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

by Ivy McAllister

  “Yep,” Anna said. “I saw him.”

  “But he was nowhere to be seen during the Murder in the Park game…” Fran thought for a moment. “But wait. What if the murderer wasn’t actually inside the Rainbow Grove at all? That would make more sense, wouldn’t it? Because, I mean, how could a person hide a gun and silencer away so quickly and pretend to be shocked like the rest of us?”

  Anna nodded. “I see what you mean. But how would a murderer kill from outside the Rainbow Grove? Through the gate and then ran?”

  “I would have said that, but Emily was there, wasn’t she?”

  “Nope. Remember she said she went up to the house, then came rushing back in?”

  “Oh yeah,” Fran said, just about remembering. Pretty much everything had turned to a blur. “Well…do you think it’s possible to shoot through a bush? There were plenty of bushes that were kind of…well, not sparse, but they had some gaps between them. Do you remember?”

  Anna shook her head. “Not exactly. Maybe we should go take a look?”

  “All right.” Fran nodded. “Then I need to take a shower.”

  Anna laughed, “For sure! We can go to my place and I’ll fix us sandwiches or something as well.”

  “That sounds great.” Fran hadn’t realized how hungry she was, but all that power-walking in the sun was sure working up an appetite. “Then I’m going home and sleeping until tomorrow morning. I’m surviving on caffeine right now. I barely slept last night.”

  “Me either,” Anna said.

  Fran looked at her fresh face with a groan. She didn’t mind Anna being much prettier than her, that was par for the course, but to be able to look shining and glowing after a night of tossing and turning? That just wasn’t fair. “You’d better tell me which under-eye concealer you use. Do you do contouring and all that?”

  Anna giggled. “To me, a contour is something on a map. I just have three things: under-eye concealer, mascara, and lip gloss. That’s all.”

  “Yeah, I’ve never been big on the whole makeup thing either,” Fran said with a shrug. “Except in the nineties, when body and face glitter was all the rage.”

  “Oh, don’t!” Anna said, squealing. “And blue mascara! And those cargo pants with all the strings hanging down from them.”

  Fran flicked her free hand and batted her eyelashes. “Well, I had a pair of those. I looked awesome. Shame the pictures didn’t show it. Must have been something wrong with the camera.” She laughed. “Boy, the days of Britney Spears and N Sync.”

  Anna shook her head. “The Spice Girls were my favorite. It was just me and my mom at home and she was having a hard time. We really latched onto the whole girl power thing. I really, really, really wanna zig-a-zig, ahh!”

  Fran laughed. “Just don’t go there.” Then the Stratford mansion came back into view, and Fran breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Oh man, that walking in the sun thing. I’m not sure if I loved it or hated it.”

  Anna grinned. “Well, it sure leaves you thirsty, I’ll say that. Come on, let’s go down to the gardens. I wonder if it really is possible to shoot through a hedge.”

  Chapter 14

  Fran was true to her word. She slept all through the afternoon and the night. In the evening, her limbs exhausted from the midday walk, she’d been sitting on her bed at Mrs. McCabe’s with an open notebook, crossing her legs and trying to get a list of suspects together. She’d remembered from crime shows that they usually called the reason for killing a ‘motive’, so she’d written that as another column. She’d managed to get down: Sandrine, because of the book, and Vanessa, because of the mayor thing. Then her eyelids drooped, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. Anna had certainly been right about how good it felt to be clean and showered after such sweating and exertion. With the fresh sundress she’d borrowed from Anna, and the clean sheets on the soft bed, she was soon sound asleep.

  The next thing she knew there was a faint dim outside, washing the fields with a hazy half-light. She’d dropped asleep before she’d thought to close the curtains, so she was greeted with the most beautiful view over the fields and the ocean beyond. It was impossible to tell if it was dusk or dawn, but a quick check on her iPhone let her know it was 4:30 in the morning. Her bare feet and ankles were cold, so she slipped under the covers, rubbing them against each other like she used to when she was little. Her mom had always said it was a bad idea to wear socks in bed, but Fran had been a cold-footed person and she’d had to rub her feet constantly to get them warm.

