I snorted. "That show horse actually declined an interview? That's hard to believe."
"He's just doing his job," Merry said reprovingly. "I wouldn't want to be in his shoes for anything."
"No," I agreed. "You just want to be in his pants."
Total silence, then a giggle. "You got that right, girlfriend! Now get outta that bed and get over here! We've got some planning to do, and I have just the place to do it."
I was grinning like the Cheshire Cat: Merry certainly knew how to change my mood. There's nothing like a corpse to change a girl's focus.
* * *
"You could at least tell me where we're going, Merry," I complained. After a swift shower and an even quicker breakfast, I was ready when Vicky the Mini Cooper screeched into my driveway; now we were hurtling down a deserted country road I hadn't even known existed before now.
"You'll see when we get there, missy," she answered, one eye on the rearview mirror as she abruptly swung the wheel to the right and brought the car to a juddering halt.
"Now what?" I sounded as cranky as I was feeling, and I was out of coffee. The to-go cup from the local convenience store wasn't nearly big enough to satisfy my morning caffeine requirement, but as I opened my mouth to give Merry my two cents' worth, she clapped her hands together, startling me into silence.
"There he is! I thought I'd given him poor directions." She turned over the Mini's engine and pulled back out onto the road, her left arm gesticulating wildly outside her window. "Hang on to your hat, Caro! Here we go!"
"Who in the world is that, Merry?" I inquired, turning around in my seat as far as the seat belt would allow. I squinted but couldn't make out who was driving what appeared to be flashy sports car of some sort, and my crankiness went up another notch. All I needed was some gel-haired, muscle-bound, show-off in a sports car to mess around with my investigation.
"It's Joey," she said, a broad grin on her face. "You're gonna just love him, Caro! He's moving out here from my neck of the woods, and he's just the coolest!" She risked a sideways glance at me. "And he's a class-A baker as well. I thought I'd introduce him to Candy."
Oh, well then. As if that would make any difference to me…
"Oh? And what does he bake, if I might ask? Cookies for ladies' teas? Petits fours for prayer meetings?" I had my own idea of what the South was like, and I was not thrilled to meet a Rhett Butler impersonator in an apron, cool or not.
"You'll just have to wait and see," Merry said again smugly.
I huffily crossed my arms and sat back. If this escapade turned out to be a waste of my time, she could bloody well find herself another inventory partner.
* * *
Merry had driven us to a small settlement of cabins, bumping the car past a large wooden carving of a bear raised on its hind legs, paws slashing at the air. I gave a shudder, hoping that it wasn't a portrait of the local wildlife. Bears and I don't operate on the same page, to put it mildly. Still, the setup of this place—Welcome to Bitter Springs Resort was the wording on the wooden sign that swung near the road's edge—was enchanting. A horseshoe-shaped road led past several cabins, each one distinguished by brightly painted doors. Merry stopped the Mini in front of a cabin with a bright red door, pots of scarlet geraniums set on each side.
"Ta da!" Merry turned to smile at me. "Check out my rental, Caro! I get to use it four weeks every year, and the maintenance is part of the package." She swung open the car door and bounced out, straight into the arms of a very good-looking young man. The car's driver, I presumed, although I hadn't observed him getting out. Either that or they had one fabulous greeting committee here at Bitter Springs Resort.
"Caro, I'd like you to meet my cousin, Joseph Holmes. Joey, this is Caroline Layton-Browning, that writer I told you about." Merry grinned at the pair of us, and I decided to make the first move. For all of his good looks and macho sports car, Merry's cousin seemed to be on the timid side.
"Call me Caro," I said, offering my hand to him. His hand was firm and dry, both points in his favor. I detest the moist, limp hands that some of my acquaintances have, particularly that of a certain person in the publishing circle and who generally made my skin crawl whenever I was in the same room as he. I banished the thought, gave Joey's hand a firm shake, and stepped back, waiting for Merry to make the next move.
