A Manor of Murder

by June Shaw

  She might have even killed Mac after she married him, after she realized how easy murdering a person had been. In the meantime, she decided to get rid of our mother.

  Chills crawled over every inch of my skin when I tried to comprehend that fact.

  Rita had gotten into Mom’s room when Mom wasn’t in it on the afternoon before the cafeteria would make the cobbler. She took a handful of pills out of Mom’s prescription bottle, enough of them that she figured would stop our mother’s heart. Crumbling them, she easily mixed the tiny pieces into the crunchy coating and base when she went into the kitchen to inspect each tray of food that was labeled for residents or guests. She shoved the deadly dose of medicine into Mom’s dessert. Only Mom didn’t eat hers, since she wanted to watch her weight before her wedding day.

  When Miss Clarice ate it and later died, Rita decided that would also serve her purpose. Because Miss Clarice wanted Mac, her interest probably made Mom want to marry him sooner than she had originally planned. Our mother would be blamed for the other woman’s death and sent off to prison. Then Rita could actively pursue him. Surely he would like a younger woman wanting him.

  All this information sent cold water rushing through my veins. This wasn’t a cop show on TV they were talking about. It was real life. It involved my mother’s life.

  I had suspected Emery Jackobson of wrongdoing in what was going on, but he had only been visiting a friend in the manor. Detective Wilet had located the man named Carl who we’d seen arguing with Edward that day we went to Edward’s house, and then Carl showed up at Edward’s wake. It seemed he was only another lawyer, one from a nearby town. He had no involvement in anyone’s death.

  When we left the manor for a late lunch, Dave agreed to join Eve and me, along with Mom and her intended. Mom’s preference was Swamp Rat’s Diner, so that’s where we went. After we all placed our orders for different seafood dishes, our table went quiet.

  I wanted any discussion except about what almost occurred, and turned to Dave. “I hadn’t thought to ask. Have you gotten your boat out of the shop yet?”

  “You have a boat?” Mac asked.

  “Yes. I needed help to figure out what kind I needed.” Dave kept his eyes trained on me. “They’ll have it ready soon.”

  Should I admit our growing relationship to my twin? She was the person who’d made me hang around him in the first place when I was hell-bent about never wanting a man again since my divorce. And she had been attracted to many men who also cared for her, but then she’d met Dave and decided he was her soulmate—the perfect man she had been looking for all along.

  Only he hadn’t gone along with her pushiness. He had let me know he cared for me. And patiently waited for me before we took our relationship to another level.

  I dreaded telling her. I had to tell her. “Dave was waiting for me to help him decide on a boat,” I said to everyone. I aimed the next statement at Eve. “He and I care for each other. A lot.”

  As though I had said someone dropped a remain-silent sign on our table, everyone grew quiet. Still. And then came smiles and laughter.

  “Sunny, I’m so happy for you,” Mom said from her seat beside mine, gathering me in her sweet hug. “I was afraid you would never find true love.”

  Her intended was grinning and patting Dave on the back.

  Dave kept his pleased smile aimed at me.

  I did a slow-motion move of my head to face Eve. Her expression was noncommittal. We locked eyes. “I brought you two together,” she said and her face broke into a weak smile. Her lips trembled. “Sunny, I helped you find a man you could love.” The edges of her lips pushed back and up. “How wonderful!”

  I could barely see Dave through the tears of pleasure coating my eyes when my sister laughed and held on to me.

  Chapter 27

  Mom let us choose whatever we wanted to wear for her big day. She had discovered a pale pink dress that brought out her eyes and still-lovely pale complexion. Mom even let Eve put makeup on her face, a trace of blush on her cheeks and a deep pink on her lips.

  We wore ankle-length eggplant gowns Eve selected. The slenderizing dresses fit her and me and Mac’s daughter Belinda, our sweet new sister, very well.

  In the manor’s largest area, chairs had been lined up on both sides of a center aisle. A white trellis at the opposite end of the aisle had been decorated with flowers. A judge friend of Mac’s stood facing those of us about to walk toward him.

