The Nora Abbott Mystery series Box Set

by Shannon Baker

  She pulled the door open to a shivering Petal, wrapped in various layers of knit and gauze.

  Petal? At her front door? Why? How did she even know where Nora lived? Weird ringed this girl like a wobbly Hoola Hoop.

  Nora pulled her inside. “Come in. It’s cold out there.”

  Petal huddled by the front door. Abbey sniffed her hand, accepted the distracted pat and retreated to his bed. He plopped down with a grunt.

  While Nora waited for the strangeness of Petal to explain itself, she carried on with regular old politeness. “Abigail, this is Petal, a coworker. Petal, this is my mother.”

  Abigail hurried over. “Petal, how nice to meet you.”

  Petal’s eyes showed panic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d have company.”

  Abigail tried to draw her into the living room. “Nonsense. Come in and sit down.”

  There goes any chance of getting the Charlie story from Abigail tonight. Nora had a big meeting tomorrow, and couldn’t stay up late. She’d never outlast whatever avoidance plan Abigail cooked up.

  Petal allowed herself to be seated on the couch, still wrapped in all of her layers. “Can we get you some coffee? Or a beer? It’s all Nora has in the house or I’d offer you something to eat.”

  Petal shook her head. “I just came over to, you know, see how you are and to talk or whatever.”

  Doesn’t anyone think about sleep?

  Abigail retreated to the kitchen and made coffee.

  Petal curled up in one corner of the couch. She pulled off her Chacos and slipped her feet underneath her.

  Nora sat beside her. “What’s going on?” And why am I the one you want to talk to, at my house, at night, when I want to get rested for a big day, and not play hostess?

  Petal drew her fingers inside the sleeves of her sweater. “I miss Darla so much.” Her voice was little more than a squeak.

  Abigail stepped around the counter from the kitchen. The coffee maker hummed behind her. “Was Darla your dog? I’ve had dogs before and losing them can tear your heart in two. I had an adorable Bischon named Fluffer—”

  “Mother.” Nora slammed the brakes on that run away train. “Darla was the Financial Director before me.”

  “Oh.” There was a moment of silence Abigail probably couldn’t stand. “People move on, dear. I’m sure she saw career advancement and is in a better place. I suppose the Trust is a temporary stop for anyone with any ambition. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of growth potential.”

  Petal sniffed and rubbed her sleeve across her nose.

  Nora kneaded the growing pain in her temple. “Darla was found shot to death. Is the coffee done?”

  Abigail made a choking sound and a beat of silence followed. “Oh, my. I’m sorry, dear. There’s nothing more painful than losing a loved one. I, myself, have buried three husbands.”

  Nora glared at her. “The coffee, Mother.”

  “Of course.” Abigail retreated to the kitchen.

  “Did you and Darla spend a lot of time together?” Nora asked.

  Petal nodded while tears dribbled out the sides of her eyes. “We were roommates. I can’t be in our space today. I see Darla everywhere.”

  Nora steeled herself from feeling Petal’s pain. She slid an arm around Petal, smelling the wet wool of her wraps and let her cry. “I’m sorry.”

  Abigail returned with a coffee mug. Petal’s hands were still mittened inside her sweater. Abigail lifted one hand and pressed the mug into it until Petal brought the other hand up and clamped the mug between them. “Here, dear. Drink this. It will warm you up.”

  Abigail sat on the other side of Petal. She seemed oblivious that her turquoise and orange print tunic clashed with the red fabric of the couch.

  Petal dropped her head onto Abigail’s shoulder. “Darla was special. She invited me in when I didn’t have anywhere to go. She was friends with everyone, even Fay, who can be a terrible gossip. She was even nice to Mark when he was so mean to her.”

  Abigail patted Petal’s back. “Let it out, dear. ‘Grief is a bucket of pig slop to be splashed across the mire of life.’” Abigail slipped her notebook from her pocket and jotted in it.

  Petal’s description of Darla didn’t match up with Fay’s opinion of a weird accountant. “How was Mark mean to Darla?”

