A Misty Morning Murder (Myrtle Grove Garden Club Mystery Book 4)

by Loulou Harrington

  If only Misty weren’t caught in the crossfire, Jesse might think that Ronnie and Cynthia deserved one another and wish them well.

  “Really,” Cynthia continued, “I have to insist that you release her to me. Her father is expecting us back tomorrow.” A frown puckered her brow, and tension pinched her features, destroying the youthful look carefully crafted by her makeup.

  The woman was still younger than Jesse by quite a few years, but not as young as she had first appeared. And not nearly as sure of herself, either. Between the clasped hands and the uncomfortable twitch of her shoulders, Cynthia suddenly seemed nervous. Her insistence almost hinted of fear.

  “I’m sorry, but you know I can’t do that,” Jesse said. “Misty came here on her own, but unless her father arrives to take her home, she’s not going anywhere.”

  “Damn you,” Cynthia snarled and lunged toward Jesse. “Give her to me now!”

  “Are you out of your freaking mind?” Jesse shrieked. She shoved the woman back through the doorway and onto the wide front porch of the Victorian. “Calm the hell down, or I’ll be the one who calls the police. What’s wrong with you, anyway? She’s a seventeen-year-old kid. No wonder she’s scared of you.”

  The other woman ceased struggling, ran a hand through her short, spiked hair and tugged her skintight dress back into place over her hips. With a toss of her head, she lifted a sullen gaze to Jesse.

  “I don’t get you.” She sounded close to tears, and her country drawl was back. “Ronnie’s never gonna marry you. So, why do you care? What’s it to you if I’m the one who brings her home?”

  Absolutely positive that she was never releasing Misty to this woman, Jesse steeled herself to fight off another attack and tried to keep the depth of her loathing from reflecting in her tone. “Because, Misty’s not a pawn in a game. She’s a child who’s never had enough love from the person in her life who matters most.” Squaring her shoulders, Jesse took half a step forward. “And whatever you’re trying to use her for, it isn’t going to happen. Not while I’m here to stop you.”

  “Well then, maybe I’ll just have to do something about that.”

  With another toss of her head, the wicked witch of the Southwest turned on her heel and sashayed down the porch steps, across the front yard, and out to the subcompact rental car parked at the curb.

  The door behind Jesse opened slowly, and she heard Misty whisper, “See? There’s something wrong with her. I told you so.”

  “Does she always dress like that?” Jesse watched the small, nondescript car pull away and out of sight almost immediately, something the image of the woman herself didn’t do.

  “Nana Peg says she looks trashy. Daddy says she’s flamboyant because she’s an artist.”

  “Artist?” Turning, Jesse saw her mother behind Misty in the half-open door. “What kind of artist?”

  “She owns an art gallery, so she’s avant-garde,” Misty said with a drawl that conveyed skepticism. “The paintings she says she painted look like something a seven-year-old would have done. Dad says they’re experimental, like that’s something special.” She ended with what sounded a lot like a snort of disgust.

  Jesse longed to ask about the scarlet locks that stood straight up in three-inch spikes. But she would be asking someone whose own hair was almost white and streaked with fuchsia and whose layers looked like they were cut with garden shears.

  “Her hair was black and looked like it had been dyed with shoe polish when Daddy first started dating her. I don’t like the red. But to be honest, it’s an improvement.”

  “Wonder what color it really is?” Sophia asked.

  “Blonde in her high school yearbook. But when her roots grow out, they look brown to me.”

  “Speaking of her high school yearbook, Mom, could you go up with Misty and let her show you what she found out about Cynthia? I’ll be along in a minute, but I need to make a phone call first.”

  “But I want you to see, too,” Misty protested.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” Jesse assured her. “Then you can show me, too.”

  With a grumble, a sigh, and probably an eye roll, the girl turned away from the doorway and started up the staircase. Sophia paused to give Jesse a long, speculative look before following.

  Then, wondering how mothers always seemed to know when you’re hiding something, Jesse went into the kitchen and used the tearoom’s landline to call the last number she had for Ronnie Bennett.

