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

by Ivy McAllister

  Fran felt sick to her stomach as Anna’s words sunk in. “But wait!” she said. “He can’t have fired the shots, because he was in a dead end part of the maze when they were fired! I bumped into him, and I heard the screams just after I left him there. So he couldn’t have.”

  “Oh.” Anna was on the back foot. “I was so sure.” She shook her head. “Sorry. I guess I was wrong.”

  “Unless…” Fran’s brain was beginning to spin a new theory, no matter how much she tried to stop it.

  “Unless?”

  Fran sighed. “Unless Matt got Toby Georgiou to do the shooting for him. They actually both had a motive. Matt told me that Toby had a secret that Byron knew about, and would expose if he walked away from their contract on the boutique hotel. What if they teamed up to do it? They could both have wanted him out of the way.” It felt so awful coming out of her mouth. “No, it can’t be right. Matt would never do that.”

  Anna looked at her, doubt etched on her face. “I’m not even sure of anything anymore. At first I was so sure it was Sandrine.”

  Fran shook her head. “It still could be. She’ll probably have access to Waverly’s money…” Then she remembered what Delilah Forthstrup had said. “Wait, when you saw Sandrine, was that before or after the will was read?”

  “Before,” Anna said. “Why?”

  “Well, I’m not sure what Waverly did inherit. Mrs. Forthstrup said that Vanessa would get all the money.”

  “Oh.” Anna shrugged. “I really don’t know what was in Mr. Stratford’s head. He could have left it to anyone.”

  They came to the elm-lined street just as Matt was about to pull the Hyundai into the winding path to the Old Farmhouse. He had to pull to a sharp stop. “How many points do I get for running over a pretty lady with a big fat cat in her arms?” he said with a grin, leaning out the window.

  “Haha.” Fran rolled her eyes and laughed a little, but she couldn’t help noticing that Anna folded her arms across her chest and eyed him darkly. Fran wondered if Matt really could be involved. All her intuition told her he wasn’t, but maybe Anna was right. Maybe she was just letting her feelings get in the way of her good sense.

  “I told you joking isn’t my strong point, especially when under pressure,” Matt said, getting out of the car, smiling. “But I’m all right at the whole manners thing. I won’t even say anything about the unusually furry passenger. So…” He held the car door open for Fran. She bit her lip and looked at Anna, who shook her head. But Fran felt she was doing the right thing, or at least the only thing she could really think of doing. So she bundled up Percy to her chest and ducked down into the back seat.

  “I’m coming with you,” Anna said sternly, then remembered her own manners. Her voice was sharp as a knife cutting through the air when she said to Matt, “May I come?”

  “Sure, why not?” he said lightly, then opened the other door in back for Anna to get in. “More the merrier, I guess.”

  He hurried around to the driver seat and got the Hyundai into motion. Soft jazz music was playing, filling the car with a serene relaxation, but Fran was too busy trying to unpick the bundle of tangled knots that was her thoughts.

  Anna gave her a pointed look, then asked Matt, “So how was the will reading?”

  He shook his head, and looked up to the rearview mirror. Fran met his gray-flecked eyes for a moment and felt her heart skip a beat. Surely he couldn’t be guilty of murder? “It was crazy,” he said. “Crazy when you saw me holding Sandrine back in the kitchen before the reading. Even crazier during. We just about managed to get Sandrine calm, but it took a good strong drink.”

  “Why?” Fran asked. “What happened?”

  “Well, Byron dropped a bombshell, even after he was gone, let’s put it that way. None of us really knew how many children he had apart from Waverly, but it turns out he did. Around twenty.”

  Fran gasped. “Twenty kids? Seriously?”

  “Yep,” Matt said. “I’m wondering who’s worse, him or my dad. But what no one expected was that he’d get a conscience. He’s never provided a penny for any of those kids, as far as I know. None of them have ever visited or anything. But it looked like he changed his tune, because even though Waverly is getting millions and millions, he didn’t leave the other children out. Five million dollars each, he said. The problem now is tracking them all down.”

