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

by Ivy McAllister

  Matthew’s face was falling by the minute. “Yeah, I guess. It sounds dumb, I guess, but I never put two and two together. Well, I never thought Toby would be capable of killing. Not at all.”

  “And you have no idea what the ‘little secret’ is?”

  “Not a clue.”

  Fran had another scoop of shiro in her injera, and thought for a moment, wondering what it could be. The truth was, she knew nothing about the guy, other than that he was a gorgeous male model and seemed to date a string of equally gorgeous female models. “I wish we could find out.”

  Matt nodded. “Well, I’m planning to go to his apartment after the will reading. There are some things I’ve got to talk to him about, you know, about the hotel party opening. Maybe I could find out something.”

  “Will reading?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Matt said. “It’s this afternoon, in the Stratford mansion. I was asked to go because of the business. Byron’s always said I’d inherit the whole thing, while Waverly would get all his money. We’ll have to see if he’s true to his word. Not that I’m sure I want the business, to be honest.”

  Fran’s mouth actually dropped open. “Isn’t that going to make you, like…a billionaire?”

  Matt colored and concentrated far too hard on ripping a piece of injera with both hands. He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Fran’s mind boggled as she tried to take in how much money that was. That was crazy money. Like buy-anything-you-want-in-the-whole-world money. Heck, you could probably even buy a rocket and go blasting off into space, so you could get more than the world. No need to work. No limits. You could go anywhere, do anything. The prospect of it sounded amazing and terrifying both at once. Yet Matt was sitting there, acting like he’d inherited an old china plate or a couple hundred dollars. Then she caught sight of his Rolex and immaculate suit and remembered. “Well, you’re probably a billionaire already?”

  He laughed. “Not even close. Not even a multimillionaire.”

  “But still a millionaire.”

  He shrugged again. “Yeah. But that’s not all there is to me. I don’t just work to make money. I do a lot of other stuff.”

  Fran nodded, feeling guilty, because she’d obviously offended him. “Of course,” she said. “So what do you do then?”

  “Loads of different stuff.” His eyes had light back in them again, and she could tell he was passionate. “Genealogy, for one thing.”

  “That’s like family trees and all that, right?”

  “Yep.” He laughed. “I began with my mother’s side of the family, to give myself an easy start. Don’t think I’m quite brave enough to begin trying to find all my father’s and Byron’s children yet. I’ve poked into it a little, you know, what with Pascal and all.” His voice tightened in disgust when he said his half-brother’s name, like it was a foul swearword. “But to be honest, I didn’t dare to dig deeper. Who knows what skeletons I’ll find in their closets.”

  Fran gave him a sympathetic smile. He always seemed so matter-of-fact when he spoke about his father. But didn’t he care? Surely deep down he resented his father for having so many children all over the place. Fran wondered what their relationship was like, but felt it was too soon to ask.

  “I also hate going to the gym, like, with a passion,” he said. “I’d rather be doing something, you know. So I rock climb, and I go cycling. Shooting, sometimes, too. Oh, and I want to do one of those Iron Man contest things someday.”

  Fran grinned. “My oldest brother Tucker is a total fitness fanatic. He’d whip you into shape in no time. Like he’s tried to do to me more times than I could count.”

  “Do you work out?” he asked.

  “Nah.” Fran crinkled her nose. She’d certainly never been a gym bunny either. “I walk, or jog sometimes. I played volleyball in high school. I’d love to play again one day, but I don’t really know where I’m going next, you know? So it’s hard to join a team.”

  He nodded. “That’s cool. So what are you planning to do next?”

  “Well, after the party I’m doing for Oliver Forthstrup… Well, I don’t really know. Go back home, I guess, until another party planning job comes along.”

  He nodded, looking like he was hesitant to say something.

  “I did it all wrong last time,” she said. “I thought I had to land high-paying clients right away, and I should build my brand like that, and not compromise, but I don’t think that’s sensible. For now, I should do any parties. Even like little tiny kid’s birthdays in church halls, things like that. Even with small budgets. I think I was getting a bit carried away.”

  Matt looked up, grinning. “And yet your first client was Byron Stratford, a billionaire?”

