DUNE DOCK AND A DEAD MAN
By Carolyn L. Dean
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DUNE, DOCK and a DEAD MAN is copyright 2016 by Carolyn L. Dean. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.
Dedication
For my children. No matter where your feet go, your mother’s heart will always go with you.
For Miss Kay, who would’ve probably been Mrs. Granger’s best friend.
And for my favorite retired homicide detective, who answered a lot of questions to help me try to get it right.
Table of contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
AUTHOR NOTES:
ABOUT THE AUTHOR – Carolyn Dean
Lisa’s Trainwreck Pie recipe
Chapter 1
“Meg, you can’t bring a date to a funeral.”
Amanda’s bubbly blonde friend set down her coffee cup on the marble kitchen island and looked disgruntled. “He’s not a date. He’s my boyfriend.”
Rolling her eyes, Amanda couldn’t hide her disapproval. “He’s not a boyfriend. You met him a week ago on the internet and this is only the second time you’ve seen him in person. He can’t come to Mr. Peetman’s funeral. What would your grandmother think?”
“I think she’d envy the fact I have a date. She hasn’t had one in years.”
Amanda’s mouth dropped open in mock horror. “Meg!” She tried to picture the ninety-year-old Mrs. Granger being escorted into the church by an internet boyfriend. The thought was too ludicrous for words. It may have been decades since the old lady had been widowed, but she seemed to be perfectly happy with her solo life.
Meg sighed, looking down at her hands as she toyed with the handle of her coffee cup. “I’m not trying to shock anyone. I’m just enjoying having something of my own, that’s all. Lisa’s got the newspaper, you’ve got the Inn. I’ve just got a job working in someone else’s coffeeshop and pushing pastries. So what if I have a little fun?”
“Funerals aren’t about fun.” Amanda opened the inn’s commercial-sized fridge and put the cream away. “They’re about being respectful. Besides, you do have something of your own.” She turned and smiled at Meg, who was busy sulking. “You’ve got us, and we’re your friends.”
“Maybe, but you two aren’t exactly the type I’m gonna kiss,” Meg responded, her mouth a thin line of resentment. “Okay, fine, but he’s taking me out for pizza and a movie afterward, and I don’t want to hear a word about it, okay?”
Amanda nodded and picked up her purse. “Deal. I’ll meet you at the church.”
***
The sanctuary of the Presbyterian church was nearly empty, with an enormous bouquet of lilies set on the altar and a lone organist playing mournful music in the back corner. A large picture of Mr. Peetman, probably taken twenty years ago when he’d had a dapper mustache and a bit more hair, was placed on a stand at the front of the church.
His daughter, Jennifer Peetman, was already seated in the front pew and sniffling into a handkerchief, sitting next to an older man with thick silver hair. Amanda raised a hand in silent greeting and Jennifer nodded, handkerchief clutched to her face beneath her red-rimmed eyes.
It had only been a month since Amanda had truly met Mr. Peetman, though she had seen him several times before that, disguised as a Russian lady living next door. It wasn’t until he had stopped Amanda’s attacker by bashing him in the head that Amanda had learned the truth. After years in the witness protection program, Mr. Peetman had come home to die, against all advice from the federal authorities. Even the thought of being found by his previous shadowy companions didn’t stop him from wanting to be with his daughter, but he’d wisely chosen to disguise himself so that he’d been nearly impossible to discover. It hadn’t been easy to see him in the final weeks of his life, but Amanda had found a new friend in his shy daughter, Jennifer, and felt privileged to have gotten to know him a bit. His previous profession as an accountant for some shady criminals made him a target in many ways, and Amanda had tried not to think about that part of his life when she had brought over meals or just spent time visiting with them both.
There was the sound of slow shuffling coming down the church’s center aisle, accompanied by a familiar squeaking, and when Amanda turned around she wasn’t surprised to see Mrs. Granger pushing her walker and grinning at her. What was surprising was the fantastically bright broad-brimmed hat that she was wearing. It must’ve been two and a half feet wide, and was completely covered in a riot of bright silk flowers, glorious with happy spring colors. She was also sporting a new hot pink pantsuit, which perfectly matched her amazing hat. A spiffy pair of white orthopedic shoes completed her amazing ensemble.
Meg was following behind her grandmother, wearing a sober black dress and an annoyed expression. Without a word Amanda scooted over in the pew to let Mrs. Granger sit down. Meg folded the walker and stood it up against the outside wall, then slid in on the other side of Amanda.
“I couldn’t stop her. She always wears the same damn outfit to funerals.” The words were hissed out of the side of her mouth and full of annoyance.
Amanda raised her eyebrows but didn’t comment. Mrs. Granger was ninety years old and a bit eccentric but Amanda had grown to love and appreciate her, even if she was a notorious gossip who could be bribed with chocolate pastries.
When the pastor entered Amanda took a quick headcount of the crowd. There was just Jennifer and her companion, the three ladies in her pew, and two familiar-looking men in the back corners of the church, sitting on opposite sides of the aisle.