  “Wow.” Fran shook her head. “I guess that will be a nice surprise for them. If they never really knew their father, I guess they won’t mourn him.”

  “So how will they find them?” Anna asked.

  “Well, the solicitor says that they’ve put an heir search company on the case, trying to track them all down. But I think I’ll dig a little myself. Put my genealogy interest to good use, you know?”

  “Certainly sounds like a challenge,” Fran said. “What about Vanessa? Did she get anything?”

  “The house and all its contents,” Matt said. “I expect she’ll sell it. Sandrine is the one who picked out the house originally, so she’s furious, of course. But Waverly got a few more hundred million than expected, so she calmed down a little after that.”

  Fran’s mind boggled with the amount of money they were talking about. So Sandrine still could have had a motive. So could Vanessa. So could… She swallowed. “And what happened to the business? Did you inherit it all?”

  “Yes,” Matt said. When he met Fran’s eyes in the rearview mirror, he didn’t look excited or pleased. “Yes.”

  Anna nudged her, flashing her eyes wide. “See?” she mouthed. Then she rearranged her long flowing dress. It was a gorgeous thing, actually, with ruffles flowing to the ground in a deep shade of fuchsia. “So, Fran tells me we’re going to see Toby Georgiou, right?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “Do you think he killed Byron?”

  Matt shook his head. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I don’t think so. I couldn’t imagine it. But I couldn’t imagine anyone at the party killing him. And someone had to.”

  Anna nodded. “The question is, does he know how to shoot a gun?”

  “That’s not really the question, is it?” Matt said. “I know how to shoot a gun. I’m good at it, too. That doesn’t mean I killed Byron. Heck, probably a third of the people at the party know how to shoot. Or at least a quarter. That doesn’t mean anything.”

  Anna threw Fran a suspicious look. Fran felt a sinking in her gut. She stroked Percy’s paw but it didn’t give her the comfort it usually did.

  “Oh!” Anna said. “Don’t you remember? Toby Georgiou was on that show. Oh, oh, what’s it called again? It was ages ago, before he was even famous. I bet he’d die if anyone remembered it. Well, maybe kill, not die. Oh, you know, umm…” She drummed her finger against her ruffled leg, trying to remember the name. “Celebrity Wilderness Challenge!” she said eventually.

  “That trash?” Matt said. “Doesn’t sound like Toby. Isn’t that for like Z-list broke people who used to be semi-famous in the seventies?”

  “Yes,” Anna said, “but also fame-hungry young people. Usually with no talent. He was on it ages ago, before he got big.”

  Fran remembered the show all too well. It really had been trash, a bunch of people only vaguely recognized called ‘celebrities’ and hauled off to some woodland in Ohio to shoot and make fires and shelters. Her little brothers had liked it, and she’d occasionally indulged as they all shared a tub of cookie dough ice cream between them. It was the most unwholesome way to spend a Saturday night, but at least they all did it together. She’d missed the Toby Georgiou episode, though.

  “He was a great shooter,” Anna said. “I think he even won that challenge.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” Matt said hotly. “I could shoot a thousand bullseyes. That’s not the point.”

  Fran had the distinct feeling right then that Matt, despite his protests, believed that Toby had done it. His eyes were uneasy, darting all over the road as he drove.

  Or maybe, a voice within told her, he
felt like the net was closing in on him.

  Chapter 18

  The rest of the ride to Toby Georgiou’s apartment passed in uncomfortable silence. Fran did all she could to persuade herself that Matt had nothing to do with the murder. Sandrine was more likely, she told herself first. After all, she had been furious that Waverly was not inheriting billions, only millions. That gave her a clear motive. Plus, Byron had been standing in the way of her book being published, her only avenue out of debt.

  But what about Vanessa? From what she had seen, it looked like there was never any real love between them. He was into his business; she was into her books. He wanted to be mayor and parade her around, while she wanted to hide away in the library and never come out. Fran still didn’t know if there was a prenup. Did Vanessa know she would be getting the house? And would she really be that callous, to do away with her husband to end his mayoral candidacy and to snag the mansion? It seemed farfetched.