  She tried to get back to sleep, watching the beauty of the landscape outside. But somehow the beauty just made her feel immensely sad. She thought of Emily, boxed up in a cell with no window.

  Then her mind went back to her suspect list. When she and Anna had headed back to the Rainbow Grove at the Stratford mansion, they’d seen that indeed the shot could have been made through a bush. This would have been a possibility from three sides—the side where Emily had been sitting on the bench, the opposite side, and the side behind where Byron had been standing. The fourth side was dense with the maze paths and no one could have shot through all that with a decent aim. And, come to think of it, the bullet was in Byron’s front, so it seemed unlikely that the killer would have been in the bush behind him, though, of course, Byron could have made a final half-turn before he fell. However, Anna and Fran both thought it was either from Emily’s side or the opposite one. Either of those options seemed much more likely than the idea that someone inside had shot him.

  That meant the most likely people to have wielded the gun were Toby Georgiou and Vanessa. She knew that Vanessa didn’t want Mr. Stratford to be mayor, but was that reason enough to kill him? And what about his fortune? Fran had to find out if there was really a prenup. When it came to Toby Georgiou… Well, all she knew was that she knew pretty much nothing. He seemed to be getting cold feet about the boutique hotel business deal, but why not just pull out? Why kill Mr. Stratford? She realized she really needed to find out more about him, and, of course, the person to tell her would be Matt.

  But was what Anna had overheard really true? Fran had never been the kind of person to believe rumors. She’d heard through her high school gossip grapevine that she herself had stolen a car, run over a man, and buried the body! And, slightly less seriously, that she was the mysterious lipgloss thief who kept swiping glittery tubes from the locker room. Neither of which was true, of course.

  She snuggled under the blanket and made up her mind she’d meet Matt for lunch, after heading to the Forthstrups’ to talk about Oliver’s superhero party. She’d find out the truth about Toby Georgiou—and Matt himself—from Matt’s own lips.

  Delilah Forthstrup’s enormous mansion was in an absolute state. When Fran stepped in the front doorway, it took a lot of self restraint not to gasp. The place was clean enough, but it could not be called tidy, even by the most practiced of liars. Fran actually had to pick her way through the toys that littered the hallway, as Delilah led her to the kitchen. Rather than looking embarrassed by the mess, Delilah positively beamed. “We let our Oliver live,” she said. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “Oh, sure, thanks,” Fran said, taking a seat at the breakfast bar.

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Delilah said with a joyful smile. “I used to be a total clean freak. I mean, I’d scoop up a cup out of your hand before you were even done, and follow my husband’s footsteps down the hall with a mop.”

  “Wow,” Fran said, wishing she had more motivation when it came to cleaning. “That does sound clean.”

  Delilah flicked the switch on the kettle, then leaned on the counter. “It was obsessive, really. Anyhow, once my little Olly got ill, I had a little epiphany. I was so obsessed with getting everything tidied up that I wasn’t enjoying life. And I wasn’t letting anyone else enjoy life. Certainly not Oliver. I only used to let him play with one toy at a time, and there was no running in the house, no jumping, no shouting.” She laughed, but her eyes looked sad.
“But during his illness, he didn’t want to run or jump or shout anymore, and I realized how much I’d missed it. And that maybe, after all, that was his nature. So he’s free to be, now. If you know what I mean.”

  Fran smiled. “I do. Free to play superheroes, I bet.”

  Delilah’s smile spread wider than ever. “You’ve got that one right. Talking of superheroes, the party.”

  Fran got her pad and pen out of her bag. “That’s why I’m here, Mrs. Forthstrup. I really want to make this as special as we can. Your boy deserves a celebration. A happy day. You all do.”

  Delilah nodded. “I think you’re right. Even the dog has been ever so gloomy. We have a Papillion dog named Lara. She’s moped about ever since Olly got ill, and she’s only just beginning to perk up. I think a party with a lot of treats would do her wonders, too.”

