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

by Loulou Harrington

  Whoever those shoes belonged to, it wasn’t anyone she knew. The legs stretching out from under the dishwasher hadn’t moved since Jesse had entered the room. So, unless Misty had let this person in, there was an intruder lying still as the dead on their kitchen floor.

  “Do you know who that is, Misty?” Jesse asked. “Did you let her in?”

  Without looking towards the inert body, Misty shook her head no. Her cries had quieted to a series of gasps exhaled in a low moan.

  A pounding on the front door had them both whipping their heads toward the front of the house. Jesse couldn’t walk through the kitchen for the glass on the floor, not to mention the milk and whatever evidence she might leave footprints in. And she didn’t want to go back through the butler’s pantry and leave Misty alone in the middle of whatever had happened in there.

  “Don’t move, hon,” Jesse said again. “I know it’s not easy, but you need to stay perfectly still.”

  Misty nodded, continuing to make small sounds of distress without speaking a word.

  “Sheriff’s Department,” a loud voice called. “Open the door.”

  “Stay calm, Misty,” Jesse said. “Everything will be okay.”

  “Why are they here?” Misty finally asked in a squeaky voice that shook.

  “It’s okay. I was going to…”

  The front door opened, and a loud voice said, “Is there anyone in here? Speak if you are and don’t move. If you have any weapons, put them down now!”

  “I was going to call them anyway,” Jesse finished. “We’re back here!” She yelled without moving. “In the kitchen.”

  Flashlights were doing a wild dance around the room before she finished speaking. Someone entered through the side door from the dining porch into the main dining room. Good grief, Jesse wondered, hadn’t they locked any doors before going to bed?

  Then she remembered Lindsey Hatch, co-owner of the tearoom and their barista. Lindsey lived over the garage behind the house and entered through the side garden. Fighting panic again, Jesse looked back at the legs and the unfortunate pumps sticking out from under the dishwasher. No, she thought with relief, the calves were too thin for Lindsey and the shoes weren’t right at all. Lindsey wore jogging shoes or sandals exclusively.

  “Is there anyone else in here?”

  Recognizing the voice, Jesse squinted past the flashlight’s beam and made out the tall, raw-boned build of the sheriff, the same man who had kissed her just a few hours earlier. And here she stood, no makeup, hair a mess, wearing an Arkansas Razorbacks tee shirt that hit her mid-thigh, and blushing in the dark. At least her pedicure still looked decent, one bright spot since she was also barefoot.

  “Mom’s still in bed as far as I know,” she said. “There’s just Misty and me down here. Why are you here?”

  “We got a call there was a dead body here.”

  Another flashlight entered from the hallway in addition to the two that were already trained on the kitchen area.

  “We checked the downstairs, Sheriff,” said a male voice. “Nobody else down here. Want us to check outside?”

  “Might as well,” Joe said, becoming more visible as new flashlights arrived.

  “Lindsey lives in the apartment over the garage,” Jesse said. “Don’t shoot her.” She shifted her attention to the sheriff. “Who called you?”

  “Anonymous. Male voice. What’s this about, Jesse?”

  “Well, I was just getting ready to call you.” She pointed toward the corner where the dishwasher was tucked into the base cabinets. “You might try turning on a light. The electric was out for a few minutes, but I think the power’s back on now. And there’s milk and glass all over the floor, so you’ll want to be careful where you walk.”

  The lights came on in the dining room, and Jesse saw that Marla Murphy was the deputy remaining. Luckily, she was also the deputy who was friendliest and the least threatening, which was good for Misty, who looked white as a ghost in the glare of the spotlight.

  Joe moved closer, and Jesse sneaked another look at their intruder as his flashlight’s strong beam swept over the shadows still obscuring the corner. A curvaceous hip clad in a skintight skirt filled the area under the dishwasher’s open door. Bright red spikes of hair peeked out the other side next to the cabinet’s base, and Jesse felt her knees grow weak.

