Cozy Mystery Box Set: Murder Mysteries in the Mountains

by Liz Turner

  She saw her father’s ’67 Ford Mustang parked out front and felt a little chill in her heart. It looked well taken care of and looked cleaner than when her father had it. A new coat of paint maybe? Karen had always loved the car.

  She parked next to the mustang and asked Byron to wait. From above, a fat raindrop fell on the hood of the car. Victoria had a flashback to a day when she was no older than eight, and she’d dropped a water balloon on her father’s car from the window above.

  She looked up at the ledge, almost expecting to see some ghost of herself perched on it. Instead, she only saw a whitewashed house with flowers neatly tucked into baskets at each windowsill.

  With a deep breath, she turned off the engine and walked to the door. This was it.

  The door swung open almost as soon as she knocked on it. Karen stood there leaning on a crutch with one of her legs was in a cast. She was dressed in an old cardigan and pajamas. Her hair was in a messy bun on top of her head and in her hand was a sawed-off shotgun.

  “Wow.” Victoria backed away a little and raised her hands. “Hey, Karen. Can I come in?”

  Karen squinted at her like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, and reached over to flip on a light.

  Victoria grinned sheepishly. “I guess I should have sent you a letter. In my defense, I sent you fifteen emails, and you didn’t reply to any of them.”

  “I don’t use email,” Karen said, her voice raspy. “Is this for real? You’re really at my door in the middle of the night?”

  “No welcome home, sister?” Victoria smiled. “Maybe you can bake a cake for me after? I always loved your cakes.”

  “ A cake?” Karen’s voice, which had until now been full of disbelief took a left turn down Anger Street. “ A cake? Seventeen years you don’t see me and you want a cake?”

  “Look at least let me in,” Victoria said.

  “This family wants nothing to do with you.” Karen hobbled ahead to shut the door, and her crutch slipped out from under her. Instinctively, Victoria caught her, grabbing the shotgun with one hand, and Karen with the other.

  “I’m alright.” Karen adjusted herself and looked annoyed.

  “Karen, come on. This is not the time to go rehashing old memories. Just let me in, and we can talk about it in the morning, alright?”

  “It’s too late for that. Way too late.”

  “My point exactly,” Victoria said. “It’s after midnight.”

  Karen looked blank, “Was that supposed to be a joke?”

  “I thought it would cheer you up.”

  “You are… you are just the same as you always were, aren’t you? Always up to no good, always managing to make me feel guilty. I’m feeling guilty for not letting you in. Only it’s your fault for landing on my doorstep in the middle of the night with no warning and me...”

  “Momma… is everything alright?” Annie appeared suddenly, rubbing her eyes. She stood still in shock when she saw the shotgun in Victoria’s hands. “Are we robbing the house?”

  Karen’s face was wide-eyed with surprise. Her eyes roamed over Annie’s face, and in a thick voice, she said, “My goodness.”

  “Annie, this is your aunt, Karen. Say hi. She makes the best cakes in the world, and if you’re nice, she might make you one.”

  “Hi, Aunt Karen,” Annie smiled. “My favorite flavors are strawberry and banana-caramel. It’s nice to meet you.”

  The car door slammed as Byron got out of the car. “It’s pouring. Shall I get the bags, Mom?”

  “Leave them. We’ll get them tomorrow.” Victoria called out.

  “Two? You’ve got two kids?” Karen’s voice sounded like she had trouble getting the words out.

  “You never gave me the chance to tell you,” Victoria said.

  Red and blue lights washed over them. A dark sedan pulled up, with a man leaning out of it. “Karen. You alright?” He called.

  Karen took a deep breath, looked at Victoria, then at the two kids, and seemed to make a decision. “Just fine, Constable Keeney. My sister’s come to visit, that’s all.”

  Chapter 4

  In minutes, they were all seated at the same table Victoria had grown up eating at. It was a large maple wood creation, lovingly crafted with spiraling legs and claw feet by her great-grandfather. The tabletop was scarred and scratched all over, as befit a table so old. Karen hobbled to the cabinets and swung out an old red-checked tablecloth over it.