  Petal hiccuped. “He forced her to make up reports for the board. Like he’s tried to do with you. But you aren’t afraid of him like Darla was. She did what he asked but she hated it. She wanted to quit and was going to. And then she died.”

  This sounded fishy. “How do you know Mark wanted me to falsify reports to the board?”

  Petal dropped her head. “I’m sorry, Nora. I miss Darla.”

  “You said that.”

  Abigail flashed her that I-will-paddle-you–if-you-don’t-shape-up expression she’d perfected when Nora was little. “Nora! Quit badgering Petal.”

  Petal set her mug on the coffee table. She stared at the corn plants and maybe through the plate glass door into the darkness. “No, that’s all right. I didn’t mean to spy, really. I used to hang out in Darla’s office. She’s got all those windows and it’s warm. Darla said I could be there anytime I wanted.”

  Nora didn’t mind people in her office but she’d like to know about it.

  “The day she died I didn’t know what to do or where to go. So I went to your office while you were in the bathroom. I hid in the coat closet. I heard Mark tell you to make good report.”

  This girl was a strange ranger. “Why would you hide in the coat closet?”

  Petal curled into an even tighter ball. “I used to hide there from Sylvia.”

  “You hid from your boss in a coat closet?” Nora asked.

  Abigail nodded, making the connection. “Sylvia is your boss. She has a wonderful sense of style and smells so nice.”

  Petal shrank into herself. “Yes. But when she’s mad she yells at me and throws things. Sometimes I can’t take it and then I hide in Darla’s office. I mean, your office.”

  Abigail collected her and held her close. “You poor thing. You should tell the Executive Director.”

  Petal sent her dreds in a flurry. “Oh no. I couldn’t tell Mark. Sylvia would fire me.

  Abigail huffed. “It’s not right.”

  Petal peeked out from Abigail’s embrace. “No. It’s okay. She is under a lot of pressure.”

  Nora felt drained by all the drama.

  Petal jumped up. “I’m sorry. I know you’re tired and you have the board meeting tomorrow. I wanted to come over and warn you.” She faded out.

  Nora bit. “Warn me?”

  “Darla found something in the books. I don’t know what it is. But she was really worried about it. Maybe that’s why she died.”

  Nora stood, feeling crowded amid her sparse belongings. “You should probably tell the police.”

  Petal shook her head. “I shouldn’t know about it. If someone killed her because of that and they find out I know, they might kill me, too.”

  Kill her? Petal’s imagination might be even more active than Nora’s. “What do you think Darla found?”

  Petal shrugged and clamped her mouth shut. After a moment of silence, she scurried to the door. “I need to get back to the Trust. Sylvia is working late and expects me to be there.”

  Abigail sounded aghast. “It’s nine-thirty!”

  Petal pulled her wraps tighter. “She works really hard.”

  Nora and Abigail eased around the coffee table and walked Petal to the door. They watched as she hurried along the balcony and down the stairs, disappearing into the night.

  Nora shut the door and Abigail slid the chain on to lock it.

  Nora turned to Abigail. “Okay, what’s going on with you and Charlie?”

  “We’ll talk about it later. We need to concentrate on you. What are you going to wear tomorrow?”

  Abigail’s topic-hopping could give anyone whiplash but Nora had grown up with it. She wouldn’t get any more information fr
om Abigail tonight. They walked back to Nora’s bedroom and stood in front of the closet.

  Nora stared at her clothes.

  Abigail whisked hangers across the rod assessing the clothes. “Wear the black Tahari suit. It shows off your fitness and is professional.”

  “I don’t think the meeting is that formal.”

  “Not for the board meeting.”

  Nora rubbed the spot of fatigue eating at her forehead. Just let me get some sleep.

  Abigail pulled out the suit. “I set up an interview for you tomorrow.”

  Nora spun from the closet. “What?”

  “United Amalgamated Financial.”

  Nora couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “Pearl Street Mall. That cute coffee shop with the weird name. It’ll be a quick meeting and you can give him your resume. I’m sure he’ll have you meet the other partners later in the week.”

  Little hammers of annoyance picked in her brain. “He who? Wait. No. I have a job.”

  “I won’t let you trod on the shining crystal of new life.”