  Bolstering herself, she shifted her gaze to Misty, who appeared on the verge of fainting. The undisturbed chaos of spilled milk and broken glass surrounding the girl testified to her innocence. Someone had fought with Cynthia and left her unconscious or dead in the corner, pulling the dishwasher open in the struggle. Misty hadn’t noticed the body until she opened the refrigerator and the light illuminated the scene. She had then dropped what was in her hands.

  The suspicious voice inside of Jesse whispered that a clever person could have struggled with Cynthia and left her body where it fell, then staged the spilled milk and broken glass. But that would require knowing someone would awaken and come downstairs to investigate.

  That thought reminded Jesse of the last, disturbing call that had awakened her and sent her in search of Misty. It was a man’s voice in the background on that call, and a man who had placed the call to the police, sending them to her house. That Misty had been downstairs to discover Cynthia was merely a coincidence.

  Joe stopped at the edge of the kitchen and stared at the scene. Then he looked at Jesse, from her face all the way down her bare legs to her feet, a good yard away from the nearest milk splatter or shard of glass. Showing no reaction, his gaze traveled back up to her face.

  “Did you arrive before or after all this happened?” he asked.

  “After.”

  He pointed to the butler’s pantry behind her. “Go back through that way and take a seat at one of those tables.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the dining room. He turned to Marla and indicated Misty. “See if you can help her out of here without touching any of this. Put her at a table by herself.”

  He moved out of the way and waited while Jesse went back through the entry hall and came into the tearoom by the main entrance. Marla had maneuvered Misty out of the kitchen and placed her at a table close to the counter. When Jesse approached, Marla pointed to a table farther away.

  Jesse looked wistfully toward Misty and saw tears running silently down the girl’s cheeks. Marla stood between them, still pointing in the opposite direction.

  “Get Todd down here to start collecting evidence,” Joe said from the kitchen. “Then call Frank and see if they’ve found anything outside.”

  “On it,” Marla said. “Should I call the doc, too?”

  “Let me check for a pulse. I think I can get to her neck without disturbing anything. What the…?”

  “Who the hell are you?” a gravelly, slurred voice ground out.

  Chapter Seven

  Misty screamed and knocked over her chair as she scrambled backwards. She kept screaming until she’d backed herself into Frank Haney, who’d just come in through the side door.

  He grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her. “Whoa, there, little miss, where do you think you’re going?”

  Jesse was halfway across the room without realizing she’d moved, until Marla stepped in front of her, wagging a finger in her face. “Sorry, Ms. Camden, but you have to go sit back down.”

  Looking to the side, Jesse saw that Misty was now clinging to the front of Frank’s shirt, soaking it with her tears while he patted her back awkwardly.

  “Did you find anything?” Marla asked him.

  “No. It’s clear outside. Find anything in here?”

  “What is this?” Cynthia’s voice sounded less groggy but a lot more grumpy. Her question was followed by the sound of the dishwasher slamming shut. “Who are you? What’s going on here? My head…” Her brief silence was broken by a shriek. “I’m bleeding! Get away from me!”

  Jesse peered around Marla’s shoulder just in time to see Cynthia slug Joe in the chest with her
fist. “Get away!”

  “Hold on there, ma’am. You’re assaulting an officer of the law in case you didn’t notice.” He straightened, putting distance between them.

  “So terribly sorry,” Cynthia said with a sneer. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” She pushed herself halfway up, groaned and sat back down on the floor. “I have to go.” She frowned up at him as if he was stopping her.

  “We’ll have to have you checked out at the hospital, ma’am. And I’ll need to get a statement from you.”

  “I fell. There, that’s my statement.” She shoved herself onto her knees and began wiggling and tugging her skirt down to a respectable length. “Now, if you’ll help me up.” She held out her hand to him.

  “I really don’t think you should stand up until an EMT’s checked you out,” Joe said, ignoring her hand.

  Cynthia twisted to the side, planted both palms on the countertop and heaved herself upright. “See? I’m fine. And now I’d like to go.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll have to get a statement from you,” Joe insisted. “And I really think…”

  “I was having a chat with my stepdaughter. I tripped, fell and hit my head. Write that down and let me go.”

