Murder in the Park (Fran Finch Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by Ivy McAllister

  “Yes,” Waverly said, disappointed. “I was hoping he’d be a cute, little, fluffy kitten.”

  “Waverly’s desperate for a kitten,” Emily explained as she came in from the kitchen holding glasses of orange juice. The concertina doors that led to the veranda stretched across the whole wall and folded back until the kitchen was practically outside. Fran made a mental note that if she ever managed to succeed in her chosen career, she’d install kitchen doors just like that. “But since Vanessa is allergic,” Emily continued, “it’s a total no-go, I’m afraid.”

  “I’d rather have a kitten than her,” Waverly said darkly. She flopped back into one of the veranda chairs and crossed her arms over her chest, her face like a storm. “Stupid old Vanessa,” she mumbled under her breath.

  But once Emily reached over and tickled her, she was back to smiling again. She took her glass of orange juice quite happily and even swung her legs as she drank.

  “So,” Fran said, “you’re about to be eight, right?” Ever since she’d been led through the hallway with the shining marble floor and grand staircase, she hadn’t been able to stop potential party scenes popping into her head. The hallway brimming with people and presents. The kitchen practically spilling over with cake and party punch and laughter. The veranda with a piñata strung up on the ceiling, a little girl in a party dress and blindfold trying to whack it, while a bunch of gap-toothed little kids watched on in awed excitement, waiting for their turn. “What kind of party do you want?”

  Emily rolled her eyes when she looked in Fran’s direction, but kept her voice deliberately measured. “Well, her mom’s putting on a grown-up style dinner party where everyone will come with a date—tuxedos for the boys, evening gowns for the girls.”

  Waverly sat up proudly, showing her own gap in her teeth as she smiled. “Mom says that’s what adults do. I’m having an adult party.”

  Fran made wide eyes at Emily. It looked like her visions of pink princess party realm had been way misplaced. “All right, so you’re having your grown-up party at Mom’s. Why don’t you do something totally different at Dad’s?”

  “All her friends are here,” Emily said, “since she goes to school here. So she could have a much bigger party.”

  Waverly gasped. “I know what I want! Wait here!” Then she leapt out of her chair, dashed into the kitchen, careened around the island, and disappeared through the doorway, leaving Emily and Fran laughing good-naturedly after her.

  “She’s a great kid,” Emily said.

  Fran nodded. “Uh huh. And this is a great place.” From their spot on the veranda, they see the ocean, turquoise in the summer heat and glittering with the reflection of the afternoon sun. The veranda steps led down to a large lawn, perfectly striped, with fountains and statues in an old-fashioned European style. Then there was a huge pool, which Fran was itching to dive right into.

  “It really is,” Emily said dreamily. “I feel like the luckiest person in the world sometimes. Oh, gosh, that makes me sound like the world’s worst bragger, huh? Ick. Sorry.”

  “Oh yeah,” Fran said, “just horrible. You should be ashamed.” She rose her voice in a plummy upper-class accent, like they used to do in high school. “Ashamed, I tell you!”

  Emily giggled. “Just as crazy as ever, I see.”

  Fran rolled her eyes. “As much as I try to iron it all out and be normal.”

  “Meh,” Emily said with a shrug, taking a sip of orange juice. “Normal is super boring, if you ask me. Good to keep a little crazy in you. Makes life interesting.”

  “That’s for sure,” Fran said. “I just hope it can make life successful, too.” Then she burst out laughing. “Well, you’re my inspiration now, huh? Crazy as a cat lady and sitting here sunning yourself on the terrace of a millionaire’s mansion.”

  Emily put on a haughty expression and sipped her orange juice with her little finger stuck out. “A multi-multi-multi millionaire, thank you very much. And if you count his business wealth, a billionaire, in fact.”

  “Oh, I’m terribly sorry.”

  “So you should be.”

  “Seriously, though,” Fran said, looking out over the tennis court and a golf course in the distance, “how did this guy make his money?”

  “You’ve heard of Stratford hotels, right?”

  “Of course, there’s one in like every city… Oh, you mean…they’re all his? Woah.”