A sad ending to a sad sort of life, she thought. Wish there were more people who missed him.
James Landon was sitting in the back and staring stoically ahead, apparently ignoring her, but she was genuinely surprised that he was there. She hadn’t seen James since Mr. Peetman had died at his home a week earlier, and she’d only glimpsed him through the front window. He’d been talking to another police officer and seemed frustrated by the conversation, finally smacking his hat against his thigh as he strode briskly back to his car. Even though she’d only known James for a few weeks, she’d been surprised that he hadn’t come inside the snug little cottage, especially since she was the one to text him and tell him that her new friend had passed away. When she first met James, because of the investigation into why there was a dead guy buried underneath the scarecrow in her back garden, she’d thought they’d hit it off, but right after that he’d go
ne to a two-week long training seminar on the East coast, and had only been back for a couple of days before Mr. Peetman had died.
The other man in the back of the small church was a guest at the Ravenwood Inn, Amanda’s bed and breakfast. He’d just checked in the night before and his name was Richard Loomis. Amanda recognized him immediately by his light brown hair and deep tan, which wasn’t usually seen in Oregon unless it had come from a tanning bed. Meg had giggled when she saw him and called him Fake and Bake until Amanda stopped her.
Unlike the four other guests she currently had at the Inn, Richard Loomis didn’t socialize at all. It was a well-loved evening routine that Amanda offered some sort of snack and wine-tasting or other quiet event, and her guests normally loved to have some time to relax by the stone fireplace or sit on the front porch. When the weather was clear during the summer, more than one couple would wander into the back sunroom to admire the sunset over the ocean, but Amanda’s latest guest seemed content to stay holed up in his room, after giving minimum information or conversation when he’d checked in. He’d paid in cash and nodded tersely when she’d given him a receipt, then headed straight for his room, taking care to avoid her big orange cat, Oscar, who considered himself the Inn’s welcoming committee.
He certainly hadn’t mentioned that he knew Mr. Peetman, or that he was in town for his funeral.
The service didn’t take long. Pastor Fox talked briefly about Mr. Peetman’s life, leaving out anything that might have hinted at the fact that he used to work for criminals as their accountant. There were a couple of prayers, the organist played a contemplative hymn, and every once in a while there would be a faint sniffling from Jennifer’s pew. As they all stood for the final prayer, Amanda couldn’t help but wonder about Mr. Peetman’s life and the choices he had made. She’d bet good money that if Pastor Fox knew about the details of Mr. Peetman’s nefarious past, the eulogy may have been a bit different.
The reception after the funeral was also a small affair, with dishes of homemade food made by some of the ladies from the church, and a sheet cake donated by the local hospice. There had been several large round tables pulled out for the occasion and folding chairs set around them, but with only a few people in attendance after they all got plates of food they wound up sitting together. Amanda’s mysterious guest Mr. Loomis didn’t attend but slipped out the side door as soon as the funeral was over.
James settled into a spot next to Amanda and made conversation with several other people but not with her. At first, she thought it was just the fact that he was trying to be polite to other people, but it became more and more obvious that he wouldn’t even meet her eyes. She wondered about that a bit as she took a bite of the gooey lasagna on her plate and pretended to listen to what the other people were saying. She had the feeling James wanted to tell her something and that he didn’t seem too happy. He didn’t eat much but after about ten minutes of polite chatting he excused himself, dumped his uneaten food in the trash and the plate in a plastic dishpan, and headed back to his car, without having said a word to Amanda. She was puzzled and had a sinking feeling that perhaps the reason he left had something to do with her but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what it was.
Mrs. Granger seemed to be in her element, chatting animatedly with everyone and accepting several compliments on her fantastic hat. If Amanda hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought that Mrs. Granger had suddenly gone senile, thinking she was at some fun party instead of a funeral. It was true the old lady’s giggling and joking was lightening the mood but it still seemed to be terribly out of place.
“Well, Mrs. Granger, you seem to be having a good time.” Amanda tried to keep the borderline annoyance out of her voice.
The old lady looked at her with surprise and smiled, her eyes kind. “What you really want to know is why I’m sitting here laughing at a dead man’s party, right, Amanda?”
“Well, you do seem to be having more fun than anyone here. Don’t funerals bother you?” She almost added the phrase “because you’re so old” but stopped at the last minute, realizing it was probably an insult. Her ninety-year-old friend, always so blunt, read between the lines and spoke her mind.
“You think it’s inappropriate, don’t you?” she said. It wasn’t really a question. Amanda kept silent, but the answer was in her eyes.
“Oh honey, I’ve buried more people than you’re ever gonna meet. I never worry about dying.”
Amanda tried to think of how to ask if that was really true, considering Mrs. Granger’s advanced age, but the old lady must’ve known exactly what her young friend was pondering.