  “In the dark?” Jesse demanded, forgetting that she was there to be questioned, not to ask questions herself.

  Misty pulled her face out of Frank Haney’s shirtfront long enough to shout, “I’m not your stepdaughter!”

  Joe flashed a glare in Jesse’s direction, then turned back to the woman he was questioning. “Were you having an argument with, um, Misty Bennett?” he asked.

  Cynthia twitched a shoulder in a shrug. “Probably. We always argue. Her father sent me to bring her home, but she refuses to come.”

  Jesse huffed, caught herself and swallowed what she was about to say.

  Joe turned to her with raised brows and demanded, “What? Spit it out before you choke on it.”

  Quickly, before he changed his mind, Jesse said, “Misty’s father’s coming today to take her home. He didn’t even know that woman was here.” Sucking in a breath, she hurried on, “And no one was arguing downstairs. I’d have heard them. The lights were off, and we were upstairs. If Cynthia let herself in here, it was in the dark and without permission while we were sleeping.” Jesse turned a challenging glare toward Cynthia. “And who’s the man who called you, huh? Ask her that.”

  “Wow,” Joe said with admiration. “You stayed quiet while all that piled up inside? Good thing I didn’t wait any longer, or you might have exploded.”

  “Excuse me!” Cynthia demanded. “I have to leave.”

  “Well, I have to inform you, Ms…. What exactly is your name?” Joe asked.

  “Cynthia Ben… Stanton. Cynthia Stanton, soon to be Bennett.”

  “Very well, Ms. Stanton, I have to inform you that if you aren’t the victim of an assault, then you might be charged with breaking and entering here tonight if what Ms. Camden says is true.”

  “See here, now, that’s outrageous. I didn’t break in anywhere. The door wasn’t even locked!” She looked around wildly, seemingly searching for a way out of the corner he had her pinned into. But he wasn’t moving, and she didn’t appear ready to fight her way to freedom yet.

  “But the lights were out,” Joe said, ignoring her agitation. “There were no lights on at all when we got here, and neither of the people downstairs with you were dressed for company. So, what were you doing here and how did you get in?”

  Cynthia glared at him in defiance, her lips pouty with an excess of collagen, or maybe just sulkiness.

  “You can talk to me here, Ms. Stanton, or you can talk to me down at the station.”

  Her hand went to the side of her head and fluttered just above her ear. “Maybe I should go to the hospital after all. I’m feeling a little lightheaded.”

  Joe smiled in the way he did when he’d just gotten what he wanted. Jesse hated that smile, but it didn’t look nearly so irritating when he aimed it at someone like Cynthia.

  “Frank,” Joe said over his shoulder, “why don’t you take Ms. Stanton here down to the hospital and get her checked out. You stick to her like glue, and I’ll be along in a bit to finish my questioning. And you’d better take her out through the butler’s pantry to avoid all this glass.”

  “Yes, sir,” Frank said. He lifted pleading eyes to Marla, then glanced down to the girl who still clung to him.

  “Marla, you get ahold of Todd yet?” Joe snapped from where he continued to stand guard over the unhappy Cynthia Stanton.

  “Right on it, sir.” Marla whipped out her phone and made the call to the probably sleeping Deputy Todd Angeles. She moved away to a corner and dropped her voice in a murmured conversation.

  Jesse crossed to where Frank Haney waited to be rescued. When she held out her arms, Misty turned into Jesse’s embrace and began to cry harder. The tears from months of fear and frustration poured out through gates that seemed to have collapsed completely.

  Frank hurried away as if chased by the devil himself, and soon after Jesse heard the front door close behind him and their slippery suspect. Jesse wondered how long it would take the other woman to disappear once they reached the hospital.

  Chapter Eight

  Through the windows overlooking the side porch, the first faint glow of dawn turned the sky a lavender gray against the shifting shadows of the tree limbs. It would be daylight soon, and Lindsey Hatch would be arriving for work any minute, followed shortly by SueAnn Bailey.