  “Only thanks to Emily.” Fran bit her lip, feeling guilty for not thinking about Emily all the time and trying to get her out. “Um, Matt, I was wondering… Could I come with you to see Toby Georgiou? Just to ask him some questions?”

  Matt twisted his mouth to the side. “You sure that’s a good idea, Fran? What if he really did kill Byron? If he knows you’re onto him, you could be in danger.”

  Fran had already thought of that; it was the reason her stomach was tying itself in knots. But since Emily’s freedom was on the line, she could gather up enough courage to nod. “I’m sure. I have to.”

  She was all set to defend her decision from Matt’s protests, but he didn’t try to persuade her. He just locked his gray-flecked eyes onto hers. They were serious, but supportive. Understanding. She knew, in that moment, that he just ‘got’ it. He ‘got’ her.

  “All right,” he said. “Come meet me after the will reading?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Chapter 16

  Fran felt quite contented as she stepped up on the porch of the Old Farmhouse and heard the tinkling sound of the wind chimes as they blew in the gentle ocean breeze. It was beginning to feel like home, somehow, what with Mrs. McCabe always being there, bringing her lemonade or cakes or a listening ear. Percy had taken quite a shine to her, trotting around at her heels. But as soon as Fran came back, he turned his cute squashed up face toward her for his customary stroke under the chin. He’d purr like a steam train and squeeze his eyes shut in cat-bliss, and Fran would know that he was still her best friend.

  She’d come back to take a quick nap while the will was being read. The Ethiopian food had been far too delicious, and she’d had so much of it that all she wanted to do was curl up under the covers and drift off, full and contented. Percy was on the porch, basking in the sun. He looked the very picture of satisfied, and Fran smiled to see him. The summer really brought out the best in him. He was far more affectionate and somehow had less of a grumpy vibe. Maybe she would try to get her next party assignment in Florida, she thought, smiling to herself.

  When she and Matt had been driving back from the restaurant, she’d caught sight of an amazingly beautiful florist shop and had asked him to stop. She’d never bought flowers for anyone before, but somehow the large bunches beckoned her, and she was out of the Hyundai and across the sidewalk in a flash. As it turned out, the beauty of the shop was reflected in the price tags, with the cheapest bunch running to seventy-five dollars. But it was undeniably stunning, with purples and whites and lilacs. Fran couldn’t stop smiling as she swiped her credit card—she would be paid soon for Waverly’s party, she knew, and that was the only way she’d ever be able to afford such expensive flowers—and walked back to the car, carrying the flowers by the basket handle.

  That same gladness was still with her as she stepped into the farmhouse through the open doorway. She couldn’t wait to see Mrs. McCabe’s face as she gave the flowers to her. Though Mrs. McCabe was certainly strong and quite feisty, she was also gentle and kind, with a soft heart. Fran was sure she would give her a hug, maybe, and it would be a nice moment between them.

  But just as Fran was about to call out, she heard raised voices coming from the back of the house, near the kitchen. Frowning, Fran stood still, listening as
a man ranted. It wasn’t quite the level of shouting, but it was loud and angry, that was for sure. Starting to feel seriously concerned—were there intruders of some kind?—Fran edged ever so slowly toward the noise. There was an open door leading to a living area, which then led onto the kitchen, where Fran was sure the commotion was coming from. She edged all the way up to the door, feeling her heart beating in her chest ever more quickly. The voice still sounded muffled, like the kitchen door was closed, but she daren’t poke her head in and look around the living area, just in case someone was in there. Mrs. McCabe had mentioned quietly that it was their private living room, where guests weren’t normally invited in. When Fran had been allowed in for a cup of sweet tea and some cookies, she’d known it had only been because Mrs. McCabe liked her and was making a special exception. It still felt like trespassing to go in. But soon she realized she was going to have to. Maybe Mrs. McCabe was in trouble.

  Fran placed the basket of flowers down beside her, ever so careful that it didn’t make noise. In all honesty, she’d found it a bit snooty when the florist had told her that they didn’t do ‘awful, just awful’ plastic coverings. But then? She couldn’t have been more grateful there wasn’t any crackling, noisy plastic wrap to brush up against her leg and give her away.

  She pushed her head around the doorframe ever so slowly. She only went an inch or so at a time, checking the room was clear. Eventually everything came into view—the fireplace, the leather chairs, the side tables, the lamps, the bookcases— and, thank goodness, no people.

