Leave It to Cleaver (A Vintage Kitchen Mystery Book 6)

by Victoria Hamilton

  Leave It to Cleaver

  Vintage cookware and cookbook collector Jaymie Leighton has agreed to help her sister clear out the house of a deceased older neighbor, and she’s thrilled at the prospect of discovering antique kitchenware and other treasures—until she opens a vintage trunk in the cellar and finds the remains of a teenage girl with a cleaver buried in her skull. When the body of a second girl is found just days later in a nearby river, the clues all indicate that the crimes are connected—and that the culprit’s motives are hidden in the past.

  Jaymie just wants to cut and run, but the victims were both high school classmates of her sister when they disappeared, and that makes Jaymie the perfect person to help the local police investigate the killings. As she dredges up old memories and even older rivalries and jealousies, her list of suspects grows. But Jaymie knows she’ll have to whittle it down to just one, and fast, because someone has decided to cut their ties to Jaymie—in the most fatal of ways . . .

  Beyond the Page Books

  are published by

  Beyond the Page Publishing

  www.beyondthepagepub.com

  Copyright © 2017 by Donna Lea Simpson.

  Material excerpted from Muffin to Fear copyright © 2017 by Donna Lea Simpson.

  Cover design and illustration by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs.

  ISBN: 978-1-946069-29-0

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  From Jaymie’s Vintage Kitchen

  Excerpt from Muffin to Fear

  Books by Victoria Hamilton

  About the Author

  Prologue

  February

  ONE YEAR AGO, according to her Facebook account, Jaymie Leighton had been suffering through a lonely Valentine’s Day thinking about her dead relationship with Joel Anderson, who had dumped her a few weeks before Christmas. This year was wholly different; this year she was looking forward to a Valentine’s Day date with Jakob Müller.

  And to add even more sweetness to the date, it would also be with Jocie, his adorable daughter. The little girl had called Jaymie several times the evening before asking if she liked chocolate (of course) and did she like cake (yes, obviously) and then if she liked chocolate cake. Jaymie had to laugh, and knew the child was experimenting with the kids’ cookbook Jaymie’s mother had bought her for Christmas—her favorite present, Jocie confessed.

  Then Jakob called to double-check that Jaymie didn’t mind sharing their first Valentine date with Jocie. Of course not, she told him. Time alone with Jakob was precious, but she loved time with his daughter, too. She was a part of him, after all. Jocie was, as she called it, a “little little person”; born with achondroplasia dwarfism, she was, at eight, only about the height of a three- or four-year-old, and doctors weren’t sure how much taller she would grow. She would have the typical attributes of her condition, the shortened limbs in particular, but her outlook for a normal life span with only a few medical problems, which were relatively well understood, was good.

  But Jakob, Jocie’s only parent since her mother had returned to Poland several years ago and subsequently died, made sure she knew she could do anything she set her mind to. As a result she was more mature and confident than many children her age, though as giggling and silly as any little girl should be at times, fond of tickle fights, cartoons, taking pictures with her new camera, tumbling in her tumbling group, and singing. Jakob was a good and loving man. Jaymie felt fortunate to have found him in the most odd circumstances, running as she was from someone who wished to cause her great harm, and banging on his cabin door on a late fall evening.

  In February, in Michigan, it was almost dark at five. Hoppy, her three-legged Yorkie-Poo, shivered with excitement as she carried him out the back door of her Queensville home, down the icy flagstone path and through the back gate to her decrepit white van, parked in her spot on the parking lane that ran between two lines of houses facing parallel roads. She set him on the passenger seat, climbed up, and started the motor, letting it run a moment in the frigid air. The heater was unreliable and needed warming up.

  Her dog knew that if they were heading out this time of day, they were going to see one of his favorite people in the world, Jocie. Hoppy propped himself up, his one front paw up on the door handle so he could look out, and she drove in twilight away from Queensville to Jakob’s log home on his Christmas tree farm, past snow-covered fields and icy bare trees, black limbs like lace against the purplish sky. He, like Jaymie, was a multi-business owner/operator; he helped as much as he could on his family’s farm and took care of his enterprise, the Müller Christmas Tree Farm. But he also ran a junk store—The Junk Stops Here—on a back road in a former factory in partnership with a friend Gus Majewski.

  Her van rattled and bumped as she turned onto Jakob’s road, a back-country gravel lane. There were some ruts from a mild winter and flooding so she slowed, taking the bumps more carefully for Hoppy’s sake. Maybe it was time to invest in a newer vehicle. “We’re almost there, Hoppy!” she said, glancing over at her little dog. He yapped back and panted.