  Chapter Five

  “You people don’t have to keep calling,” Ronald Bennett snapped without as much as a hello. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  “What do you mean by ‘you people’?” Jesse found herself as irritated by his arrogance as she had been the day she broke off their engagement. “And I was told you weren’t coming here yourself.”

  “Jesse?” His voice softened, sounding surprised and more than a little pleased. But he recovered quickly. “I thought it was your mother again. And why didn’t you call me yourself yesterday?”

  “I was out of town. I didn’t know Misty was here until I got back this evening. And now I’m confused. You didn’t send your fiancée to bring Misty home?”

  “My fiancée?”

  From the tone of his voice, Jesse thought for a moment that he was about to deny the engagement.

  “What’s Cynthia got to do with this?” His confusion quickly turned to irritation. “And how do you know about her? Has Misty been crying on your shoulder about what a horrible father I am for trying to have a life of my own?”

  “Yeah, Ronnie, we all know what a martyr you are.” Jesse almost regretted making the phone call, but it certainly reminded of her why she hadn’t gone through with the marriage. “And, no, it was Cynthia pounding on my door and demanding that I give Misty to her that brought Cynthia into all this. According to her, you aren’t coming and sent her in your place.”

  “Of course, I’m coming. My daughter’s run away to someone I haven’t spoken to in three years, and I’m supposed to just let it happen? Is that why you’re calling? Do you think I’m just going to let you have my daughter?”

  Jesse fought the sudden urge to throw the phone across the room. “I’m calling to tell you that I’m not going to let your fiancée take Misty. And that Misty will leave here with you, or she won’t leave here at all.”

  “Don’t threaten me!”

  “Are you coming to get her, or aren’t you?”

  “Yes, dammit!”

  “Well, fine then. There’s no argument. And now I wish I hadn’t even called you!”

  “What’s Cynthia doing there?” he demanded as if Jesse hadn’t spoken.

  “I don’t know, Ronnie. She’s your fiancée. But she seemed awfully desperate to get her hands on Misty. Especially considering that the two of them don’t even like each other.”

  “Of course Cynthia likes Misty. She’s going to be her mother!”

  “Stepmother,” Jesse corrected, trying to hold on to what little patience she had left. “Not mother. They’re not the same thing. Besides, Misty’s seventeen. She’s grown up without a mother, and she’s not going to accept a near stranger in that role now. If you try to force this on her, you’re going to be making a terrible mistake.”

  “Is that what Misty’s been telling you?” he shouted.

  “And you! Haven’t you been listening?” Jesse stopped, took a deep breath, and lowered her voice. “If you want to marry Cynthia, fine—do it. Make her your wife, but don’t insist on making her Misty’s mother. It’s enough if they could just be friends.”

  “Don’t tell me how to raise my daughter, Jesse. That was always your problem. You always thought you knew so much more than I did about Misty. This isn’t your business.”

  Jesse closed her eyes and choked back the words that shouted inside her head. She knew what Misty wanted because she listened to the girl pour out her heart, while Ronnie heard what he wanted to hear. And how could it not be Jesse’s business when Misty was in her house,
begging for help?

  “When will you be here?” she asked through gritted teeth. Anything else she had to say could wait until they were face to face.

  “I’ll be there when I get there,” he said. “And you’d better have my daughter ready when I show up. I’m not listening to any arguments or excuses out of either one of you tomorrow. Do I make myself clear?”

  Jesse couldn’t speak. Anything she said would only escalate the argument because all he wanted to hear was “yes, sir,” and those were the last words that would come out of her mouth. But simply hanging up on him wasn’t enough. She wanted to pound the phone against the counter, then throw it down and stomp on it while shrieking at him.

  “Jesse? Do you hear me?” he shouted through the phone. “That’s right—hang up on me. That’s what you always do. You just…”

  She hung up on him then. With the push of a button, quietly, peacefully, she ended the conversation. And she felt just great about it. Had she destroyed her phone in a fit of anger, he would have won.

