Murder Most Thorny (Myrtle Grove Garden Club Mystery Book 2)

by Loulou Harrington

  Jesse breathed a sigh of relief and looked up to find Vivian’s eyes growing rounder and her attention fixed on a point just over Jesse’s right shoulder. The words “oh damn” had just formed in Jesse’s mind when Arnie Holt’s voice came from immediately behind her.

  “Did you ladies get all of that, or do I need to repeat part of it for you?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  All rational thought fled in panic as Jesse held her breath, closed her eyes and pretended to be invisible. Vivian brushed past her on a rustle of silk and a cloud of expensive perfume.

  “Oh, we missed the first little bit,” she said, obviously deciding to seize the moment. “But I think we managed to catch everything after that. I had already noticed the caliber size of the holes in the boat. It’s nice to have you agree, though.”

  “Well, I haven’t actually taken measurements, yet. So it’s just speculation. What size would you say they are?”

  “Thirty ought six, maybe? Malcolm hunted some, but mainly to keep the rabbits thinned, so he used a twenty-two most of the time. The holes I saw were definitely bigger.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” Arnie said, sounding friendly enough for Jesse to open one eye. “That or a .30-30 would be most likely. Not many hunters in this neck of the woods use a .270, or something like a .338 mag, which would be your even bigger calibers. They’ll go 300 to 400 yards, but their trajectory’s flatter.” He scratched his head, then carefully patted the hair back into place, as if remembering his company. “It’s a puzzler.”

  A frown worried his brow, and Jesse came further out of her suspended animation, wooed by the relaxed interchange and the hint of mysteries to be solved.

  Vivian cocked her head to the side and laid a plum-tipped finger along her chin. “You have my attention, Dr. Holt,” she said in a throaty purr that Jesse had always respected for its effectiveness with men. “I know that .22s are for small game, and the .30-30 would be for deer, but what are the others for?”

  “Elk.” The word came out as a hoarse croak. Arnie cleared his throat and added, “Bear.”

  “People don’t hunt those here,” Vivian said, forgetting to purr.

  “No, ma’am, they don’t.” Arnie stretched his neck, twisting inside his collar until he seemed to feel more comfortable before adding, “One thing I neglected to mention to Joe is that the shot to the head was from the front in addition to being a smaller caliber. The later shots to the body were not only bigger, but they were from the back.”

  “Is that significant?” Vivian asked.

  Jesse didn’t realize she was thinking out loud until she heard herself say, “Two different calibers, two different directions, at two different times.” Too late to call the words back, she finished in a muttered, “Two different shooters. Maybe. Probably.”

  Vivian and Arnie both turned to look at her with surprise. Vivian’s slow smile held an edge of victory, and Jesse had a momentary urge to kick herself.

  “I would say that’s not a bad conclusion,” Arnie said, his surprise becoming a nod of agreement. “I was leaning that way myself. Don’t know what it all means, but that’s not part of my job. I come up with the ‘what.’ It’s Joe’s job to come up with the ‘why’ and ‘who.’”

  “I was just thinking out loud.” Jesse cringed inwardly at the mention of Joe Tyler, who would not be happy to hear that she had any opinion on the subject at all.

  “It’s hard not to speculate, though,” Arnie acknowledged as if she were speaking for the both of them. “It had even occurred to me that the second shooter, given enough distance, might not have even realized the object in the boat was a man. If the body was bent over double on the floor of the boat, they would have just seen his back. It could have looked like a lot of things.”

  “Like a backpack or a bedroll, maybe,” Jesse suggested. “Do you really think that’s possible?”

  “There’s not a lot of light just before dawn. And we don’t know exactly when all this happened.”

  “It would have been early. We would have heard any hunters in the area. And it was quiet until that tornado hit.”

  “There you go, then,” Arnie said, as if that was the answer he’d been seeking.

  “So, you think he could have been sitting in the bottom of the boat,” Vivian asked Arnie, “bent over the top of his legs, and the same bullet could have gone through his back, then his leg and on out through the bottom of the boat?”

  “It’s all just guesswork at this point, but that’s possible. And a second one caught his ankle just above the bone.” He shifted his gaze between the two women. “How many holes did you see in the bottom of the boat?”

  “Three, I think,” Jesse answered. “But I wasn’t giving it a whole lot of thought.”

  “Were they all the same size?”