“I never worry about dying because I know where I’m going. Smart people through the ages have taught about life after death and I have to think it’s gonna be a big adventure.” She smacked her lips as she dug her fork into a huge piece of chocolate cake. “That’s why I’m wearing my party hat. Seems to me funerals aren’t so much about saying goodbye as they are about saying bon voyage.” Amanda stifled a laugh, instantly picturing the old lady gleefully waving at a departing cruise ship, her amazing huge hat firmly in place.
“I wish I had that kind of faith Mrs. Granger, but I just don’t.”
The old lady turned, surprised. “You mean your generation believes in positive thinking and ghosts and aliens and psychic phenomenon and you don’t believe in what the majority of people throughout time have told them?” She turned back forward with a dissatisfied harrumph. “Seems kinda arrogant to not at least investigate it and see if it’s real or not.”
Amanda wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Well, if it encourages you to wear such a festive hat, I’m all for it.”
The little old lady looked over the top of her glasses at Amanda, a small smile playing around her lips. “Honey, anytime I wake up and I’m not six feet under, that’s reason enough to be festive.”
Chapter 2
Amanda always looked forward to Saturday in Ravenwood Cove, because it was the day the local farmers and craftspeople set up small booths in the vacant lot next to the old Grange Hall. Almost two dozen vendors sold their produce and handcrafted items at the weekly farmers market, and even though it was a new event in Ravenwood Cove it was an instant hit. Townspeople who worked during the week slept in a bit later on the weekend, and after coffee and maybe some household chores, dressed in their comfy clothes and wandered downtown to see what goodies were new and yummy at the farmers market. It was always a mystery what new things would show up. Some weeks the bakery would be trying out a new recipe for raspberry turnovers or white chocolate cupcakes, and once or twice the portable pizza oven had turned out fresh Indian naan bread or tarts made with the fat local blackberries.
Amanda rode her red bicycle into town, waving at Grace TwoHorses as she sailed by. Grace was pulling a wire handcart full of bright yellow boxes, probably from Kazoodles toy store. Her booth on Saturdays was definitely one of the kids’ favorites, and she made sure to have something new they could play with every week. Last week she’d shown up in a full-sized inflatable dinosaur costume, much to the delight of the children who squealed in mock terror as she danced around them, making growling noises while opening and closing the soft fabric claws.
The Grange parking lot had been blocked off and little pop-up canopies marked each vendor’s booth. The scent of hot bread, spiced nuts, and cut flowers wafted across the lot, mixed with the promising smell of freshly-brewed hot coffee. Holding two cartons of fresh eggs, newly-laid by her rooster Dumb Cluck’s new hen harem, Amanda made sure to give a dozen to Mrs. Mason and then headed to the hardware booth. Brian Petrie always let Amanda park her bike at the back of his booth, behind his arrangement of potted chrysanthemums and hardware stuff to winterize people’s homes, and Amanda had started bringing extra eggs as a way to thank him.
Lately, one of the most popular booths belonged to the local Presbyterian church where the pastor, Tom Fox, kept a group of teenagers busy working two different cider presses. The church had nin
e apple trees and a scrubby pear tree toward the back of their property, where it usually went to waste. When someone suggested making the fruit into freshly-pressed cider and selling it at the market to raise money for play equipment for the rundown park in the nearby town of Likely, the pastor had jumped on the idea. The kids were enthusiastic and energetic, some working the cider press to produce gallon after gallon of golden juice, and some cheerfully chatting with the passing people, trying to get them to stop in and try a free sample. When Amanda had offered them her apples, too, they had shown up with a full-sized pickup truck and about a dozen teens, eager and thankful to get the free fruit.
There was quite a line at the coffee booth, which Meg was staffing by herself. She kept smiling even though she was moving as fast as she could, trying to serve the patient line of people who were waiting for their morning caffeine. She nodded briefly at Amanda, who waved in return, and kept her cheerful line of banter going with customers as she worked the espresso machine.
As much as she enjoyed the farmers market, Amanda was actually there to work. She coordinated the whole thing and did her best to help out as much as she could. She brought her clipboard and an extra pen and walked from booth to booth, talking with the merchants and checking to see if they had any questions or problems they needed to discuss. Today she wasn’t just checking to make sure everything was running smoothly; she was also passing out flyers for the upcoming Harvest Festival. The little town loved excuses to celebrate and the annual fall festival was a beloved tradition. With the recent influx of tourists all rooms for rent were booked for miles around, and Amanda was part of the committee that was making sure Ravenwood Cove’s Harvest Festival was especially good this year, with hayrides and an old-fashioned carnival planned.
Amanda walked down the line of booths, handing out flyers and signing up the merchants for the festival. Mr. Orwin grabbed her the moment she walked by, nearly incoherent when he frantically reported he had no electricity to his booth and that he desperately needed it for lighting his sculptures and to run his sander. It only took a moment to reassure him and find the electrician who could get the power restored, and Amanda continued down the row to the next booth.
DUNE, DOCK, and a DEAD MAN: A Ravenwood Cove Cozy Mystery Page 1