  “Is this thing still being used?” Victoria marveled.

  “Well, us being humble folk and not fancy New Yorkers, we tend to like long-term relationships,” Karen said. “Not chucking everything away after it gets old.”

  Victoria flushed. “Karen. Come on. Not in front of the kids.”

  “No, of course not.” Karen moved over to the stove and set a pot to boil. Then she rummaged around in the fridge and drew out a dish. She turned around and raised an eyebrow when she saw the plates already set on the table.

  “The dishes are still in the same cabinet too,” Victoria smiled. “Does nothing ever change around here?”

  “Everything does,” Karen said. “Everything did.”

  She poured out tea for herself and Victoria, then poured thick milk into large glasses for Annie and Byron. Finally, she served them all a slice of pie with sticky red filling.

  “What is that?” Byron asked.

  “Cherry and Tamarind,” Karen said. “An old family recipe.”

  “Mom hardly ever cooks anymore.” Annie piped up. “We normally get takeout or reheat stuff or have sandwiches.”

  “Hush Annie,” Victoria said. “I cooked … once in a while. I was just a little too busy.”

  “Oh wow. This pie is flat out amazing.” Byron said through mouthfuls. He looked at Karen, as if for permission, and Karen pushed the dish towards him, smiling broadly.

  “Wow. If I’d known you could cook like this, I would have persuaded Mom to bring us over here a lot sooner.” Byron said, helping himself to a second, larger slice.

  “Yeah, Mom. We should have come over a lot sooner.” Annie nodded.

  Victoria scooped up a forkful of the pie and chewed silently because she was embarrassed and nearly in tears. She tasted the unique and familiar flavors of her mother’s favorite pie again after all these years.

  “New York must be fun, right?” Karen said to the kids. “Where do you live?”

  “We used to live on the upper east side,” Byron said. “But I guess we’re moving back here now.”

  “You’re what?” Karen’s voice was soft and dangerous.

  “Moving back to Larch. At least, until you and Grandpa get better.” Byron said. “Speaking of which, where’s Grandpa? Upstairs?”

  “So that’s your plan is it?” Karen turned to Victoria, all pretenses of civility out of the window. “Come sneaking back when Dad’s too ill to stop it, and try and squirrel your way into the family again?”

  “Kids, go upstairs,” Victoria said.

  “But we don’t know the place,” Byron said.

  “First door on the left. My old room.” Victoria said.

  “No. That’s my work-out area now.” Karen said.

  “Fine. Go up another level, and...”

  “Converted that entire level into a studio for my art,” Karen said. “You don’t want them sleeping along with my glassblowing equipment, do you?”

  “Karen, just tell them where to go if you’ve got to insist on having this conversation,” Victoria said, annoyance leaking into her voice.

  “For now, you better go into the guest room. Second door on the left.” Karen said. “There’s only one bed, but you’ll both fit in comfortably.”

  “I don’t want to go.” Annie held on to Victoria’s hand. “Mom. Please let me stay here. Or let’s go back to Boyd’s. I don’t like this house.” She looked miserable, and Victoria felt a twinge for her. Poor Annie, always sensitive to raised voices.

  “It’s alright, Greenie.” Byron put a hand around her shoulders and
led her away. “Mom and Aunt Karen love each other. They just haven’t seen each other in a long time. Let them talk it out, alright? We’ll have fun upstairs. I’ll.. I’ll tell you stories and stuff.”

  Reluctantly, Annie let him draw her out and let him lead her upstairs. Byron turned around once, shooting both his mother and his aunt a hard glare, then followed Annie upstairs.

  Karen waited for them to go before exploding on Victoria. “You had no right to do this. Any of it. What’s the idea? Coming back this way? After all this time? You were dead to me, and as far as I know, that’s how I liked it.”

  “Boyd emailed me,” Victoria said. “He said Dad’s seriously sick, and that you’re taking care of him alone. He also said that you had a little accident that broke your leg so that it seems like you need help for a while. He said he’s offered lots of times, but that you’re too stupid to listen and too proud to accept help.”

  “Boyd?” Karen looked totally confused. “Why on earth?” She paused for a moment, so lost for words that Victoria could see her making an effort to straighten out her ideas.