  Most residents of the manor and other friends of our family and the groom’s took seats in those folding chairs. Lots of chatter came from happy voices.

  Strains of music began, and everyone looked back. Bursts of laughter came as our mother’s Chat and Nap buddies, who had insisted on becoming flower girls, walked or rolled forward, cheerfully tossing rose petals.

  The person behind them carried a small satin pillow with a ring tied to it. Everyone laughed when the little fellow stopped and turned back. Right behind him, Eve chuckled and took his hand. They walked together to the front, she and her grandson, Noah, the little man who now fulfilled her.

  Dave looked extra fine in his navy suit. I hooked my arm in his. Enjoying his strength and our growing relationship, I walked proudly beside him behind my sister and the others.

  Mac stepped up under the trellis. The gentleman appeared dapper with his light gray suit that matched his silver hair. His black walking cane with a gold grip was fancier than his usual wooden one. This day was extra special. So was the wide smile he gave our mother who now faced him from the opposite end of the aisle, giving him a similar smile.

  Eve and I left our partners in front and returned to the rear. We took our places on both sides of our mother and wrapped our arms through hers. Music intensified while we walked forward to the man whose eyes never left our mom. There was no doubt that with him, she would remain content.

  Meet the Author

  From the bayou country of South Louisiana, June Shaw represents her state on the board of Mystery Writers of America’s Southwest Chapter and has served as the published author liaison for Southern Louisiana’s chapter of Romance Writers of America. She previously sold a series of cozy mysteries to Five Star. Publishers Weekly praised her debut, Relative Danger, which became a finalist for the David Award for Best Mystery of the Year. June gains inspiration for her work from her faith, family, and friends, including the many readers who urge her on.

  For more info please visit juneshaw.com.

  Fatal Romance

  See where the Twin Sisters mysteries by June Shaw began . . .

  Fixing up homes can be tricky.

  Finding true love can be even trickier.

  But finding a killer can be plain old deadly . . .

  Twin sister divorcees Sunny Taylor and Eve Vaughn have had their fill of both heartaches and headaches. So when they settle down in the small Louisiana town of Sugar Ledge and open a remodeling and repair company, they think they’ve finally found some peace—even though Eve is still open for romance while Sunny considers her own heart out-of-business.

  Then their newest customer ends up face-down in a pond, and his widow is found dead soon after. Unfortunately, Sunny was witnessed having an unpleasant moment with the distraught woman, and suspicion falls on the twins. And when an attempt is made on Eve’s life, they find themselves pulled into a murder mystery neither knows how to navigate.

  With a town of prying eyes on them, and an unknown culprit out to stop them, Sunny and Eve will have to depend on each other like never before if they’re going to clip a killer in the bud.

  Chapter 1

  I stood in a rear pew as a petite woman in red stepped into the church carrying an urn and stumbled. She fell forward. Her urn bounced. Its top popped open, and ashes flew. A man’s remains were escaping.

  “Oh, no!” people cried.

  “Jingle bells,” I hummed and tried to control
my disorder but could not. Words from the song spewed out of my mouth.

  “Not now,” my twin Eve said at my ear while ashes sprinkled around us like falling gray snow. She pointed to my jacket’s sleeve and open pocket. “Uh-oh. Parts of him fell in there.”

  I saw a few drops like dust on the sleeve and jerked my pocket wider open. Powdery bits lay across the tissue I’d blotted my beige lipstick with right before coming inside St. Gertrude’s. “I think that’s tissue residue,” I said, wanting to convince myself. I grabbed the pocket to turn it inside out.

  “Don’t dump that.” Eve shoved on my pocket. “It might be his leg. Or bits of his private parts.”

  “Here comes Santa Claus,” I sang.

  She slapped a hand over my mouth. “Hush, Sunny.”

  The dead man’s wife shoved up from her stomach to her knees, head spinning toward me so fast I feared she’d get whiplash.