  And what about Leon? The tone in his voice had made her blood run cold. That reminded her to ask. “You know the McCabe’s farm?” she said to Matt. “Was Byron trying to get ahold of it?”

  Matt nodded. “Yep. And now I have to continue in his wishes until the board of directors votes otherwise. I’m hoping to bring it to them this week. That’s one area Byron and I disagreed on totally. He was dead set on getting that farm. I wanted it to stay as it was.”

  “What did he want to do with it?” Fran asked.

  Matt shook his head. “Subdivide it into three and build three separate mansions. It would make a killing, but I don’t think it’s worth it. That Old Farmhouse is heritage. It’s good to see some fields still here, too. Gives a sense of perspective, I think.”

  Of course Leon would know how to shoot, being a farmer. But it wasn’t a big old shotgun that killed Byron. It was likely a regular pistol with a silencer. Fran’s thoughts were folding over, one on top of the other, one suspect on top of another, making a concertina of confusion.

  She began thinking about Emily. The money. The note. What had that all meant? Soon her brain was in a full-on fog, and her temples started banging. Nothing seemed to make sense. Soon she was suspecting Emily, Anna, Waverly, Ben and Jerry, and just about everyone she could think of, even though she knew it was ridiculous.

  After what felt like forever, Matt pulled the Hyundai up in front of a luxurious skyscraper hotel. The sign read The Montague. Fran felt her hands sweating as she gripped Percy tight. He was asleep on her lap, blissfully oblivious to all that was going on.

  “Here we are,” Matt said.

  “Didn’t you say we were going to his apartment?” Anna said suspiciously.

  “He lives in an apartment in the hotel,” Matt explained. “But you access it from the back. They call it The Residences at The Montague.”

  Fran had a horrible feeling about it all. She didn’t want to go up there. She was clutching so tightly onto Percy that she could feel the skin underneath his fur. “I don’t want to…” she began, wishing she could just lock herself in the car and squeeze her eyes shut, just like Percy. But then she remembered Emily being in jail, and it gave her a shot of bravery all through her.

  Matt turned back from the driver’s seat, concerned. “You don’t want to what?”

  “Umm…to leave Percy behind,” Fran said. It was true, anyway. She wouldn’t leave him in a car alone at the best of times, but it was a hot day, so there was no way she’d even consider it. “They won’t allow pets, will they?”

  “Surprisingly, enough they actually do,” Matt said. “Toby’s got one of those scary looking cats with no fur. It’s fine to bring Percy up.”

  “Okay, great.”

  They all got out of the car, and Fran told herself to be brave for Emily’s sake. It didn’t matter that her heart was hammering a frantic rhythm inside her chest, or that sweat was dripping down her back. She thrust her head up high. “Come on, Perce,” she whispered. “Let’s go catch a killer.”

  “Wow, this place is incredible,” Fran said. She actually found it a welcome distraction to look around the penthouse apartment, her mouth hanging open. At least it was a different emotion from dread, which was threatening to swallow her whole.

  She’d never seen anything like the apartment in real life. All the walls were glass, for a start, though decorative sheer curtains in sea greens and blues covered the wall where the sun would have been beating in. Outside was an enormous roof terrace, stretching around the apartment on every side. It was paved, dotted with huge palms in ceramic pots. There was even a pool built in, so you could look over the city skyline while basking in the water. If there hadn’t been a murder investigation to wrap up, Fran would have been out there in a flash, sunbathing and dipping in the pool.

  Toby was living up to his effortless chic, too. He’d answered the door in nothing but black sweat pants, with a set of black rosary beads hanging around his neck. His tanned chest positively rippled with muscles, and his skin had such a healthy deep bronze color. But when Fran looked into his dark eyes, all she saw was numbness. Deadness, even. It made her shiver involuntarily.