"So, whaddaya think, y'all?" Merry's expansive gestures took in the entire resort. "Isn't this just the coolest place?" She fished a key from her front jeans pocket and inserted it into the lock, swinging open the door to reveal a rather charming interior. I followed her inside, Joey bringing up the rear.
"It's nice, Merry," I agreed. "Did you say you were renting this for four weeks?" I wondered if the bookstore was going to shut down as well.
"Not four weeks at a time, Caro, for four different weeks during the year. And this is one of those weeks." She moved to the small kitchen area and pushed open the red gingham curtains that hung over the small window.
A memory, vaguely unpleasant, surfaced. This sounded a lot like…
"Merry, did you get buffaloed into one of those crazy time-share deals?" I was appalled, having barely managed to extricate myself from one the year before. I heard a quiet chuckle from the hitherto silent Joey.
"I'll have you know, Caro, that this is better than a time-share." Merry's tone was pugnacious, her hands resting on her hips. "This is a bona fide vacation on my own time, at my own rate."
"You sound like you're quoting their marketing brochure," I said drily. "Well, never mind. I'm sure you knew what you were doing, signing on for this self-paced vacation. I'm sure you can back out at any time." I started to the door to grab my handbag, giving Joey a slow wink as I walked past him. "Correct?"
"Wellll," Merry said, drawing out the word. "I have to honor the contract for three years. Then I can drop it or trade up or do whatever the heck it is I want to do."
My back was to her, thank goodness. Otherwise my ride home would have seen the magnificent eye roll.
In no time at all, the three of us were sitting at an oblong table, sweating bottles of water in front of us and an opened bag of Synder's Sourdough Pretzels Nibblers in the middle of the table. Merry had opened all of the windows, and a fresh breeze blew in, lifting the red and white curtains and ruffling the pages in my notebook and the stack of sticky notes I'd brought. It was a beautiful day outside, but I was determined to dig into the murders of Mick and Lucia before Gregory returned from Oxford; I'd leave Mick's dad to the beautiful Detective Leonides.
"I think there's a connection between Mick and Lucia," I offered, flipping the notebook open to a fresh page. "I'm not as sure about his father, though; as mean as that man was, he could have had enemies all over the place."
"I don't think I agree, Caro." Merry sat with her eyes closed, a handful of pretzels poised in midair. "The way I see it, once Lucia was bumped off, things started happening pretty quickly. I mean, look at your car."
I groaned. "Let's not, if you don't mind. I've got to get that fixed before Greg gets home."
Joey, who'd been listening silently, stirred. "What's wrong with your car, if you don't mind me asking."
Merry laughed. "I forgot to tell, you, Caro. Joey has two passions in life: baking and cars." She turned to her cousin, adding, "And if it's broke, he can fix it, right, Joey?"
He nodded soberly. "I sure can."
"Well, I don't think my car is a home-fix type of issue, but thank you for asking, Joey," I said. "It's going to need an entire new bumper, not to mention the dents in the boot—the trunk, I mean."
Joey nodded. "Okay."
Okay what? I wanted to say, but Merry interrupted.
"Why didn't I think about that!" she said, a wide smile on her face. "When can you do it?" Both of us looked at Joey, Merry proudly and me skeptically. It sounded like a big order to me.
Joey shrugged nonchalantly. "Whenever. Tomorrow, of you'd like."
I guess I was supposed to believe that this unassuming cousin
of Merry's carried a mechanic's shop in the boot of that flashy car of his? I shook my head, trying hard to remain gracious.
"That's very kind to offer, Joey. I'll be taking it to the local garage in a few days." Just after I called my insurance and my husband, I thought wryly.
He shrugged. "It's really no problem, but whatever."
I shot Merry a frown then picked up the notebook. "Let's get back to business. You were saying?"
"I was saying that all things seem to point in one direction." More crunching. "I think that Lucia and the killer had some sort of disagreement that Mick found out about. Lucia is killed out of rage, Mick out of necessity. Voila! It's connected."