  As it was, she stood in the kitchen of her tearoom, staring into space and trying to remember how she had managed to remain in a relationship with him for five, long years. And what she remembered most clearly wasn’t Ronnie at all. It was Misty, and the things they did as a family.

  That was why Jesse had stayed. Which said nothing about Cynthia and her motives. Could it be that the woman was simply in love?

  Jesse tried to imagine the caustic Cynthia lost in romantic bliss with the arrogant, self-centered man Jesse had just hung up on. No, Misty was right. Something else was driving that relationship. And the answer just might be upstairs in the information Misty wanted to show her.

  Sophia and Misty were sitting shoulder to shoulder on the settee, their faces lit by the glow of the laptop screen. Without looking up, they scooted over to make room for Jesse, who paused to pour herself a glass of merlot before taking her spot next to Misty.

  On the screen was a picture of a young couple. The girl was blonde, her hair a droopy Farrah Fawcett do and wearing a prom-style dress that looked homemade, with a simple cut and an overlay of netting with too many ruffles. The boy was high-school handsome and brawny with a small cut high on his cheekbone. The two stood with the length of their bodies touching and big smiles on their faces.

  “This is Cynthia’s high school yearbook?” Jesse asked, noting that the time period seemed to be somewhere in the late eighties. “Who’s this?”

  “Homecoming Queen and Captain of the football team,” Misty said. She zoomed out to show more information and a grouping of small pictures of the Queen’s Court and the rest of the team. She pointed to the Queen, then to the caption under the picture. “Cynthia Ruggles. Tommy Stanton.”

  “That’s her name?” Jesse asked. “Cynthia Ruggles? What’s the name of her art gallery?”

  “Stanton’s Gallery of Fine Art. And her name is Cynthia Stanton, but that’s her face. And when you get over here…” Misty quickly flipped through the online pages to a section of quotes and personal comments. Again, she pointed to a picture of a blonde with a flip and shaggy bangs, wearing a cheerleader’s outfit, complete with pom-poms, short skirt, and tight sweater. The name this time was Cyndi Ruggles, with the caption “Born to be a Princess.”

  “She says that all the time.” Misty flipped her hair back, tossed her head and said with a drawl, “I was born to be a princess.”

  Sophia peeked around Misty and pointed to the laptop. “The high school is in Tennessee,” she said. “Which would explain the softer drawl we detected.”

  “And here,” Misty added and began to flip through the pages again until she reached the section where classmates had voted for “Most Likely To…”

  Here was another picture of Cynthia Ruggles with shorter, brassier hair that looked like the result of a weekend slumber party. The caption on this one read “Most Likely to Marry a Millionaire.”

  “Looks like maybe she married the team captain instead,” Sophia suggested.

  “Either way, it appears that little Cyndi Ruggles has come a long way, if she’s the same person.” Jesse looked at the picture, and through the rounder, younger, unlined face, she could see the woman who’d been pounding at her door an hour earlier. “It doesn’t sound like she’s changed her ambitions much.”

  “Dad’s not a millionaire,” Misty pointed out.

  “He’s probably closer to it than Tommy Stanton is,” Sophia said.

  “Maybe tomorrow we can get SueAnn to see if she can find a marriage or divorce record for Cynthia Ruggles and Tommy Stanton.”

  “SueAnn?” Misty turned toward Sophia. “Is that the waitress I met this morning? The young one?” Without waiting for an answer, she swung her head to the other side and Jesse. “What can she do?”

  “She’s really good with the computer. And she’s studying criminology, so she knows where to snoop,” Jesse explained.

  “Think she’d let me help? That sounds like something handy to know.”

  For the first time since arriving home Jesse saw the enthusiasm she remembered as an equal match to Misty’s more serious side. She might be making a mistake, but Jesse couldn’t bring herself to say ‘no’ to the eager light in the girl’s eyes.

  “We can ask,” she said. “I don’t think SueAnn would mind a little help.”

  “Yes,” Misty said with a triumphant fist pump.

  “Well, boys and girls, it’s getting late.” Sophia stood, recorked the bottle of wine, and gathered up the glasses. “We have an early morning that’s getting closer all the time.”