  “Very touching, Jesse,” Joe Tyler’s rumbling voice said from less than a foot away. “But you’re not supposed to be fraternizing with the other witness.”

  Startled, Jesse jerked, squeezing Misty in a sudden bear hug so tight the girl squeaked, stopped her crying and lifted her head to look around.

  “Well, hello there, Miss Bennett,” Joe said in the gentle tones he reserved for practically everyone but Jesse. “Do you remember me? I believe we met over breakfast Saturday morning.”

  Misty blinked at him and nodded. “I brought you your coffee,” she answered in a voice raspy from the tears that still sparkled on her lashes.

  “I know you’ve had a tough couple of days, but do you think you could talk to me for just a minute?”

  “She’s a minor,” Jesse said before Misty could respond.

  “I know that, Jesse.” The look he gave her wasn’t nearly as kind as the one he used with Misty. He returned his attention to the girl who was still sheltered in Jesse’s arms. “Are you hungry, Misty? Were you getting a glass of milk from the refrigerator before all this happened?”

  Again, Misty nodded. “Cereal. I was getting some cereal.”

  He looked at Jesse again. “Do you have anything out here she can eat?”

  Struggling to get her scrambled brain to function, Jesse remembered that Lindsey’s magic beverage machines made more than espresso and coffee. “Chocolate. One of those things by the register makes hot chocolate. And…” She scanned the counter and saw a handful of day old pastries and muffins on a glass-domed cake plate. She pointed. “There are muffins.”

  “I know how to do the chocolate,” Misty offered. “Lindsey let me make the hot cocoa for the breakfast rush.”

  “Very good.” Joe looked up. “Marla!”

  “Yes, sir. Todd’s on his way.” Marla appeared at the sheriff’s side.

  “Could you accompany Miss Bennett into the area just behind the counter while she makes hot chocolate?” He looked to Misty and raised his brows in a question. “For all of us?”

  “Sure, I can do that,” Misty agreed, apparently eager for a reprieve from more questions.

  “Good. And have whatever you want from the pastries. Meanwhile, you and I…” He turned his penetrating gaze to Jesse and smiled the smile she hated. “…can have our little chat. That way, I’ll find out what you know while Misty has a snack, and then you can sit in while I talk to Misty. So long as you just listen.”

  “Okay.” Jesse bit back her ir
ritation. “Great. Let’s do that. We’ll have customers arriving soon.”

  She wasn’t going to tell him that she was as eager as he was to find out what brought Misty downstairs. And as far as his questions for Jesse herself, she had something she needed him to do.

  “Customers?” His brows rose. “Jesse, I don’t know what went on here tonight, but until I’m done talking to everyone here, and your kitchen is cleared as a crime scene, there won’t be anything else happening in this tearoom.”

  “I beg your pardon?” He couldn’t be serious. It was Sunday morning, their biggest day of the week. Of course they were opening.

  “Were your doors locked when you went to bed last night?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. And what do you mean there won’t be anything else happening here?”

  “Who has keys to the doors?” Ignoring her question, he pulled a small notepad from his pocket and waited, pen in hand.

  “Mom and I have keys to everything. Lindsey and SueAnn have keys to the front door and the tearoom. And Connie and Matt have keys to the front door and the antique shop. And what do you mean…”

  “Who locks up?” he asked, cutting her off.

  With a scowl Jesse gave up and just answered the question. “Connie locks up her side, and Mom and I get the main entrance and the tearoom.”

  “And what happened last night?”

  Jesse paused to think and felt a heavy sigh coming on. “Well, I got home and found Misty here. Then we were up and down the stairs and in and out of the kitchen. And then…”

  Her words died away as she remembered Cynthia’s arrival and the chaos that ensued.

  “And then?” he prompted.

  “And then Cynthia showed up at the door.”

  “Cynthia Stanton?” He pointed toward a table closer to the entrance than the counter, indicating it was time to take a seat.