  Fran was already beginning to think of superhero cakes and rocket-shaped drink cups and streamers in superman colors. It would be super fun to work some superhero-themed dog treats in there, too. “Ooh, yes, I nearly forgot. Does Olly have a favorite superhero? Who do you think he’ll come dressed as?”

  “Spiderman,” Delilah said affectionately. “It’s always Spiderman, these days. And his dad will be dressing up as Spiderman, too, no doubt.”

  Fran laughed. “That’s great.”

  “He’s been really amazing with Olly. I didn’t think he would handle it well. He’s the CEO of Explore The World Foods. Do you know it?”

  “Sure!” Fran said. “They do like make-your-own food kits from around the world, and sauces and stuff? I love the Mexican, and the Chinese.”

  “That’s him,” Delilah said. “Before Olly got ill, he was a very distant father. I was worried about the emotional damage Olly might suffer.”

  Fran nodded, knowing all too well. Once her parents had divorced, their father rarely ever came over to see them, leaving Fran and her little brothers feeling neglected.

  Delilah sighed and flicked off the kettle as it boiled, then made Fran a coffee. “Like poor Anna. You know the poor girl’s never even met her father. She puts on a brave face, but I’m sure she’s deeply affected. You can’t not be, can you?”

  “Gosh,” Fran said. She wondered if it was worse to have never met your father, or to have had what seemed like a great relationship then lost it. Either way sucked. Though her mother had helped so much in pulling her through the bad times. “I wonder if her mom was there for her.”

  “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Just one sugar, please.”

  “All she said was her mother was a waitress at a fancy restaurant that didn’t pay her enough, and they lived in a rough neighborhood. That was about it. Oh, and that they had a lot of dogs.”

  Fran realized then why Anna loved dogs so much. It sounded like they might have been her only companions while her mom was waiting tables and her dad was missing in action.

  “I feel really bad for her,” Fran said. “You never know what someone’s been through, do you?”

  “Here you are, sweetie,” Delilah said as she pushed the cup over the counter toward Fran. “If there’s anyone you want to feel sorry for, it should be Waverly. Her father is dead. Her mother is as broke as a teacup smashed on the ground, and, well... Her stepmother? Barely able to look up from a book long enough to string a sentence together. Normally, I don’t like to judge. But when kids get involved, I just can’t help it. I heard the nanny’s in jail.”

  “Yes,” Fran said, biting her lip. “That’s my friend, Emily. I’m absolutely sure she didn’t do it.”

  “Of course she didn’t. It’s obvious who did.”

  “Who?”

  Delilah looked around warily, like a murderer might be hiding behind the kitchen island or the row of dainty teacups. “Well, I don’t really want to say.”

  “Because you’re not sure?”

  “No, I’m ninety-nine percent sure. It’s just…well, to be honest…” She trailed off, looking out the window.

  “Please tell me,” Fran said. “Please. If only to get Emily out of jail.”

  Delilah looked worried, but nodded. “That would be a worthy reason to speak out. That poor Waverly certainly needs her right now. All right.” She took a deep breath, then flashed her eyes wide, like she was psyching herself up. “I think… I think it’s got to be Sandrine.”

  Fran nodded, feeling her pulse quicken. “Why do you say that, Delilah?”

  “Everyone knows she’s completely out of money and knee-deep in debt. Probably neck-deep in debt. And everyone also knows that she’s the most prideful person in the whole of New York. There’s no way she would file for bankruptcy. She’d begged Byron for money, and he’d flatly refused, given out how much she’d splashed out on Pacific Island vacations and designer label clothes. So her bright idea had been this book about her life with Byron. She has a publisher lined up and everything. The only thing standing in her way was Byron. And think about it. Wouldn’t the book sell even better if Byron had died? You remember when Michael Jackson died? His record sales went through the roof.”

  Fran nodded. “And I guess all Byron’s money goes into a trust for Waverly? So she’d be hoping to get access to that, too?”

  “Oh no,” Delilah said. “All the money would go to Vanessa.”

  “I thought there was a prenup.”

  “There was a prenup with Sandrine. Probably because he knew she was…a fan of the gold coin, shall we say. But not Vanessa. She’ll inherit it all.”