  Ahead, warmly aglow with golden light that flooded out of the front window, was Jakob’s log home and happiness. “Here we are, Hoppy!” He yipped, overjoyed to visit Jocie, who he loved with all his doggie heart. She pulled up and jumped out of the van, greeted with a warm, enveloping hug from Jakob. Dressed in plaid flannel and jeans, he looked like a rugged lumberjack, his dark hair beginning to thread with silver and a beard coming in.

  When she carried Hoppy in and set him down Jaymie also received a wriggling hug from Jocie, who had her blonde hair pulled back from her round dimpled face with a heart-embellished headband. Jocie’s after-Christmas gift—animals should never be given on Christmas day, Jaymie had advised Jakob—was a kitten she had named Little Bit, and Hoppy had taken to the little tiger-striped devil. Kitten, dog and chil
d frolicked together from one end of the cabin to the other, much to Jocie’s delight, and then worked out their giddiness by racing about in circles, Hoppy gamely trying to keep up despite his lack of one limb.

  Dinner, Jakob’s famous meat loaf, was delicious. Jocie was excited, singing and shooting glances at her father, and so jumpy she could not stay still. Finally she got to present her gift to Jaymie, a heart-shaped chocolate cake sprinkled with heart candies. It was lopsided and messy but delicious, a wreck of its former self after they demolished it. Jocie yawned elaborately after dessert and said she was tired.

  “Do you want to go to bed?” Jakob asked.

  She nodded and yawned again, slumping in the farm chair drawn up to the rustic table in the dining area that adjoined the living area of the log cabin.

  Jaymie eyed her suspiciously, reaching out to coil one blonde curl around her forefinger. She examined the girl’s cherubic face, the smooth pink-tinged skin, the high pale forehead, the cupid’s bow lips. “Now, Jocie, I thought we were going to watch A Charlie Brown Valentine together?”

  She slipped off her chair and put her hands on Jaymie’s legs. “I watched it already with my friend, Gemma. Is that okay?” She stared up at Jaymie, biting her lip and searching her eyes for approval.

  “Honey, whatever you do is okay with me, you know that,” Jaymie said, hugging her hard and kissing her soft, plump cheek.

  The little girl nodded, picked up her kitten and trotted away, calling “Good night” over her shoulder. Odd that she should be so eager to go to bed. Normally it was a struggle to get her to settle when all she wanted to do was spend more time with Jaymie.

  “I’ll put her to bed and come back down, okay?” Jakob said, and headed for the stairs to follow his daughter.

  “Of course.” Jaymie wondered why he was so serious that he was almost frowning. She watched Hoppy settle on the rug by the fireplace, basking his limbs in the warmth of a real wood fire. Jakob had seemed off all dinner, so very quiet. Fidgety and concerned, she rearranged cutlery, piled plates together, moved restlessly in her seat. Maybe he had something else on his mind and had wanted to call off their date, but felt like he couldn’t put her off on their first Valentine’s Day as a couple.

  She’d have to tell him that if he ever had a family issue he needed to take care of he could tell her. He could break any date, talk to her about anything; he could be quiet, noisy, sad . . . anything. Just so long as they could talk about it. Her breath caught in her throat. She jumped up, cleared the dessert dishes and ran water in the sink, gazing out into the darkness of the lane and road beyond the kitchen window.

  Time to admit it to herself: she loved him. Deeply. Completely. They had only known each other a few months but she was so sure of her feelings toward him she didn’t know how she’d stand it if he didn’t love her too. But he had to be careful, since he had a daughter. They had already had the awkward conversation when he told her he would always put Jocie first. She had reassured him that she honored that intention and agreed. But maybe Jakob had decided they were going too fast and needed to slow down. She could live with that as long as he didn’t tell her he was breaking up with her.

  “Please don’t let him want to break up with me,” she whispered.

  She washed the dishes and set them in the drainer, then scrubbed the heart-shaped cake pan and dried it, setting it on the table for Jakob to put away. That was the problem with Valentine’s Day; it made everything love-related seem so serious and heavy. Television told you that you had to have the perfect Valentine date, or the perfect Valentine proposal. Like Christmas, there was too much pressure put on perfection. Jaymie believed that the search for perfection meant you were never happy, because perfection was impossible.

  She heard Jakob’s step in the hall and turned with a smile. He wasn’t smiling, though he usually was. Her heart thudded and the smile died on her lips.

  “Can we take a walk?” he asked.

  “Outside?” she squawked. “It’s only twenty-five degrees!”

  He grabbed a blanket. “We need to talk.”

  Outside of the cabin? It must be serious. She couldn’t say a word past the lump in her throat. The door slammed shut behind them and he gently wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, then put his arm around her and led her away from the cabin, crunching across the frozen gravel drive. As they walked they were silent; she was trying to figure out how to take it if he said he needed to back off from their relationship.

