Murder in the Rose Garden: A Scent with Love Cozy Mystery (Scent with Love Cozy Mysteries)

by Tabitha Tate

  The police had been quick to rule her death a suicide and close the case without as much as a second thought. Beth was no detective but years of watching television had taught her that a suicide without a note was almost never what it seemed. After her discussion with Jack she was even more concerned about the fact that there was no note, and according to him her mother had cancer, which was news to Beth. Surely her mother would have left a note explaining this—for the benefit of her only daughter if for no one else. Then there was the mysterious note from the elderly woman at her mother’s funeral. Beth had no idea what to make of it; perhaps it was just a lonely old lady looking for a bit of attention.

  Her mother’s financial trouble also seemed strange. Beth’s father had left her mother with more than a million dollars in life insurance money when he had passed away as a result of a heart attack five years earlier. Her mother had never been frugal when it came to money but it did seem almost impossible for her to have squandered that amount of money in such a short time. The cottage had been bought with the proceeds from the sale of their Boston brownstone. The earnings from the flower shop coupled with interest from the insurance money should have allowed her mother to live comfortably. Beth was lost in thought as she climbed the steps back to her cottage after her walk on the beach.

  Beth could not help but think that perhaps her mother’s financial troubles were the cause of her death. She thought that if she could figure out what had happened to her money then she would possibly be able to find some evidence to support her theory that her mother had been murdered.

  After an hour of pacing on the beach, Beth decided to head back to the cottage for a light dinner and some rest. She made herself a sandwich with the leftover chicken from the night before, ordered a bottle of wine from the Tenth Hole and called her boss at Anderson & Cole.

  “Hi, Andy…yes, the service was today…as well as could be expected under the circumstances, I guess… Listen, I know that things are a little crazy at the office right now but I need a bit more time to wrap up my mother’s affairs.”

  Andy went quiet for a moment and replied, “Take all the time you need, Beth.” He cleared his throat nervously. “I’m here if you need me; if you need anything just call and I can come out to help you.”

  “Thanks, Andy, I’ll let you know if there is anything you can do… Look, I have to go, someone’s at the door.”

  Beth put down the phone and let out a deep sigh. Andrew Anderson had been more than just a boss to her: they had been lovers for four years and had been on the brink of marriage when she found out that he had been cheating on her with Julie Sanchez, his twenty-two-year-old secretary with thick curly brown hair, red pouty lips and a perfectly shaped pair of silicone boobs.

  Beth had been heartbroken. She had spent weeks mailing wedding cancellations while her mother had tried to convince her that what she had with Andy was worth saving, but Beth was not the “forgive and forget” type. Julie had eventually run off to South America with a twenty-eight-year-old musician who looked like the poster boy for a Calvin Klein advert and Andrew was left to wonder what could have been between him and Beth. It was not easy at first and Beth had considered finding a new job but the thought of leaving the job she had worked at since leaving college scared her too much. In the first year after the break-up working together had been awkward but as the years had passed they had forged a business relationship. Andrew still loved her in his own way and he had even tried to patch things up a few times in the last two years but Beth was not interested. She had embraced the single life and was quite happy living alone in her rented one-bedroom apartment overlooking the Boston harbor.

  Beth got up and answered the door. She collected her bottle of wine from the waiter who had walked down from the bar and sat down at the kitchen table with the black ledger Jack had given her and her chicken sandwich. She spent hours going over the financials, months and months of poorly captured financial records. She found that the shop had a large order book which ranged from small orders for local residents, a bunch of roses here and there and larger bouquets for functions, to large weekly orders from the local hotel, Millie’s, and several large contracts with Magical Weddings, a local wedding planning company run by a woman called Sylvia White.

  Beth was shocked. With so many large orders it seemed odd that Scent with Love was experiencing financial difficulty. The financial records highlighted significant expenditure on an external consultant named P. Pots; the ledger entries were vague and lacked the details given to all the other entries but one thing was clear: P. Pots was the single biggest monthly expense at Scent with Love and there was no clear indication as to what service they were providing.