  “Boyd said I should come back here, that it was time,” Victoria said. “I… I guess I agreed with him, Karen. We’ve carried on our little war for way too long. A lot of things were said and done, by both you and me. I guess it’s time for us to end it.”

  “Oh, that’s easy for you to say.” Karen burst out. “You, with your little bubble of happiness in New York. You with your rich, handsome husband and perfect kids. You left us for him. So what? I got over it. So did Mom and Dad. I’m managing just fine without you. I’ve got plenty of friends who’ll come help. I don’t need you, and I don’t need your charity.”

  “It isn’t charity,” Victoria said. “Karen. Please. I came back because I needed to. Because I need you, and so do the kids.”

  “What do you mean?” Karen asked.

  “Michael died. A while ago.” Victoria said. “Seventeen months, to be exact. I’ve been trying to piece our lives together again, but somehow it’s just not happening. When Boyd emailed me, I thought maybe it was a sign from above that I needed to come back home. Now please, let me stay and help you until you’re better. Let me try and mend fences. When your leg heals, if you still want me to leave, I will. I promise.”

  Chapter 5

  When Victoria awoke the next day, she was disoriented for a moment. Instead of seeing the usually whitewashed walls, and pottery barn furniture she was used to, she woke up under a heavy red quilt with her toes squashed between the fluffy pads of a sofa.

  From the sound of the birds chirping outside, and the sunlight filtering through the windows, she guessed it was still early.

  So what woke her up?

  Sounds from the kitchen. Men talking. Karen’s voice was low and mournful.

  Even before she roused herself, her entire heart clenched, and Victoria sensed that something bad had happened. It was in the tone of each voice. Even though their words were not distinct, she could make out the emotion in them. A ghastly foreboding sent goosebumps up her spine. Her first thought was that it had something to do with her Papa. But thinking that through she calmed herself down. Surely there would have been an ambulance, and she would have been woken up if something had happened to him.

  She was still dressed in her clothes from the night before. She’d had a long, long, talk with Karen. Though the heat of each woman’s anger toward the other had not lessened, Karen had gradually agreed to let Victoria stay on for a little while. It was, Victoria suspected, out of necessity more than forgiveness. With Karen’s current condition, she was finding it impossible to take care of both the café and their father. So it was decided that Victoria would stay on and help with both.

  Victoria folded the quilt, straightened the couch, ran a hand through her hair, and then strolled through to the kitchen, as nonchalantly as possible.

  “What’s going on?” She asked.

  Karen looked up, her eyes dark and shielded, then looked around at the two men sitting beside her. Both sat with their gloves next to them, clutching their cups of coffee. Victoria recognized one of them. He was the man Karen had called Constable Keeney. He was an eager looking young Mountie with a messy shock of red hair and a prominent Adam’s apple.

  The other man, Victoria did not recognize. On seeing her, he raised his large frame to his feet and said, “Mrs. Victoria Pelletier?”

  “Armstrong,” Victoria said. “I kept my maiden name.”

  “Very well. Mrs. Victoria Armstrong then.” He coughed. “My name is Corporal Randolf Jager. I’d like you to come down to the station with me and Constable Keeley here to answer a few questions.”

  “Seriously?” Victoria turned to Karen, annoyed. “Are you calling the cops on me for showing up at midnight yesterday Karen? This is ridiculous. Does Papa know about this?”

  “Victoria.” Karen looked stricken. “I didn’t call them. Let’s keep Father out of it for the moment.”

  “What is it then?” Victoria looked around, confused.

  Corporal Jager looked at Karen, and then back at Victoria. “Are you saying that you landed here yesterday night without telling anyone you were coming?”

  “Yes. Well. Boyd knew. We had dinner together.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Oh quite late. It was almost midnight when I left his house. He’s got a new puppy he’s holding on for us. We’re thinking of naming her Vanilla.”

  The nervousness inside Victoria kept growing as she looked at the two men in front of her. Keeney looked intensely nervous. His eyes were darting at everything in the room except her. Corporal Jager, on the other hand, looked capable and stoic. Rather like a doctor about to deliver bad news.