"Okay, let's go with this scenario of yours, Merry." This earned me a return frown with interest. "What is the common thread between Lucia and Mick? The Seneca Meadows Chamber of Commerce," I said, answering my own question. "If this is the connection, then it stands to reason that the killer is linked in the same fashion."
That thought pulled me up short: was it possible that the SMCC harbored a double—maybe triple—killer? Odder things had happened, certainly, but this did seem to be a bit of a stretch for a small burg such as Seneca Meadows.
"Why not?" Merry was defiant with her response. "That woman was just rotten enough to set off a bunch of folks. You'd have to meet her to know what we're talking about, Joey," she added. "I have never in my life met someone so hell-bent on making the rest of us feel inadequate and needing to watching our backs."
"Yes, you have." The statement was matter-of-fact. The impact was enormous. Merry and I both stared at Joey.
"Miz White." Joey took a sip from his water bottle. "Tenth grade."
Merry smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. "You're right!" She turned to face me. "That woman, the sorriest excuse for a teacher that I've ever met. Absolutely hated me, didn't she, Joey?" Joey nodded. I smiled.
"How so?" I was certain it was a convoluted memory of an adolescent whose actions more than likely deserved the attention they received.
Joey and Merry traded glances.
"Well," Merry began, a tad reluctantly. I congratulated myself on sussing out the issue already: teens gone wild in the classroom. "It was because of, because I…" She broke off. "Joey, you tell it. It still makes me so mad I could spit." And she really looked it. I retracted my original deduction.
"Miz White hated Merry," Joey said with a concerned glance at his cousin. "She accused Merry of starting a rumor about her, saying she bullied her students, the poorer kids in particular, and she blamed Merry for almost getting her fired." He shook his head. "She even went as far as to send Merry here a cease and desist letter, claiming it was damaging her professional reputation."
I looked at my friend. Her eyes had narrowed, and she chewed on her bottom lip. Whatever had transpired that year still rankled even now. Indeed, an emotion as strong as hate could maintain its power across time and space.
"And did she? Bully students, I mean," I added to clarify. "You would think that if that was true, something would have been done."
"Oh, sure," Merry said sardonically. "Miz White was the darling of the school. She was pretty, she was outgoing, and all the other teachers loved her." She shook her head. "But she was fake, fake, fake!"
I was getting worried about Merry's vehement reaction. Time to diffuse the tension, I thought.
"Well, I'm sure she's had a few run-ins with karma since then," I said. "Most folks like that always do, eventually. Case in point, the lovely Lucia." I waggled my pen in the air.
"Yeah," Merry agreed, "she got her karma right upside the head."
For some reason, that struck us both as supremely funny. Joey observed us quietly as we giggled helplessly, grasping each other's hands across the table. I was beginning to like him; if he baked as well as he behaved, Seneca Meadows was in for a treat.
The rest of the day passed quickly. I took more notes, discussed a few more possible suspects, and enjoyed a late lunch-early dinner outside at the resort's home-style café. When it was time to head back to town, I felt rejuvenated.
"He seems like a good kid," I observed as we waved good-bye to Joey. He was staying the rest of the week in Merry's cabin while he searched Seneca Meadows for a place to live.
"He is. We've been buddies for a long time. One of my favorite relatives, that's for sure," she replied as she gave the Mini Cooper some gas and we turned onto the main road. "I've been trying to get him out here, and now, well, there's a job vacancy at Candy's."
We both grew silent, thinking about the reason why the job was up for grabs. One man's misfortune was another's good fortune, I thought wryly. I sighed. Time to focus on what mattered: my car, my husband, my manuscript. Maybe Officer Scott's advice was best after all.
CHAPTER NINE
When I'm on a deadline, I react in two different ways: I write like the Furies are after me or I don't write at all until the last possible moment, and then I become a Fury. It appeared as if the latter was going to be the modus operandi for this particular manuscript; I'd left my protagonist hidden behind an office door for the past few days, listening to the villain make another death threat.
Thinking about my writing brought up thoughts of Mick O'Reilly. Who would want him dead? If this was a book and not real life, I could figure out a method with which to tie all the loose ends together in one neat bow.