  “Yep,” Emily said. “And I guess the current Mrs. Stratford owns half, though I don’t really know.” She took a quick glance around, but no one was there, so she continued. “Waverly’s mom, not the last Mrs. Stratford, but the one before that, signed a prenup. And now she’s so broke, she’s planning to sell a memoir about her and Byron’s life together that she’s writing. He’s furious about it because he’s planning to run for mayor, but she just tells him she can do what she wants. Whenever she comes around, it ends in a screaming match, if not about that then about something else.”

  “Wow,” Fran said. “Sounds like drama. What’s his new wife like?”

  “Vanessa’s fine, I guess. She’s just always reading or studying. She practically lives in the library, and only comes out to make herself a sandwich at lunch. It’s kind of like she lives in another world.”

  “Not talking about me, I hope,” a woman’s voice said.

  Chapter 3

  A young woman about their age with mousy hair and freckles chasing across her cheeks came up the stairs, clutching the leashes of two golden retrievers. Her flip flop-sweat pants-scruffy t-shirt combo made her look totally out of place with the elegance of the setting, but she had a lovely shining smile and natural good looks.

  Percy, who had been sunning himself by the veranda railings, got to his feet, warily eyeing the retrievers all the while, then came and sat next to Fran’s legs. He sat in an imperious way, like he was the king waiting to receive his guests into his royal parlor, but Fran could tell he was a bit nervous.

  “Oh, hey, Anna,” Emily said. “Nope, not about you. I’ll just go get the money, one sec. You want some orange juice?”

  “Uh, no, thanks,” Anna called after her. “I’m trying to do this zero sugar diet thing for a while, not even fruit sugar. Water would be awesome, though.” She flopped down onto Waverly’s wicker chair and stroked the dogs as they nuzzled against her leg. The dogs both turned to look at Percy, but looked only vaguely intrigued and soon turned away again. “Hey,” Anna said to Fran.

  “Hi, I’m Fran.” Fran hesitated, but eventually worked up enough confidence to say, “I’m the party planner.” It wasn’t that she was shy about meeting new people. On the contrary, she really enjoyed it. But calling herself ‘the party planner’ made her feel like a fraud. Still, she reminded herself what she’d read about Imposter Syndrome and that she mustn’t give into it, and held her head high. “I’m going to be putting on Waverly’s birthday celebrations.”

  Anna’s face clouded for a second, but then she was back to her usual sunny self. “Oh, that’s great. I expect it’ll be a princess-themed, all in pink, with no expense spared.”

  Fran laughed. “That’s what I’d thought, too, but apparently she’s not that type of girl.”

  Anna gave her a knowing, conspiratorial look. “You just wait until her dad comes around and you’ll see what I mean.”

  “Here’s your water,” Emily said, hurrying back with a glass. She then pressed some money into Anna’s hand. “And here’s your money.”

  “Thanks,” Anna said, leaning back into the chair and drinking deeply.

  “Anna moved here a few months ago,” Emily said. “She walks Ben and Jerry for us.”

  Fran grinned. “Ben and Jerry?”

  “Don’t ask,” said Emily with a quick eye-roll. “Waverly’s choice.”

  “I walk a lot of dogs around here,” Anna said with a smile. “It’s great work. Gets me out in the fresh air, and I get to be with dogs all day. It’s perfect, really.”

  Fran nodded. “You must like dogs
a lot, then.”

  “Oh, sure,” Anna said, nodding. “My mom got this Rottweiler when I was nine. I got a train your dog book and was obsessed. I trained him every day, you know, to heel, to shake hands, to jump through hoops, all of that. Ever since then, I’ve been totally hooked. Dogs are just…” She looked down at Ben and Jerry as she ruffled their golden fur. “I don’t know how to describe it. I just love them.” Then she practically dropped her glass on the floor, her mouth dropping open as she looked toward the kitchen. Her water spilled all over Ben and Jerry, and their yelping brought her back to her senses. “Oh gosh, sorry, sorry, boys,” she said, scrambling to retrieve the glass as it rolled off Jerry’s back and onto the Italian-looking veranda tiles.