  So Fran crept across the wooden floorboards, hoping none would creak. The farmhouse in general was quite vocal. It whistled in the breeze and howled in the wind, and doors moaned on their hinges. But thankfully, she managed to creep quite quietly, and any noise she made was drowned out by the man’s raving.

  As she approached, she thought she recognized the voice. It was Leon, she was almost certain.

  “I just can’t believe it!” she heard him holler, but then his voice went muffled as he spoke in low tones. Just to check if everything was all right, Fran crept all the way up to the old farmhouse kitchen door and pressed her ear up against it.

  “I thought since Byron had been finished with, it would all have been over,” she heard Leon rage. Was it really Leon? It sounded like his voice, but he had been so mild-mannered before. Maybe it had all been an act, Fran supposed, feeling adrenaline zip round her body at the speed of lightning. “And now that scumbag Matt is closing in!”

  It felt like Fran’s blood froze in her veins. Leon. Could Leon have killed Byron?

  “Will you stop being so dramatic, Leon!” Mrs. McCabe practically hollered at him. “You know very well that—”

  Then the door slapped Fran square in the face, and she stumbled backwards in shock and pain. Mrs. McCabe gasped. “Fran!”

  “Mrs. McCabe,” Fran said, her embarrassment at being there tempering the pain a bit, but not enough. She clutched her head. “Leon,” she said, feeling sick as he stepped into the living room, holding a letter in his hand, a deep grooved frown between his eyebrows. “I was… I thought…” All the words jumbled up in her head. She’d expected Mrs. McCabe to be friendly and welcoming as always, but her hand was planted on her hip and her eyebrows were raised. Both she and Leon were waiting for an explanation. “I thought…you might have been in trouble.”

  “Oh really?” Mrs. McCabe said, her voice tough. “So listening in at doors is going to help save the day, is it?

  Leon’s face was hard as stone. “I think it’s time you leave, Fran.”

  “Leave?” Fran felt breathless. She felt torn in two directions: one, to please Mrs. McCabe and have her like her again, and two, to run like the wind out of there, only stopping to scoop up Percy on the way out.

  “You don’t have to leave,” Mrs. McCabe said firmly. “But I want to let you know, Fran, I will not tolerate anyone skulking around and eavesdropping. I’m surprised at you, frankly.”

  Fran was totally tongue-tied. She kept looking between Leon, a potential killer, and Mrs. McCabe, who felt like a scolding grandmother with her best interests at heart. All she could think to do was blurt out, “I got you some flowers.”

  Mrs. McCabe rocked her fuzzy white head back, confused. “Sorry?”

  “I…uh…got you some flowers, to say thank you for having me here. And being kind to me.”

  Mrs. McCabe’s face fell and she put her arm around Fran. “Aw, well you sure do know how to make an old woman feel guilty, huh? Where are these flowers then?”

  Fran, breathing a sigh of relief, said, “They’re just out here. I really hope you like them.”

  As they walked out, Leon barked to his aunt, “So we’re not going to talk about this? We need to do something.”

  “Not now, Leon,” Mrs. McCabe said, her voice packing much more power than his did. “Not now.”

  The truth was, this was all beginning to make Fran feel extremely uncomfortable. She didn’t know what to think and believe, and it felt like a fog had clouded all her senses. Once they were out in the hall, she gestured toward the flowers. Mrs. McCabe did break into a huge smile, and did give her a huge hug, but Fran didn’t feel anything. It felt like all her emotions had shut down and the only thing she could feel was numbness.

  It was a huge relief when her old iPhone buzzed into life and she had an excuse to extract herself from Mrs. McCabe’s hug. It was Matt, and Fran felt a sinking of relief in her chest. Thank goodness. “Hello?” she said. “Done already?”

  “It was over in minutes,” Matt said cheerfully. “I’ll swing by and pick you up?”

  “Great,” Fran said. “Mrs. McCabe, I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to hurry off now.”

  Mrs. McCabe had the flower basket hanging on her arm. “All right, dear. I’m sorry if I was a bit harsh.”

  Fran gave her a brave smile, though she felt her temples thump, thump, thumping away. “It’s okay. See you later. I won’t be late.”