  “Sorry,” Eve told her. “My sister can’t help it.”

  Beyond the wife a sixtyish priest, younger one, and other people appeared squeamish scooping coarse ashes off seats of the rough-hewn pews. An older version of the wife used a broom and dustpan to sweep ash from the floor. People dumped their findings back into the urn. Other mourners scooted from the church through side doors. A boiled crayfish scent teased my nostrils. Someone must have peeled a few crustaceans for a breakfast omelet and didn’t soap her hands well enough.

  Ashes scattered along the worn green carpet like a seed trail to entice birds.

  “Look, there’s more of him. I’ll go find a vacuum,” I said.

  The widow faced me. “No! Get out.”

  “But she’s my sister,” Eve said.

  “As if I can’t tell. You leave with her. Go away.” The petite woman wobbled on shiny stilettos, aiming a finger toward the front door.

  I sympathized with her before this minute. Now she was ticking me off. I’d been kicked out of places before, but never a funeral. “I didn’t really know your husband, but Eve did. I stopped to see if she wanted to go out for lunch, and she asked me to come here first. She said y’all were nice people.”

  “We are!” The roots of the wife’s pecan-brown hair were black, I saw, standing toe-to-toe with her, although my toes were much bigger inside my size ten pumps. I was five eight and a half. She was barely five feet. Five feisty feet. “But you’re not going to suck up parts of my husband’s body in a vacuum bag.” She whipped her pointed finger toward me like a weapon. “And you need to stop singing.”

  I wanted to stop but imagined parts of the man that might be sucked into a vacuum cleaner and ripped out a loud chorus, my face burning. Nearby mourners appeared shocked. Mouths dropped open.

  “You don’t know my sister,” Eve told the little woman who’d just lost a spouse. Actually, lost him twice. “Sunny can’t help singing when she’s afraid. And that includes anything dealing with sex, courtesy of her ex-husband.”

  “What does sex have to do with Zane?” The wife’s cheeks flamed.

  Should I tell her about his privates possibly being in my pocket? Second thoughts said not to. “Who knows? But you don’t need to worry. I certainly wasn’t having an affair with your husband,” I said, quieting my song to a hum.

  “Just the thought of sex makes her sing,” my sister explained. “Maybe it’s a good thing she doesn’t think of it often.”

  The widow shook her finger. “Zane was always faithful to me.”

  “I’m sure he was,” I said, working to get my singing instincts under control. Nodding toward the carpet, I spoke without a hint of a tune. “I’d really like to help you get those pieces of him out of the rug. If we can just find an empty vacuum bag, I’ll—”

  “Go! Get away!”

  I stomped out of the church into muggy spring air. Eve clopped behind me toward her Lexus in the parking lot.

  “You told me they were fine people,” I said.

  “They are. At least he is. Or was.” Eve shook her head, making sunshine spread golden highlights over her flame-red waves. Her clear blue eyes sparkled. I was glad few people could tell us apart. “I only met his wife that day I laid their pavers, and Zane stayed and helped a little. When she got home, he introduced us. She seemed pleasant.”

  “I guess you never know.”

  “Good grief, Sunny. You kept singing after she spilled her husband.”

  I lowered my face toward the chipped sidewalk.

  Eve touched my arm. “I know, but maybe you can try harder.”

  I nodded. She knew how long I’d fought to stop the songs that began when a major tragedy threw my life into an unending tailspin. Junior high had been especially painful.

  At the next corner, we waited for a truck to pass. I checked my sleeve in the sunshine, relieved that if any ashes had been there, the breeze had blown them off to a better place. “There weren’t many people in church.”

  Eve frowned. She started across the street. “They’ve lived here less than three years and don’t have much family. Zane’s job kept him out of town a lot. When he joined our line-dance class, he said his wife was shy and didn’t like to dance anyway.”

  “I don’t think she’s shy. I think she was involved in his death.”

  “What?” Eve stopped. “The man drowned. It was an accident.”

  I spread my hands. “In his own yard? Why didn’t he fall in that pond before now?”