  Fran turned back to the kitchen to see what the fuss was all about. Standing there by the gleaming granite-topped kitchen island was… Well, there were two men, one older and rotund, in a linen suit, who she could instantly guess was Byron Stratford. But it was the other one Emily, Fran, and Anna had their eyes locked onto. Fran recognized his tanned face and lean body as instantly familiar, but struggled to place him for a moment. He really was gorgeous, with dark brown eyes and chiseled features right out of a fashion shoot. “Toby Georgiou!” she suddenly blurted without thinking, then clapped her hand over her mouth, turning back toward the ocean and wishing she could disappear into thin air. She could feel her cheeks flushing bright red, and Emily shaking the wicker couch as she laughed silently beside her.

  “Yes?” Toby Georgiou said in his deep, gravelly voice with the subtlest hint of a Mediterranean accent.

  Fran wished the veranda would collapse in on itself so she could fall into it and never be seen again.

  Emily, laughter in her voice, got up. “Hello, Mr. Stratford. Mr. Georgiou, this is Anna Thomas, our dog walker, and Fran Finch, the party planner for Waverly’s birthday.”

  Fran felt like she was wading through syrup as she got to her feet and forced a smile, all the while avoiding those large, expressive dark brown eyes, and the wave of black hair that tumbled down to his strong eyebrow, only on one side. “Hello,” she said, looking firmly at Mr. Stratford. Then she got a bolt of confidence and held out her hand for him to shake it. “Fran Finch.”

  “Emily already said so,” Byron Stratford said dryly, shaking her hand with disinterest and looking at Emily accusingly. “Where is my little princess, anyway?”

  “Oh, she went upstairs to get something to show Fran,” Emily said casually. “She’ll be back in a moment.”

  The sound of the fridge door opening made them all turn to see a very tall and slim dark-haired lady retrieving a pre-prepared sandwich from the fridge. “Sorry for disturbing you,” she whispered, then tucked the sandwich bag under her arm and went back to the book she was reading as she walked out of the kitchen. Fran didn’t need three guesses to know who that was—Vanessa, the bookish stepmother Waverly didn’t like very much.

  Byron Stratford turned back, seemingly annoyed, like the very sight of his wife had gotten on his nerves. Then he put on a booming voice and confident smile as he clapped Toby Georgiou on the back. “I can count on you to be at my daughter’s birthday, can’t I?” he boomed.

  Toby actually looked quite uncomfortable, which Fran hadn’t expected. She’d remembered exactly who he was by then: a model with sultry, smoldering TV ads for Calvin Klein and designer perfume brands. He’d become somewhat of a household name, especially among fashion-forward 20-somethings. Though Fran wasn’t into fashion herself, he was pretty hard to avoid with his rock hard abs and angular jaw popping up on the internet, on billboards, on TV. He had always had the image of total, 100% confidence, but in that moment, he shifted from one foot to the other and thrust his hand in his pockets. “I guess?” he said doubtfully. “If you want me to come.”

  “Of course I do!” Stratford said. “This new thing’s going to be a huge hit and you’ll be like part of our family. Trust me on that one, Georgiou. Now come on, let’s get our coffee and go into the office and talk numbers.” He gave Fran, Emily and Anna a little nod. “Ladies, excuse us, please.”

  Toby gave an awkward nod and turned to follow Stratford back into the kitchen.

  Once they’d sat back down, Emily made big eyes at Fran, and Anna did the same. They waited until Stratford had poured out the coffee and left with Toby, before they all collapsed into giggles.

  “Oh my gosh,” Anna said. “I can’t believe Toby Georgiou was that shy. I mean, he’s Toby Georgiou.”

  “More like Toby Gorgeous.” Emily laughed. “Ugh. Yes, please.”

  Fran smiled. “He’s sure not ugly, is he?”

  Anna sank back low in her chair, looking wistfully out over the ocean. “He’s dreamy.”

  “He’s not exactly long-term material, though, is he?” Emily said, giggling. “He could barely string a sentence together.”

  Fran fluttered her eyelashes. “He’s feeling shy being in the presence of such a radiant beauty as myself, of course.” She was just kidding around. In truth, even though other people sometimes told her she was pretty, she felt a little awkward looking. But she prided herself on the fact that she didn’t take it too seriously, and knew she had plenty else to offer. ‘Character’s the most important thing,’ as her mother had always said. ‘Looks only fade, but character gets stronger.’ “Anyway, Mr. Stratford said something like this thing’s going to be a huge hit? What’s he talking about?”