  “Uh…” Misty picked up her water bottle and looked from one woman to the other. “Where do I sleep?”

  “Where did you sleep last night?” Jesse asked.

  “In your bed.”

  “She was pretty overwrought when she got here, and I didn’t want to wake her when I got up this morning,” Sophia explained. “So I put her in your room.”

  “I wasn’t overwrought,” Misty protested.

  “You cried all the way from the airport to here when I told you Jesse wasn’t home.”

  Misty heaved a deep sigh and stopping arguing.

  Jesse closed the laptop and took the girl by the hand. “You can have the bed again tonight. I’ll take the sofa.”

  “I’ll share the bed if you want.”

  “You kick, sweetie.” Jesse squeezed the hand she held. “And you hog the covers.”

  Misty looked up, grinning. “Busted. Guess I should have made the bed this morning, huh?”

  The image of tangled bed covers lingered in Jesse’s mind. The white comforter mounded to one side at the foot of the bed, the top sheet dangling on the floor on the other, and pillows scattered across a landscape that looked like World War III had been fought there during the night.

  “It might not have been so graphic,” she agreed, then looked up to find her mother smiling at her. “Why don’t you leave those glasses here, Mom? We can bring them down in the morning.”

  “Why didn’t I think of that?” Sophia set the glasses back down on the coffee table. She leaned over and kissed Misty on the cheek. “Come on down when you get up in the morning, dear. We’ll feed you and find something for you to do. Or you can come back up here and do your homework. I’m assuming you brought lessons from your teachers since you knew you’d be gone?”

  Misty’s mouth hung open for an instant. Then she closed it and looked at Jesse with sympathy. “Wow, she’s tough. I guess that’s where you learned to be so naggy.”

  “I am not naggy!”

  “Take it from someone who’s been in counseling, you have what they call control issues. Not that that’s a bad thing.” Misty’s voice dropped. “After my mom died, you were the only one who asked about my homework, except for Nana Peg.” Her eyes shifted to Sophia. “And your mom.”

  Unimpressed, Sophia asked again, “So, do you have your homework?”

  Misty nodded. “My teachers all sent me lesson plans online. I already did
some of it this afternoon.”

  Sophia smiled. “Excellent.”

  “I had good training.” Misty’s gaze slid back to Jesse. “I think I am getting kind of tired.”

  “Why don’t you take the bathroom first? I’ll gather up some bedding while you’re doing that.” Jesse handed the laptop to Misty. “Could you put this on my kitchen table for me?”

  “Sure.” Misty took the computer, cast a questioning look at the two women and left the porch.

  Jesse lifted the remainder of her wine and took a sip. Sophia walked to the porch railing, then turned to lean against it, watching until Misty disappeared into Jesse’s apartment and the door closed with a quiet thump.

  “You called Ronnie?” she asked just above a whisper.

  Jesse nodded, drained the glass and set it down. “He said he would be here tomorrow. He wouldn’t give me a time.”

  Sophia left the railing and walked back. “Did he actually send that woman in his place?”

  “No. He had no idea she was even here. He is planning to marry her, though.”

  “Why isn’t he here already? I’m so glad you didn’t marry that man, Jesse. I wouldn’t interfere for the world, but…” Sophia’s words sputtered to an end, and she shook her head.

  “I know,” Jesse acknowledged. “But he was different when I first met him. Or maybe he was just grieving and confused by a daughter he didn’t know how to help. Either way, once he was more secure, and Misty was happier, he turned into a real jerk.”

  “And why isn’t he here?” Sophia repeated.

  “Wouldn’t give me a straight answer. I guess he’s punishing me for leaving him and moving back home.”

  “Well, I intend to give him a piece of my mind when I see him. That’s no way for a grown man to act when his daughter’s so upset that she runs away from home.”

  Jesse smiled at her mother’s indignation. “Go get him, Mom. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

  “Don’t laugh at me, young lady. I’m serious.”

  “So am I, Mom.” Jesse put her arm around her mother’s shoulders and gave her a hug. “I only wish he cared as much as you do.”