a stained-glass project that’s due next week. And we live in a house that already has the outside doors locked.”

  Her mother took a brush from a wicker basket on the counter and began to work gently at another tangle in Jesse’s hair. “At the risk of sounding doubly unsympathetic,” Sophia pointed out, “there are two businesses downstairs. One of which opens for breakfast.”

  Jesse picked up a second brush and began to smooth her hair on the other side. All the tension seeped out of her, and she felt like a little girl again with her mother quickly working through the remaining snarls.

  “You’re right,” Jesse conceded. She and her mother shared the inherited ownership of a century old Victorian that had once belonged to the town’s first banker. The second floor had been divided into two apartments, one for each of them, and the downstairs had been turned into businesses.

  In partnership with others, they had created the Gilded Lily Tea Room and Coffee House, open for breakfast and lunch, under Jesse’s side of the house. And under Sophia’s apartment was the Gilded Lily Antiques and Vintage Shop. The arrangement was a good one and worked well for everyone involved. But Jesse still sometimes forgot that hers was no longer just a bedroom in her grandfather’s home.

  With the tangles gone, Sophia ran her fingers through her daughter’s shoulder-length blend of light brown and dark blond hair, fluffing it around her face. She put her cheek next to Jesse’s and smiled at their reflection in the mirror.

  “Put on just a little bit of makeup, so you don’t scare the customers,” she suggested. Her green eyes twinkled. Her white-blond hair was a stylish bob that ended at her chin. Her make-up was simple and flawless. At 69, Sophia Camden was still an attractive, vibrant woman who was enviably comfortable in her own skin.

  Jesse laid her hand against her mother’s other cheek and smiled back at her in the mirror. “I want to be you when I grow up.” Their eyes were alike. Other than that, Jesse was taller, slimmer, more angular, and she wasn’t sure she would ever be the loving and lovely person that her mother was.

  “Oh, no, hon, don’t do that. We need you just like you are.” Sophia gave her daughter a quick squeeze and stepped back. “Ornery can be a huge asset, you know. And I’ve been up here way too long. Lindsey’s probably fit to be tied by now.”

  “I’ll be down in a minute.” Jesse brushed a light powder on the dark circles under her eyes, then batted her eyelashes at her mother in the mirror. “See, I look better already.”

  “Sorry to drag you out so early. I know you had other things you needed to do today.”

  “No problem. SueAnn will be here soon, and then I’m free as a bird.”

  “Coming in this late, she’ll probably have a good story to tell.” With a wave of her hand, Sophia turned and headed for the door. “See you downstairs, dear.”

  ∙∙∙•••●●●•••∙∙∙

  Across town, Vivian Windsor, oil heiress and grand dame of Myrtle Grove, Oklahoma, opened her door to find her great niece on her front portico. “Bliss?”

  Vivian stood frozen for a moment in surprise. No one, not even Bliss, arrived so early in the morning, or unannounced. Then, remembering her manners, she stepped back in silent invitation.

  “Have you had breakfast?” Not having had her own yet, Vivian tried to remember if she had any eggs in the house.

  Bliss Kerr shook her head and smiled a tight, pinched smile that she forced wider as her aunt watched.

  The unconvincing display only heightened Vivian’s sense of foreboding. “And how is Harold?” she asked, fairly certain she knew the source of her niece’s upset. She tried to be generous for Bliss’s sake, but really, the man was a pox on humanity.

  “Fine,” Bliss answered too quickly. Then a frown flickered across her face, warring with the smile that remained fixed and rigid. “Or…at least…I guess he is.” She gave her head a toss and the smile loosened up, looking almost sincere if only for an instant.

  For the sake of politeness, Vivian changed the subject. “I have a fresh pot of coffee and some of the Gilded Lily’s famous cinnamon rolls.” She linked her arm through her niece’s and turned her in the direction of the mansion’s cozy, old-fashioned kitchen. “I think we each need to have at least one.”

  They had almost made it from the cavernous foyer into the formal dining room before a tug on Vivian’s arm brought her up short. When she turned to see what had happened, her niece stood not quite an arm’s length away, chin trembling, doe-brown eyes swimming with tears.