  “Come in,” he’d said with no enthusiasm. He sparked up a cigarette and flopped back onto one of the luxury couches, looking like he wanted to die. Was that the face of a murderer, Fran wondered. Perhaps he’d thought killing would be easy, and now the guilt was catching up with him. He had dark circles under his eyes. Maybe he’d been tossing and turning each night since the killing, his conscience torturing him. He waved his hand carelessly. “Sit, sit.”

  After admiring the apartment, they did take a seat. Fran noticed Toby’s bald cat stalking by, with as much imperiousness as Percy usually displayed. But while Percy was a fat old English gentleman, Fran fancied this cat was a snooty young French lady, very thin and very beautiful.

  Matt had gone to the kitchen area in the open plan apartment and was fixing everyone drinks. Toby had requested a gin and tonic—ninety percent gin, ten percent tonic—and Fran wondered if that was to make him forget his terrible deed. She watched him carefully, feeling nervous as he dragged on his cigarette. It made sense that he would be the killer, but she wished there would just be one final thing. She wasn’t sure what exactly, but she wanted something. Just one final confirmation. A clue, perhaps. Maybe if she asked the right questions…

  “I heard you’re having a party for the new boutique hotel,” Fran said.

  Toby sat bolt upright, his eyes narrowing. “Who told you that?”

  Fran opened her mouth, then shut it again. She hadn’t realized it was confidential.

  “I did,” Matt said, grimacing. “Sorry, bro, it was just—”

  Toby sprang to his feet, incensed. “So we just chat Toby Georgiou’s business all over town, do we?”

  “Nah, nah, calm down,” Matt said. “She’s a good friend.”

  “Why are people talking about me?” Toby sat down, drawing long breaths on the cigarette. He seemed to be talking to an invisible audience. He shook his head over and over, then kept taking nervous glances all over the room, like he expected reporters to be hidden there. He was certainly making himself look very guilty indeed.

  “Anyway,” Fran said soothingly. She was a woman on a mission, and she could pretend for a moment. Percy twisted to get out of her arms to pad around the apartment, and she let him go. “I was just wondering if you were going to be okay, Toby. I mean, the last party you went to didn’t go so well. I know I won’t be going to another party anytime soon.” Of course, that was a lie, but she thought it was justified.

  Toby’s face creased with annoyance. “What in the heck are you talking about? Anyway, aren’t you a dog walker or something?”

  “That’s me,” Anna said furiously. “And I don’t see what that’s got to do with it. Answer her question.”

  “Woah, woah, woah,” Toby said, balking at her aggressive tone.

  Matt hurried over with the drinks, laughing nervously. “Come on now, let’s all get along.”

  But T
oby was staring right into Fran’s eyes. “What party are you talking about? What party that didn’t go so well?”

  “Waverly’s,” Fran said, holding his gaze.

  “Who in the heck is that?” His voice was like venom.

  “Don’t pretend like you don’t know,” Anna said. “Byron Stratford’s daughter. We were there when you got the invitation, remember? And we saw you at the party in the hallway. I saw you with my own eyes.”

  “But then you weren’t in the Murder in the Park game,” Fran said, narrowing her eyes. “Why was that, Toby? Where were you?” She so desperately wanted to add, “Hiding in the bushes, ready to shoot?” but she managed to bite her tongue.

  Toby lifted his upper lip up in disgust. “You people make me sick. I never went to that party. Why would I go to a stupid little girl’s birthday party? Especially when I never even liked her stupid father.”

  “So you admit you hated him,” Anna said victoriously.

  “So?” Toby said. “Yeah, I hate him. Yeah, I’m glad he’s dead. He can rot in hell for all I care.” He shrugged, then smiled. He took a deep drag on the cigarette then blew out a big cloud of smoke. “That doesn’t mean I killed him.”

  Fran felt sick with confusion. Was he telling the truth? Whether or not he killed Byron, he had a horrible air about him that made Fran want to get away from him as quickly as possible. She felt herself shutting up like a clam. She couldn’t think straight.