  Argh! “Stop writing poetry about my life.”

  “Adam Thompson. He’s my dear friend Marilyn’s son. I pulled some strings and he’s very excited for you to join the firm. You’ll be perfect.”

  12

  Sylvia paced from Petal’s junky desk and circled the antique table, running her fingers along the polished wood. She held the phone to her ear, fuming at Eduardo’s rudeness in making her wait.

  How odd that Darla was found murdered on the same night she’d confronted Sylvia. The gunshot must have drawn attention and someone found Darla out there alone and killed her. Life was full of strange coincidences.

  Finally Eduardo came back on the line.

  “I don’t appreciate being on hold.” Sylvia didn’t care how important Eduardo thought he was, she would not be treated as a common solicitor.

  “I am a busy man, carina, what is it you wish to discuss?” He might think his soft voice and Ecuadoran accent would spread her knees, but it didn’t work on Sylvia. When she’d let him sample her honey, it had been on her terms.

  “It’s not a question of want, it’s a matter of deserve. There’s a mix-up at the Trust. Darla’s gone missing and the nitwit Mark hired won’t pay me. I need you to deposit fifty thousand into my Cayman account immediately.” Sylvia collapsed in her office chair. She pulled her laptop in front of the PC monitor and opened it.

  “First of all,” he paused in that false lazy attitude of a Latin lover. “You haven’t shown progress to warrant a bonus. Secondly, World Petro is under extreme scrutiny and I can’t make unexplained expenditures.”

  “You expect me to continue working for nothing?” The Chihuly glimmered from her laptop screen.

  He chuckled. “You must appeal to the board of directors.”

  She bristled at his insulting tone. “In the interim I’d appreciate something to bridge the gap.”

  His sigh sounded as though he was reasoning with a petulant child. “That is impossible at this time.”

  How dare he patronize her? She slammed the lid on her laptop and jumped up, striding around her desk. “Don’t say impossible to me. Remember what I’m doing for you.”

  “A business transaction. Which is overdue and over budget.”

  Neither of which should bother him much. She tried a sweeter tact. He wouldn’t resist her if she reminded him of her other benefits. “I know what a—creative—person you are. You’re clever enough and rich enough to get cash to me.”

  Again the pause and sigh. “The board meeting is tomorrow. Use your considerable skills to make love to them.”

  She wouldn’t go begging like some match girl freezing on the streets. “Tell your son to sway the board.”

  Eduardo’s voice hardened like cooling lava. “Daniel is not to know about our understanding. To you, he is a board member and nothing else.”

  Sylvia’s skin tingled with her rebellion. Nothing more than a board member? If Eduardo only knew. “Fine. But you used your influence with him to get me hired, you could use it again to get me paid.”

  “Danielcito is not your concern.”

  “My money is my concern,” Sylvia insisted. She checked the thermostat on the wall. This damned office stayed perpetually cold.

  “Mi corazon, wouldn’t you say securing more funds would be easier if you had some success to show for the time and money you’ve spent so far?”

  Whatever happened to deferred gratification? “I’m not Walmart churning out commodities made in China.”

  “I must go, carina.” He hung up.

  Eduardo hung up! How dare he try to scare her. Who did he think he was?

  She hurled the iPhone and it banged against the office wall. She wouldn’t be threatened. He didn’t scare her. He. Didn’t. Scare. Her.

  The office around her faded and there she was, six year-old Sylvia huddled next to her older sister, Margery, on the cracked linoleum of the mold-infused shack.

  Her stomach gnawed on emptiness as they sat sweating in the liquid air of Bucktown in New Orleans.

  “I’m starving,” she said.

  Margery hugged her. At ten years-old, she took care of Sylvia. “They’ll be home soon. They promised.”

  But soon turned out to be the next day when her parents crawled in smelling of booze and cigarettes.

  Margery stood in front of her father, twisting her grungy t-shirt in her fist. “Did you bring us anything to eat?”

  Her mother stumbled past them down the dark hallway toward the bedroom. She’d probably throw herself onto the unmade bed still in her shorts and halter top. Maybe she’d get up later today, maybe tomorrow.