  “Because this week he tripped on a cypress knee near the job we did in their yard and knocked his head on the tree and fell in. He couldn’t swim. And you don’t even know his wife.”

  No, neither she nor her husband had been home when we created that seating area in their yard. I tugged on Eve’s arm to get her across the street so oncoming cars waiting for us could turn.

  She kept talking. “Darn it, Daria Snelling might not be the sweetest person right after her husband’s ashes flew to the heavens, but that doesn’t make her a killer.”

  “Eve, you know I have good instincts about people. And covers on burial urns are sealed. They aren’t supposed to come off.” I created a mental picture of what happened. “Besides, she was walking along carpet. There weren’t any bumps for her to trip over.”

  My twin’s face pinched up. Not a pretty picture. “How do you know that?”

  “Her shoes. When the organ music started and everyone turned to look back, I noticed her shoes.”

  “I can’t believe this, Sunny. You aren’t usually that shallow.” She stomped off ahead of me.

  I strolled faster behind. “You know I can’t even pronounce the brands of expensive shoes. I saw she was tiny but looked extra tall, so I glanced at her shoes. Her heels must be four inches. That’s really showy for a grieving widow.”

  “Wearing stilettos make her a murderer?”

  “And a bright red dress. Red?” I caught up with Eve. “I think she wanted to dump her husband so his remains couldn’t all be buried together.”

  She threw up her palms. “You are so sick. The man was my friend.”

  “Geez, you worked for him briefly and saw him a couple of times in dance class.”

  “That doesn’t give you the right to cut down his family.”

  “And if you hadn’t made that dig about my unhappiness with sex, his wife wouldn’t have gotten so upset.”

  Eve knew my limited experience with sex had come with Kev soon after our marriage. If I’d known how unpleasant one man could make the quick chore, I would have started chuckling in bed much sooner. Eve and I were both divorced—she, three times, her choice—and her admiring exes still showered her with gifts. Kevin left me with little and did so after my spontaneous laughter about frightening things escalated to include sex. But he made the intimacy so unpleasant I had begun to dread it.

  Watching my sister, I saw myself a little slimmer, wearing dressier clothes and an unpleasant grimace. At thi
rty-eight, she was fairly attractive in a black knit top and skirt, emerald green jacket, and spike heels. I wore low heels and tan slacks with a white shirt and my favorite jacket, a rust-colored silk. With a pocket that now held parts of Zane Snelling.

  “Sis,” I said, “do you see any ashes in my hair? Or on my sleeve or other places on my clothes?”

  She did a quick inspection of my hair and looked longer at my clothes, while I did the same to her. “I don’t see anything anymore.” She checked inside my pocket. “Except in there.”

  “You’re clean,” I said, voice dull from knowing I still wore parts of a man. I slid my jacket off and carefully folded it, not letting anything escape.

  Eve wrenched her car door open and flung herself inside. I slid onto the passenger seat. “Buckle up.” She waited until I did before pulling onto the street.

  “Do you want to go out for lunch?” I asked.

  “My stomach’s too upset. I’m going to change clothes and hit the gym.”

  Positive news came to mind. “Anna Tabor wants us to give her a price to replace the picture window in her den with a glass block one.” It wasn’t much of a job, but we were still pleased with every one that came in.

  “Why does she want that?”

  “She said it would be unusual and attractive. I’ll do the estimate this evening.”

  “Okay. I’ll check your work tomorrow, and we’ll schedule her in.”

  I nodded. Our deceased father had been an excellent carpenter who made us enjoy working with our hands. We’d done quite a bit of work with him and liked changing the design of some of his jobs. Ever since I convinced Eve to join me to start Twin Sisters Remodeling & Repairs months ago, we were gradually building up our name and earning people’s trust. We were both strong and knew how to use subcontractors and power tools. So far my estimates all turned out correct. Still, being dyslexic made me want all written work and numbers double-checked. Early struggles and some teachers’ hurtful comments made me still doubt myself.