  Beth took off her glasses and sipped the last of the wine from her glass, closed the ledger and decided to call it a night. She took a quick shower, climbed into bed and drifted off to sleep with the calming sound of waves crashing against the rocky cliff next to the pier in the background.

  ~

  A bell rang, the flower shop door swung open and a bubbling brunette swanned in. It was nine-thirty and Hannah King was late for work.

  “Morning, sorry I’m so late; had a bit of trouble getting the kids to school this morning.” She walked into the back of the shop, hung her handbag in the closet and made two cups of coffee.

  “You must be Elizabeth. Look just like your mom, you do.”

  Beth smiled and took a sip of warm coffee. “Most people call me Beth.”

  Beth had opened the flower shop at nine a.m. and set about compiling an inventory of all stock items, assets and furniture. If she was going to sell the place for a good price, she needed to get a better handle on what the place was worth and all of this information would assist in compiling a comprehensive valuation. The shop was busier than she had expected—there was a constant flow of customers throughout the morning and by the time lunchtime came around she was starving. Hannah picked up the phone and ordered them some lunch from the diner.

  “Hi, Allison, its Hannah from the flower shop…yes…could you send over two grilled chicken salads please. Thanks.”

  The phone rang again just as she placed the receiver down.

  “Scent with Love, how can I help you today? ...Oh hi, Mom, yes I got the kids to school this morning a little late but we managed just fine. Lucie is having a rough time at the moment, misses her dad. Luke started walking yesterday…I made a video, I’ll send it you via e-mail later this afternoon when I get home…thanks, Mom, love you too.”

  Hannah put down the phone and smiled at Beth apologetically. “Sorry about that, my mom has been calling about a hundred times a day to check up on me since Ben ran out on us. The kids have been struggling but we’ll get by.”

  Beth felt a stab of guilt at the thought of selling the shop and leaving Hannah without a job.

  Chapter 3

  Beth sat on the wooden bench at the marina next to the Fisherman’s Wharf hotel and restaurant building waiting for the gray-haired woman who had shoved the note in her hand after her mother’s memorial service. Expensive yachts painted in white and blue sat docked next to small fishing boats with rusty red paint and decks cluttered with fishing gear. Beth sat reading the names that were inscribed on the boats. The yachts bore names like The Midnight Express, Lovely Laura and The Ocean Angel while the rusty fishing boats had names like Charger and Piranha.

  The smell of freshly caught fish hung in the air and gulls circled overhead, hoping for a taste of fresh fish. It was a windy afternoon; the ocean air clung to her cheeks, making them feel sticky, and her lips stung with the taste of salt. It was a little after three in the afternoon. She had been waiting for the gray-haired author of the mysterious note for fifteen minutes and she had started to doubt if she was going to show up.

  A fishing boat came in from the sea with its worn nets brimming with fish. The fishermen on board looked tired. Their skin was a dark leathery shade of brown from years in the sun and they smiled with big gaps in between yellow-stained tee
th. Beth admired their work ethic: they woke up before the sun, came back in the late afternoon and worked late into the evening, gutting and cleaning the day’s catch so that it could be sold at the early-morning fish market the next day. It was a hard life, but they looked happy. The boat didn’t dock at the marina, instead the captain steered it past the pretty buildings at the front of the marina, towards the back where the docks and the warehouse buildings were located.

  At three-thirty, Beth had tired of watching the fishermen so she decided to head back to the flower shop to finish the afternoon shift—perhaps Hannah could take some time off and fetch her kids a little early. It seemed like she could do with an afternoon off; raising two kids alone couldn’t be easy. As she was about to get up, a woman sat down next to her. Beth remained calm and continued to look out at the boats in the marina, not daring to turn to face the woman sitting next to her. The woman reached for her purse and took out a loaf of stale bread, broke off small chunks, balled them in her hand and threw them out onto the water for the hungry seagulls.