  Could she handle it without crying? She didn’t think so. It was scary how much he and Jocie had come to mean to her in such a short time. She had always drifted into relationships, usually caught off guard by men who asked her out when she wasn’t expecting it. But this . . . this was different in every single way. Her heart was filled with love for Jakob and for Jocie. It would crush her if he didn’t return her love.

  “Want to see what I’ve done in the tree house?” he said, taking her hand.

  “Okay.” Her voice was small, and she was numb from cold and fear.

  He climbed up first. Her freezing bare hands were awkward on the ladder rungs, but he gave her a hand up the final steps. “It’s so cold,” she said, her breath coming out in white clouds in the dim light from the Müller Christmas Tree Farm sign.

  “I’ll keep you warm.” He wrapped the blanket around her more closely as she leaned against him, feeling his strong arms encircle her. She’d gladly stay this way all evening.

  “I don’t see any changes,” she said, twisting and trying to examine the tree house in the dark. “Do you have a lantern or something?”

  “No, but I have a light switch.” He let go of her and moved toward the window opening.

  “Okay, let’s have some light.”

  “Come to the window. I want you to see something.”

  “What is it?”

  “Come here,” he said, his voice gruff. He sounded tense.

  She approached and looked up at his shadowy face, wondering what was wrong.

  “Look out in that direction,” he said, pointing out the window over the sea of dark evergreens, the crop of Christmas trees for next year and the years after.

  She did as she was told and heard a click; the illumination was immediate, but it wasn’t in the tree house, it was in the evergreen field. Hundreds of lights blazed, making a loopy uneven heart strung from tree to tree and surrounding the sign they used at Christmas to advertise their hours. It, too, was illuminated and held the words Jaymie: Will U Marry Us? Love, Jakob & Jocie

  Her heart thudded and her breath caught in her throat. She looked up into his face; it was still shadowy. She felt it and traced his grin. He bent his head to kiss her, their warm breath mingling in the frigid tree house.

  “Jaymie, I know it’s fast,” he murmured against her lips, his warm hands cupping her cheeks. “I know we’ve only known each other a few months.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “But I love you so much, and I know it’s right. Will you marry me? Us? Me and my little girl?”

  Her eyes were wet. He touched her cheek, feeling the tears. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t say a word, and felt him stiffen, tensing. She nodded enthusiastically and then found a way past the lump in her throat to croak, “Yes, please. I love you, Jakob Müller!”

  From the ground below, she heard a wild cry of “Woo hoo!” from Jocie, and Hoppy barking excitedly. In one beautiful minute she had a whole family to love.

  One

  August 1984

  REBECCA “BECCA” LEIGHTON, fifteen going on sixteen, rode her bicycle along the dirt country road about halfway between Queensville and Wolverhampton, Michigan. It was good to have somewhere to go, because as much as she loved her new baby sister, Jaymie, and her mom, their neediness was suffocating her. A teenager could only take so much diaper changing and burping.

  The wind felt good, and her bare legs—she wore cutoff jeans and a tank top—were strong and tanned from two months of wearing shorts. It was a hot summer day, no school for
another three weeks or so. She skidded the bike, cornering up the dirt drive of her friend Delores’s country home, ditched it on the weedy, patchy grass lawn and raced up the wooden steps as Delores bolted out the screen door, slamming it behind her.

  “Suck it, Clifford,” Delores hollered over her shoulder.

  Her cousin’s voice echoed from inside, “You suck it, Del! You can just—” And he let loose with a string of foul language.

  “What’s up?” Becca asked as Delores plopped down on the top step of the house-wide porch.

  “Just Cliff being Cliff,” Delores grumbled, using the heels of her hands on her eyes to get rid of the tears. She pushed her thick hair over her shoulder, the odd reddish-blondish-brownish color a result of using spray-in lightener all summer on her naturally brown hair. It was supposed to use the sun’s heat to turn it a glorious blonde, but so far it was a weird mixture of colors, none of them the smooth, silky blonde mane promised by the girl on the box. “All he freakin’ does is sit and stare at the TV, smoking pot. He wanted me to make him a sandwich. I told him to make it himself and he went off on me. I hate him!”

  Becca sat down by Delores on the top step and checked over her shoulder, eyeing the screen door. No car in the weedy gravel lane, so Delores’s aunt and uncle weren’t home—her Aunt Olga never stayed home if her Uncle Jimbo was going somewhere—and that meant her friend’s cousin, Clifford, was the only other person present. Becca didn’t like Clifford. He looked at her legs and eyed her breasts. Yuck! He had to be thirty if he was a day, and he was a creepola.

  “Let’s get out of here, then,” Becca said, standing and hopping down two steps so she was eye level with Delores. “Can we take the horses?” That was pretty much the only reason she had befriended Delores at the beginning of the summer; the Pagets had a barn and two rideable horses, and Becca was now a riding addict.