  Chapter 15

  “So this is the injera I was telling you about,” Matt said, holding up the edge of the huge crepe-like pancake to show Fran.

  It was round, in a large round silver platter, about the size of three dinner plates put together. The pancake had little tiny holes in it, and was warm to the touch. An Ethiopian waitress with gorgeously patterned braids had just finished ladling sauces and vegetable dishes on top of the injera, then had smiled shyly and headed back to the counter. Then a man had brought them what looked like a tiny witch’s cauldron with a lid on top.

  “And this is my absolute favorite,” Matt said, his eyes bright. He held a napkin between his fingers and removed the hot lid of the mini-cauldron to reveal a bubbling dark red sauce that smelled rich and deep and spicy. “Shiro, eshi,” he said, putting an accent in his ‘r’.

  “Shiro what?” Fran said.

  Matt laughed. “That’s actually right. Shiro wat. Wat means sauce, or curry. It’s chickpeas and spices and all sorts. Trust me, it’s real nice. Try it.” He ladled a scoop of it on top of their injera, then tore off a piece and scooped some of the shiro. He popped the little pancake parcel into his mouth and closed his eyes appreciatively. “Mmm.”

  Fran had never eaten that way before, but she was never one to shy away from trying something new. Especially when it came to cuisine. So she followed suit, tearing off her own piece and dipping it into the little pool of shiro that had formed on top of the injera. The pancake itself was wholesome and warm, with a little tang, and the shiro sauce was rich and deep and spicy. “Wow, this is so good!” Fran said, already tearing off another piece.

  Matt grinned. “I can’t wait to go to Ethiopia again. Hawassa’s a very beautiful place. The lake stretches as far as you can see. Maybe next time…”

  Fran looked up as he trailed off, her heart skipping a beat. Was he really going to ask…

  But then he looked away and said, “Has your friend Emily been let out yet?”

  Fran shook her head. “I feel terrible about it. I’m trying to figure out who really did kill Byron, so I can get her out, but no luck. I guess Sandrine and Vanessa had reasons to kill him, maybe. Though it does sound a little extreme.”

  “Yeah, I can’t really see either of them doing it.”

  “I’m not sure,” Fran said. “I’m starting to suspect everyone, to be honest.”

  Matt looked up with a small smile. “Not me, I hope.”

  “Seeing as you were in some dead end trying to keep your suit nice,
there was no way you could have done it,” Fran said teasingly. “But that only leaves just about everyone else. I was… To be honest, I was wondering if you thought Toby Georgiou might have any motive. He didn’t seem that thrilled about the business deal, to be honest. Do you think he felt trapped in some way? Trapped enough to want to shoot his way out?”

  Matt blew out a stream of air, then pushed his hair back from his face. “Woah. Well… I never even thought of that before. I guess, well, Byron did have him locked into a contract. Toby thought it meant one thing, Byron knew it meant another, but didn’t tell Toby until it was all sealed up. Toby thought he was getting paid up front, you see, but Byron stipulated somewhere in the small print—that guy was a master of small print—that he’d only get paid if a certain target was reached in filling up rooms. So sure, Toby was mad about that. But he’s…” He trailed off.

  “He’s what?”

  “I shouldn’t be telling you all this,” he said. “It’s not our business.”

  “Maybe not,” Fran said firmly. “But if it’s going to help get Emily out, I need to hear it.”

  Matt tore off a piece of injera and fiddled with it nervously. “I guess. Well, Toby was trapped by the contract, and he couldn’t pull out, or he knew Byron would sue him for breach of contract. But that wasn’t all Toby was afraid of.”

  “What?” Fran said, feeling so certain she was on the right trail. “What else was he afraid of?”

  “That’s the thing, I’m not exactly sure. I just know that Byron had something on him. They were arguing on the phone, in the run-up to the party. I was in the office with Byron, and Toby rang. Soon it was a huge yelling match, and Byron said something about how Toby could go to any lawyer he wanted, that wouldn’t stop Byron letting out his ‘little secret’.”

  Fran sank back in her chair. “So Toby definitely had a motive to kill Byron then?”