  “Hello, Elizabeth, I’m glad you decided to come.”

  Martha Crawford was a tall, stout woman with an enormous chest and a slim waist. She wore a navy blue cotton shirt and matching blue slacks. She had a pair of black leather flats and navy stockings on her feet. Her gray hair was cut in a perfect bob with short bangs that brushed the top of her dark eyebrows that sat on top of smiling honey-brown eyes.

  “You must be wondering why I brought you here.” Martha spoke quickly as she continued to throw bread for the hungry birds.

  “I have been wondering what all of this is about. To be honest it does seem a little weird. Why all the cloak and dagger tactics? ” Beth replied.

  “I needed to talk to you without anyone seeing us. It’s not safe to be seen together in town; Sheriff Hunter might become suspicious if he sees us together and I can’t risk the likes of Allison Landon spotting us—the whole town will hear about it at the diner’s breakfast rush tomorrow morning.”

  Beth folded her hands on her lap and looked at the cars in the hotel parking lot. She noticed a big white van with the words ‘Autumn Sunsets, the best place to spend your golden years’ written on the side in curly black lettering. Martha’s navy blue attire suddenly made perfect sense—she was the matron at the local retirement home.

  Martha continued, “Your mother didn’t kill herself, Elizabeth. I am not sure what is going on in town but things just don’t seem right. There has been a lot of rumbling of late. The sheriff was onto us and someone was trying to blackmail your mother.”

  Beth was shocked by Martha’s revelation.

  “Blackmail? What on earth was my mother involved in?”

  “Now, dear, I don’t want you to think badly of your mother; if anyone was to blame it was me,” sighed Martha. “Your mother was supplying me with pot for the old age home. The sheriff found out about it and he was not happy. He gave us a warning and threatened to arrest us if we continued growing and supplying pot. Soon after that your mother started getting threating letters in the mail: someone wanted her to sell the shop. They threatened to report her to the police if she didn’t sell up by the end of the month.”

  “Pot?” replied Beth, almost afraid to hear Martha’s response.

  “Marijuana, dear, weed, grass, cannabis, call it what you like. The operation started out small but it grew quite large over the last year. We even started to supply to the neighboring towns.”

  Beth cleared her throat. “I am hoping that your little business was for medical purposes and not…how shall I say…recreational?”

  Martha let out a dry, hoarse cackle. “I may have smoked a joint or two back in the sixties but that was way back then. No…your mother and I were supplying those in need, terminally ill patients, with medical marijuana. It helped to ease their suffering, gave them a means to escape from the pain. When your mother was diagnosed with breast cancer she explored a number of treatment options but found that a delicately spiced brownie was the best form of pain relief. She also found the supply of medical marijuana to be severely constrained and prices were sky high so she decided to grow her own. She grew for her own use at first but once I found out about it, I convinced her to start supplying to others in need.” Martha started to sob. “I can’t help thinking that somehow all of this led to her death.”

  “So she did have cancer then. I wish she had told me,” sighed Beth.

  “Your mother was a proud woman; she didn’t tell anyone except me and Dr. Jennings, who diagnosed her in the first place. She used to come to the home once a week for chemo with Dr. Jennings. Scheduled it to coincide with her weekly flower deliveries to the home. She told me that she hadn’t let you know, was waiting, and hoping to go into remission so she would not have to break the terrible news. That’s why I find it impossible to believe that she committed suicide. She went for a scan two weeks ago, and Dr. Jennings declared her cancer free.”

  Things were starting to make sense; her mother wasn’t dying. After going into remission she would have had everything to live for. Beth was now convinced that she did not commit suicide. She wondered if the mysterious P. Pots in the black ledger had anything to do with the supply of medical marijuana—the term P. Pots may have been code for pot. How did Sheriff Hunter fit into all of it and why would a blackmailer want her mother to sell the shop?

  Beth’s mind was racing. “Do you know who might have wanted her dead?” she asked softly. Martha shook her head apologetically.