  Emily shrugged. “Who knows? Byron certainly doesn’t open up to me.”

  “Or me,” Anna said. “Though who could expect that? I’m just the dog walker.”

  “And it’s much appreciated,” said Emily with a nod. “I’m not traipsing around Little Hampton until those crazy guys get tired. I can barely walk up all the billion flights of stairs in this place without getting out of breath.” Emily was pretty much overweight, but looking up to the height of the mansion, Fran guessed anyone would be huffing and puffing after trying to get to the top. There were at least four floors, she estimated.

  Just then Waverly came like a whirlwind through the kitchen, clutching a magazine to her chest.

  “Hey, Waverly!” Anna said brightly, giving her a wave.

  Waverly, just noticing her, stopped in her tracks, eyes darkening. “Hello,” she said stiffly, then walked the long way around the couch to avoid her. “Hi, Ben. Hi, Jerry.” She’d probably once been enthusiastic about them, Fran thought, but now she’d gotten used to them and wanted the excitement of a new kitten. But what was the animosity toward Anna about? Waverly hung back, holding the magazine close like it contained something very precious to her. Her voice was suddenly shy when she said, “Party lady?”

  Fran smiled. “Yep?”

  Then Waverly beckoned her over with a crooked finger, and they headed over to the side of the veranda where there was a wide view of the golf course. She spread open the magazine on a picture of some kind of magic fantasy land that reminded Fran of the My Little Pony figurines she’d had when she was little. There were multicolored unicorns, and a thick rainbow streaking through the perfectly blue sky, and fairies and flowers and pastel shades and glitter in abundance. “I want a birthday party just like that,” she said solemnly, her dark eyes serious as she looked up to Fran.

  Fran puffed out a breath, taking the magazine in her hands and looking down at the lawn. Her heart pumped faster, but she couldn’t tell if it was fear or excitement. She knew she’d be paid a bundle for the work, but that wasn’t where her mind was. Could she really create something so spectacular? It would be a blast to create such a fun world for a party, and she imagined pastel-colored candies and favors and a huge tea party, but…could she pull it off? Looking into the sincere dark eyes in the little pale face, she swallowed, then allowed all the fear to seep away. She gave Waverly an enormous smile and put her hand out for a high-five. “Let’s do this, kid.”

  Waverly high-fived her back, then started a cute little hopping routine around the veranda. “This is gonna be the best part
y ever!”

  Fran looked on with a smile. The kid’s joy was infectious. Little did she know that the day of the party, as well as being the first real success of her new venture, would mean death for somebody close.

  Chapter 4

  “Oh. My. Gosh.” Emily was walking down the steps that led from the veranda to the lawn for the first time that day, her mouth hanging open. She’d curled her short brown hair and scraped it back into an up-do, her silver peplum dress shining brightly in the afternoon sunlight. “Wow. That’s all I can say, Fran. Wow. Wow. Wow.”

  Fran had been running around like a madwoman, slipping off her ballet-style slippers to dart around between the marquee and the secret flower fairy garden and what she was calling the Rainbow Grove, her bare feet sinking into the grass. She was most relieved that Mr. Stratford had insisted no heels were to be worn on the lawn—she hated tottering about on the darn things. As it was, even the ballet slippers had raised a painful blister on the back of her right heel, and she wondered if she could get away with bare feet for the rest of the party, without socialite parents looking down their nose at her. She adjusted where her sundress was digging in at her bra line. “Thanks,” she said to Emily, as she attempted to run through her checklist one more time. In truth, each of the tasks blended in to each other, and she could barely get her thoughts straight enough to tick a single box. Her stomach kept clenching and unclenching with anxiety. “I just hope Waverly likes it. And her dad, of course.”

  Emily tittered. “Well, he’s the one paying the bill. But as long as Waverly’s happy, he’s happy. That’s what I’m hoping is true, anyway, for my sake.”

  “Huh? What do you mean?”

  Emily picked up a breadstick and cracked it in half absentmindedly before she began to nibble. “Oh, we had an argument.”