  “Oh, Aunt Viv, I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  Vivian patted the hand that still clung to her arm, helpless against the sadness she heard in her niece’s voice. It was the same sadness she had heard in the seven-year-old girl whose parents were too wrapped up in their own lives to spend time with their child. And she felt the same flash of anger now that she had felt then, helpless to stop Bliss’s pain, and helpless to change the selfishness that caused it.

  She wished she could soften her words, but they came out reflecting her frustration with a situation she had no control over. “Well, dear, at the risk of being blunt, you might just consider divorcing the jackass.”

  “Don’t say that!” Bliss jerked away and stalked off, if two steps could be considered a stalk. Then she stopped, and her whole body sagged. “I love him.”

  Her voice sounded mournful, and Vivian groaned, her own heart hurting for the girl who was the same as a daughter to her. She longed to gather Bliss into her arms and soothe the ache as she had so many years ago.

  But that weakening in herself only made Vivian more furious with the man who kept breaking her niece’s heart. “In my opinion,” she said, sincerely trying to ease the harshness of her tone if not her words, “Harold has become nothing more than a habit. And a bad one at that.” Reaching out to touch Bliss’s drooping shoulder, Vivian softened her voice almost to a whisper. “Sometimes habits are hard to break, sweetheart. But that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be broken. Not if they aren’t good for you.”

  Bliss sniffled and tilted her head to rest her cheek against her aunt’s hand. “But I married him for better or for worse.”

  “Oh, good Lord, give me strength!” Vivian exploded in exasperation. She grabbed both of Bliss’s shoulders and turned her around to face her. “Do you know how much I detest hearing women talk like that?!”

  Bliss sniffled again, but defiance shone in her eyes. “I don’t care. Harry and I were like a fairytale. There has to be a way to get back to that.”

  Vivian shook her head slowly, saddened for her niece’s pain and sorry that she had to contribute to it, but someone around here had to face the truth. “I think fairytale about sums it up, hon. You two were barely out of high school when you got married, and he has not matured well, sweetheart.”

  “I didn’t come here to listen to you run him down.” Bliss lifted her chin with a look of determination that Vivian was not used to seeing in the soft-spoken, malleable child of her heart.

  “Okay.” Vivian threw up her hands and pointed to a set of chairs visible across the entrance hall just inside the wide doorway of the formal living room. “Forget the coffee, and let’s go sit down. We have to talk.”

  When they were settled into a conversation area designed more for looks than for comfort, she leaned forward, took a deep breath and stared straight into Bliss’s eyes, intending to do what it took to learn the reason for this strange visit. “All right, now. What’s this all about? You never confide in me when Harold pull
s one of his stunts. You never cry on my shoulder.” Vivian rested her hand on Bliss’s and leaned a hair’s breadth closer. “And you never drive the 25 minutes from Culverton to Myrtle Grove to show up on my doorstep unannounced. Especially before breakfast.”

  Bliss relaxed just slightly, smiled fondly and patted the hand covering hers. “It’s not really before breakfast, Aunt Viv. At least, not for most people.”

  “Well, it is for me, and you know it.” Vivian squeezed the hand she held. “So, quit stalling and tell me why you’re really here.”

  “I can’t find him,” Bliss said softly. Her smile wobbled, and in the next instant, tears shimmered in her cinnamon eyes before spilling over to run down her cheeks. She pulled her hands free to scrub at the tears that were flowing harder with each second.

  “He didn’t come home last night.” She gathered her breath in an unsteady hiccup. “He doesn’t answer his cell phone, and they haven’t heard from him at work.” Her voice slowly faded to a thready whisper. “He lives for that damned car dealership. He’s never out of touch with them.”

  Vivian could think of a dozen reasons why Harold might be unreachable to his wife. But this probably wasn’t the time to mention any of them.

  “Have you talked to the police?” she asked instead, sticking to what would be a normal question if he were a more normal husband.

  Bliss’s response was an exasperated sniffle. “I learned my lesson about that years ago. Until he’s been missing a full 24 hours, they don’t want to hear about it.”

  Vivian fought a short, halfhearted battle to hold her tongue, something she’d already done more of than usual that morning. Then, the dam burst. “Oh, good grief, Bliss, honey. Did you hear what you just said?!”