  “All I know is that all of this smells fishy to me. Chase told me Emily Dawson, the county coroner, suspected foul play but Sheriff Hunter wouldn’t hear her out. Open and shut case according to him, didn’t want to hear anything more.”

  “Who is Chase?” asked Beth.

  “Sorry, dear, I keep forgetting that you’re not from around here. Chase is my son. He is a private investigator, has an office in town on the main road. Deals mostly with petty crime, divorce, missing teenagers and the like, works for all the big name lawyers around here. He would be able to help you if you decide to try and find your mother’s murderer.”

  “Thank you, Martha, I have a lot to think about. I’ll talk to Chase and see what else he knows but I am not sure if I am the right person to take on my mother’s case. I think I might go see the sheriff, try to convince him to re-open the case.”

  “Just be careful, dear, I am not sure who to trust anymore. My Chase is a good boy; I would talk to him before going to the police.” Martha threw the last piece of bread for the gulls, got up and walked to the white minivan Beth had spotted in the parking lot. Beth sat five minutes longer to make sure that no one saw them leaving together and drove back to Millie’s.

  Chapter 4

  It was ten past nine and Beth was waiting impatiently for Hannah to get in. A beautiful floral arrangement was standing on the work table, six yellow long-stemmed roses surrounded by green leafy foliage and the most beautiful deep blue flowers she had ever seen. The familiar chime of the doorbell sounded, the door swung open and Hannah hurried into the shop.

  Beth looked up at the pretty young woman. Her curly hair, which was still wet, had started to frizz. Hannah was wearing a pair of black linen pants and a light blue cotton shirt. The top two buttons on her shirt were undone and Beth could tell that she had not had the time to put on any makeup.

  “Looks like you had a rough morning,” Beth said as Hannah walked in and hung up her handbag.

  Hannah let out a sigh. “Yes, getting two toddlers to school on your own is a lot harder than it looks. Sorry I’m late again.”

  Beth smiled. “Don’t worry about it, I can open the shop while I am in town—should give you a bit of extra time in the morning. I know how tough it can be when you are a single parent. My best friend back in Boston, Claire, she just went through a nasty divorce, spent six months at my place with the kids. The two of us barely managed to keep it all together. Coffee?”

  Hannah smiled. “That would be great, thanks.�
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  Beth went to the tiny kitchen at the back of the shop and put the kettle on. The kitchen was next to the stock room. She peeped inside and noticed that it was full of shop merchandise. She would need to go through all of it and include it in the shop inventory list she had started to compile. The room was full of neatly packed shelves containing green floral foam, bright patterned ribbons, cards, envelopes, baskets and vases. The vases were pretty and many of them looked more expensive than the ceramic vases Beth had received the handful of times someone had sent her flowers. Andrew had sent her flowers twice during the course of their relationship, a bouquet of hydrangeas when they were courting and a very expensive arrangement containing twenty-four long-stemmed red roses set among six white lilies the day after she had found out about his affair and cancelled the wedding. In the very back corner of the stock room there was a shelf filled with large porcelain pots and vases which were stored separate from the rest; they looked old. Beth counted them: twenty pots and vases in various sizes and patterns, mostly blue and white.

  Beth handed Hannah a cup of coffee and gestured to the floral arrangement she had been admiring earlier. “That is really beautiful, is that your handiwork?”

  “Yes, I put it together yesterday for Mrs. Blackwood; she is having a very big dinner party tonight. She ordered three floral arrangements; I still need to finish the other two. Allison at the diner has it on good authority that the mayor will be there. I was planning to deliver it this afternoon. I was hoping I could drive out to Lavender Hill. Mrs. Blackwood lives in a sprawling mansion with panoramic ocean views and a lovely landscaped garden. Your mother always raved about it. I was hoping to see it for myself. Learnt everything I know from your mom; she was great with flowers, had a good eye for color.”

  “Sure, I have to tend to some private business this afternoon, so I won’t have time for deliveries. The blue flowers go really well with the yellow roses, great color combination.”