  Her father ignored Margery and trudged after her mother.

  Margery considered Sylvia who had begun to cry.

  “Please,” Sylvia mouthed.

  Margery tugged on her father’s arm. “Do you have some money? I can get hamburger and cook it.”

  His glazed eyes flitted over Margery and with a flick of his arm, he sent her flying into the wall.

  Sylvia ran to Margery and they clung to each other in silence until snores shook the shack. They crawled to the bedroom. Margery rifled the discarded trousers and purse for enough change to buy a jar of peanut butter.

  In the quiet of her office, Sylvia spoke aloud. “No one will make me feel that helpless again.”

  She paced the office in her Manolos. The thud of the heels gradually brought her out of the red zone and she glanced down to see the perfection of leather on her delicate feet. She let her gaze travel up her shapely ankles to her well-formed legs. The Versace suit fit her perfectly. She was a fine woman. So much more than anyone had dreamed she’d be. Amazing, really, she’d achieved all that she had.

  Beethoven’s Fifth sounded from the floor between two file cabinets. Sylvia’s phone.

  Maybe Eduardo had second thoughts about treating her so abysmally.

  Sylvia stalked to the phone, disappointed to see the name on the caller ID. She composed herself before answering. “Hello, Margery.” She punched the speaker option and set the phone on her desk.

  Margery’s weak voice trickled through the phone. “I haven’t heard from you in a long time and wanted to say hello.”

  Likely story. While Margery droned on about the weather and the other residents at the care facility, Sylvia drew a tree chart. She labeled the circles in her chart for her various credit cards and private donors who’d funded her research in the past. If she transferred her balances from these two cards to….

  “I know it’s a lot to ask but if you could help me out, I’d appreciate it.”

  So Margery wound down to the reason for the call. Money. It always came down to that.

  Sylvia opened her laptop and gazed at the screen. “What did the doctor say?”

  Margery sniffed. That annoying, constantly runny nose. “He said having it removed would be a good idea.”

  Of course he thought it would be a good idea.
It’s money in his pocket. Margery’s gullibility always cost Sylvia.

  Unless Sylvia got firm, this would never end. “I paid an extra thousand last month. I wish I could help but I can’t afford any more.”

  “Oh.” The peep of a response barely made it through the speaker.

  A razor of anger sliced into her brain. “Last month the flu ran through the home and you needed a vaccine that insurance wouldn’t pay for. And before that he recommended some experimental drug.”

  Sniff. “I’m sorry. You’ve done so much. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  But she did ask. Every month. Over and over. Always trying to apply the scalding compress of guilt. Sylvia had never asked Margery to work three jobs to pay for Sylvia’s tuition at Tulane. It certainly wasn’t Sylvia’s fault Margery got knocked up by a low-life trucker that never paid a dime of child support.

  Enough was enough. Sylvia had bankrolled Margery far too long. She’d paid her debt.

  The Chihuly stretched her thin enough. She shouldn’t have to give it up. “I’m sorry. I just can’t do it.”

  13

  Despite Abigail’s apoplectic fit, Nora opted for the black silk shirt and black jeans with cowboy boots. She’d parked several blocks from the Bolderado Hotel on the other end of the Pearl Street Mall in the hopes that the walk in the crisp fall morning would calm her nerves.

  Pearl Street was closed to traffic for a few blocks to create an open-air mall. Interesting shops from designer clothing stores to outdoor gear, free-trade stores to tourist joints, and art galleries lined the street along with eateries of all kinds. The center space of the mall contained sculptures suitable for climbing and touching and raised flower beds that changed varieties along with the seasons. Right now, bright yellow chrysanthemums blasted their cheer in the brisk mountain air.

  This early, Nora passed a few joggers and walkers. Later, when the stores opened, the place would buzz with Boulder’s energy. Buskers would perform everything from magic and juggling to amazing feats of yoga or memory on all but the coldest days. With Boulder’s eclectic mix of business people, affluent retirees and young families, students, street people, Rastafarians, and mystics, if the mall wasn’t the best people-watching venue in the world, it ranked in the top ten.