  “Mrs. Armstrong, you’re going to have to come with us, I’m afraid,” He said. “I’m sorry to say that Mr. Jeffrey Boyd died last night.”

  “Oh. Oh.” Victoria held on to the chair, gripping it tight, and stared at Jager’s face, willing herself to get back in control.

  He reached out and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” He said.

  “No. It’s... it’s just quite a shock. I mean, I know he was old, but he looked so healthy last night when I saw him. What a sad, sad thing.”

  Jager raised an eyebrow. “He looked healthy, you say?”

  “Very,” Victoria said. “He even made us dinner. He whipped up mushroom omelets for us all.” It could not compare to the numb grief that had accompanied Michael’s death, but losing Boyd was a blow just the same. He was her childhood mentor, after all.

  “It’s horrible,” Karen said and buried her head in her hands.

  “But why do you need me?” Victoria asked, suddenly confused. “Did Boyd have no next of kin? There was Angus, of course, not that Boyd considered him family. But still… if you need someone to sign the official papers, surely, it should be Boyd’s lawyer or…”

  “It’s not about signing anything.” Corporal Jager said. “We need you to answer a few questions.”

  Something in his tone made Victoria’s head snap up. It was the exact tone Boyd had used on her when he had said there was no crime in town. A politically correct lie.

  “Why?” She asked, sharply this time.

  Jager looked around as if she’d trapped him, then sighed. “I suppose you’ll hear it soon enough, Mrs. Armstrong, Mr. Jeffrey Boyd was murdered last night.”

  Chapter 6

  “So you’re telling me, Boyd hadn’t spoken to you in years, and suddenly emailed you, telling you about your sister and father,” Jager said.

  There was a pot of hot coffee on the table between them, and two white styrofoam cups next to it. Randolf took a sip from one while Victoria sat with her arms crossed.

  “Yes,” She said.

  “So he emails you, and you just happen to decide to move all the way back to Larch, on the base of that one email, without even telling your own sister you’re coming,” Jager said.

  “Yes.”

  “An
d on the day you happen to come back, Boyd happens to be murdered; possibly in the hours after you’ve seen him.” Randolf put a hand to his temples. “Is that correct?”

  “What do you suggest happened?” Victoria asked. “I told my kids to wait in the car, whacked him in the head, and went off to Karen’s?”

  “Interesting,” Jager said, scribbling on a pad next to him.

  “What is?”

  “Interesting that you knew the cause of his death, when I haven’t told you.”

  Victoria paled, ropes of fear shimmying up her spine. “Corporal. You can’t be serious. It was a guess. That’s all.”

  “Was it?”

  “He was hit in the head?” Victoria felt a little sick to think of it.

  “Well, I’m sure we’ll have forensics tell us the cause of death soon, but for now, we’re going with that. He was found dead in his living room. The cause of death was a skull fracture.”

  “Couldn’t it...” Victoria gulped. “Couldn’t it be an accident? He was an old man. He could have slipped.”

  “I wish that were so.” Corporal Jager said. “It would make so many things easier for me. The forensics team still has to come in, and maybe they’ll tell us that it was an accident.”

  “Only you don’t really think it was an accident,” Victoria said. “Just like you don’t really think it was me who did it.”

  She looked into his eyes, and he looked away. Victoria felt a little relief pour through her. She knew she hadn’t committed the crime, but it relieved her all the same that the police didn’t suspect her of it.

  “No. As ridiculous as your alibi is, I don’t believe you did it.” Corporal Jager said. “If for no other reason, it’s because I don’t know too many murderers who take their kids along to the crime.”

  “But he can’t have died before midnight,” She said. “So we know it was someone who came in after midnight. How did the murderer get in? Was a window broken?”

  “No.” Corporal Jager said. “Again, that would make things far easier for me. As it stands, it’s ridiculously tough. Boyd was found in his living room, and every door in his house was locked and locked from the inside. His windows all had bars on them, so there’s no question of getting in that way. Unless Santa came down the chimney and murdered him, I’m quite baffled as to how the criminal got in.”