I let my mind drift aimlessly as I sat at my kitchen table the next morning, watching the hummingbirds buzz around the feeder that I'd insisted on having. I loved seeing them zoom up to the inverted red glass, the bright colors of their tiny bodies looking like art in motion.
Suddenly I sat straight up, snapping my fingers. Was Lucia's death part of a robbery, perhaps? I'd heard Merry mention something about the art collection that she kept in her office. If that was the case, maybe Mick had knowledge of who'd done it; that "homie" comment that Candy had made took on a new significance.
Hastily I threw on some clothes, grabbed my hobo bag and keys, and ran out to my battered car. Sigh. I'd finally reported it to my insurance carrier. I had a date with a mechanic the day after tomorrow; thankfully, my policy included a rental car so at least I wouldn't be without transportation. Maybe I'd try out a sports car, something along the lines of Joey's flashy ride.
I found Merry in her bookstore in the classic British mystery section; Ngaio Marsh, Agatha Christie, and Margery Allingham, the "Queens of Crime," were among my absolute favorites.
"Caro!" Merry looked up at me from her perch on a low stool, a welcoming smile on her face. A face, I noticed, that looked well rested and not distressed as it had been in the past few days. Maybe having her cousin here was the reason. "Here to give me a hand with the inventory?" She wrinkled her nose as she waved an iPad in the air.
I shook my head. "No, sorry. I did have a question or two for you, though. And you really should keep that door locked when the store's not open," I added as I plopped down on a nearby armchair and retrieved my notebook from my bag. "Is it possible that Mick knew about the circumstances behind Lucia's murder? For instance," I explained, "she might have interrupted a burglary that Mick had previous knowledge of?"
I'd put that badly, but Merry didn't seem to notice. Instead, she dropped her head and sat silently. I watched anxiously, hoping that I hadn't angered my friend, considering her past feelings for the man.
"Maybe." She spoke softly, head still down, eyes fixed on the tablet.
I waited, knowing that silence was the best thing for Merry as she thought about Mick. And in my experience, nature abhors a vacuum, and most folks will rush in and fill it with all sorts of information if one is patient enough. I was. She did.
"When Mick came to Seneca Meadows, it was to get away from the crowd he'd gotten involved with. I mean, they weren't druggies or anything like that, but some of them had a bad gambling habit and owed a lot of folks money. So, when you don't have what you need, you get it somehow." She looked up at me. "Mick had let on that his da
d's bakery was raking in the cash. It was robbed. End of story."
I stared at her. "Mick robbed his own father's business?" No wonder he'd come running to Seneca Meadows.
Merry shook her head impatiently. "No, that's not what I mean. He thinks—thought—that some of his buddies, his homies, did it. He assumed if he stayed there any longer, some of them might lean on him, make him part of the problem." She shrugged. "So he came here."
I followed the logic, but quite honestly, I didn't believe it. It sounded too pat, too perfect an excuse for someone to simply turn up in an out of the way burg such as Seneca Meadows.
"What if," I began carefully, feeling my way through a potential conversational minefield, "Mick was a front man for the group, looking for potential targets in places like this. Maybe he knew about the art collection in Lucia's office. "
Merry snorted. "I think you've been watching too many mobster movies, Caro." She stood and stretched her back, hands over her head. "Let's skip this rope and get something to drink."
Skip this rope? Sometimes I felt as though Merry was speaking a different language entirely, her drawl notwithstanding.
Steaming teacups in our hands, we walked back to the front of the store to where a pair of chintz-covered armchairs sat. The overly-large floral pattern would be tacky anywhere else but Murder by the Book, I thought as I sank into the cushioned seat. Merry certainly had done wonders with the place. I glanced at my wristwatch. Nearly opening time.
"Could you get someone to watch the store for a bit this afternoon?" I leaned over to set my teacup on a table created from an old door. "I'd like to talk to Beatrice again, and I think it'd be more comfortable for her if you're there." And for me as well, I added to myself. I had no desire to get involved in another morose conversation.
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