  “Thank you for the flowers,” Mrs. McCabe called after her, in such a sweet voice.

  But their exchange didn’t make Fran feel like her favorite grown-up grandkid, like it used to. Instead, it put her on edge. “You’re so welcome,” she said, forcing cheer into her voice, then hurried out. When she saw Percy on the step, she was about to say good-bye to him, but somehow couldn’t bring herself to. Although she knew Leon wouldn’t harm him, even if he was the killer, she couldn’t bear to part with Perce. She bent down and scooped him up. “You’re coming with me,” she said softly, hoping that he wouldn’t wriggle around like he sometimes did. But the heavy boy lay happily in her arms, turning his furry face up to look at her. Yes, carry me, his imperious expression said, and Fran actually laughed out loud. At least some of the tension was seeping away.

  She decided to walk down the long winding road that led to the wide street flanked by the elms and the mansions of the Little Hampton elite. There was no way she was hovering around the entrance to the Old Farmhouse. She knew it was silly, but she kept having visions of Leon rushing out with a kitchen knife to come and get her. No matter how many times she told herself to stop being ridiculous, she couldn’t shake the image out of her head.

  To push those thoughts away, she started thinking more about Oliver Forthstrup’s party. Delilah had shared some wonderful ideas, and Fran was aiming to tie them all together. She’d also had a flick through Pinterest—her all-time favorite app—to find superhero-themed party ideas. She thought about giving each child a cape on their way in, and getting party favor bags with Spiderman print. She’d hurried to pin an awesome birthday cake, divided into four. One quarter was decorated Superman style, another Batman style, another Spiderman style, and the last Hulk style. She was sure Olly would just love that.

  Just as she was beginning to feel normal again, Anna came running down the lane toward her. Fran felt her guts squeeze. Something was definitely wrong. Fran would have sprinted over to meet her, but Percy was no slim cat and he weighed her d
own, so the best she could do was pick up her pace.

  Anna was fit from walking dogs all the time, so she reached Fran quickly. “I heard you were… I heard you were going with Matthew Stratford to see Toby Georgiou,” she said. “He told me…when I asked where you were. I was dropping Ben and Jerry back.”

  Fran nodded. “Look, I don’t know if Toby’s the killer or not, but I know Matt will—”

  “What, protect you?” Anna shoved her hands on her hips, and her tone was incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”

  Chapter 17

  “I… I… Well, I don’t need protecting,” Fran said eventually. Anna’s pointed gaze was making her feel foolish, so she looked away.

  “Oh really?” Anna said. “You’re going to confront a potential killer, and you think he’ll just go, Oh, thank you for outing me. I’ll go hand myself into the police? Come on, Fran, this is dangerous.”

  Percy’s weight was beginning to strain her arms, so she shifted him. He was snuggling into her, looking like he was on cloud nine.

  “Look, I wasn’t exactly going to confront him. I was just going to ask a couple questions, try and get some info,” Fran said. “Anyway, how do we even know if it’s Toby Georgiou? I was… Well, just a minute ago, I was back in the farmhouse, and—”

  “Fran, I think there’s something you should know,” Anna blurted out. She looked like she’d been holding that in for a long time.

  “What?”

  “I’m really sorry, I mean really sorry, but…” She looked everywhere but at Fran, twisting her hands and biting her lip.

  “But what?”

  “But…” She sighed deeply. “I think Matthew Stratford is involved. I really do.”

  “No,” Fran said instantly. “He wouldn’t do anything like that.”

  “You’re letting how you feel cloud your judgment!” Anna said passionately. “Think about it! He’s the only one who really gained from this, apart from Waverly. I was there to pick up the dogs when they started this whole will reading business. Sandrine was in the kitchen with Matt, who was basically stopping her from killing Vanessa. They were at each other’s throats. Really awful. And Sandrine was swearing at him, saying why should he inherit all the billions Byron pumped back into his business? She was saying it rightly belonged to Waverly, who is getting something in the millions, apparently. The hundreds of millions, that is. Apparently that’s not enough. But anyway, that’s not the point. It’s that Matt has inherited this business empire. Only him and Waverly have really strong motives. And Waverly sure didn’t get a gun with a silencer and shoot her father. So that leaves us with Matt.”