  Trying to remember what she had seen, Jesse realized what witnesses must feel like. She just wasn’t sure.

  “One seemed larger to me,” Vivian said. “In fact, they all three looked slightly different. But, like Jesse said, we didn’t realize what we were looking at. And we were standing several feet away.”

  Arnie nodded slowly. When he spoke again, he seemed almost to be talking to himself. “If one went through his torso and thigh before coming out the bottom of the boat, the hole would have mushroomed out some. And if one missed him completely and went straight through the boat, it would have stayed its original size.”

  Jesse held up her hands, growing upset without really knowing why. “I don’t get it. I don’t know anything about guns, or hunting or bullet holes. But if that’s what they were doing, just shooting at a boat with a bundle in it, are you saying it could have been nothing but vandalism? Like target practice just for the hell of it?”

  “That is correct,” he said with a nod. “In this area, a powerful enough rifle could have made that shot from across the lake even. It’s still criminal to pop a few rounds into somebody’s boat just to see if your gun’s got the range. But they wouldn’t have realized they were getting themselves involved in a murder.”

  Vivian shivered. “Guns shouldn’t be in the hands of people who don’t have better sense than that. Why, with a powerful enough scope, they could be watching us right now.”

  “Well, now, I didn’t mean to get you two all upset,” Arnie said, suddenly solicitous. “I’ve just been thinking out loud, is all. Besides, they’d need a spot with some elevation or the trees would block their line of sight along in here.”

  Vivian gave him a look that was clearly unappeased. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t right,” she insisted. “That poor man deserves to be put to rest with some dignity, and whoever did this, for whatever reason, needs to be found and brought to justice.”

  “Oh, my.” He cut his eyes toward Jesse and a crooked smile stole over his face. “I begin to see how you could have been a thorn in Joe Tyler’s side on that last murder investigation. The two of you ladies together just might be more than a man would want to tangle with.”

  Still grinning, he began to back away. “I do appreciate you ladies taking the time to talk with me. You’ve been very helpful. And I’ll try to give you a chance to get the widow away from here before we bring the body down to the van.”

  “Good heavens, I had forgotten all about poor Winnifryd,” Vivian said with a start. “Thank you very much,” she called over her shoulder as she took Jesse by the hand and hurried in the other direction.

  “Slow down.” Jesse tugged at the hand that pulled her along. “You’re going to break an ankle in those shoes.”

  “Well, that was certainly productive, don’t you think?” Vivian leaned in, lowering her voice and slowing her pace in the process. “If we’re going to do this on a regular basis, I really will have to start dressing down for the occasion.”

  “Do what on a regular basis?” Jesse hated even to ask, since she was pretty certain she wasn’t going to like the answer.

  “Investigate in the field. I don’t think I can go so far as
to wear what you are,” Vivian answered, her gaze raking over Jesse from her simple, cotton flannel shirt, down her jeans to the pink tennis shoes on her feet. “But maybe a nice pair of low-heeled riding boots, with some jodhpurs, perhaps, and…” She released her hold on Jesse to indicate the suit jacket she wore over her silk dress. “And a tweed, or possibly camel blazer. In a lightweight wool with leather trim, maybe. I think that would be appropriate, don’t you?”

  “Investigate in the field?” Jesse repeated, absolutely positive she didn’t like the answer. “After our buddy the sheriff roasts me on a spit, you’ll be roaming around the field all by yourself. And can’t you just wear what you wear when you garden?”

  With the question came a memory of the designer sweater and tailored coveralls made especially for Vivian’s foray into public horticulture when the Myrtle Grove Garden Club created a winter garden in the corner of the Myrtle Grove town square. The sweater had come with a matching knitted cap designed to keep Vivian’s ears warm while still providing a brim to shield the winter’s sun from her face with flattering style.

  “Never mind,” Jesse said. “Jodhpurs and blazer sound great. You’ll probably need several if we keep stumbling across dead bodies at our current rate.”

  “This is going to be such fun,” Vivian responded with a happy little twitch of her shoulders. “I’ll call my dressmaker tomorrow.”

  “I don’t know, Viv.” Jesse shook her head, nagged by a worry she couldn’t name. “We live in a quiet, peaceful corner of the world where bad things aren’t supposed to happen. So, why is Roy Lee Rogers dead?”

  “Well, let’s see, now,” Vivian said helpfully. “Don’t all murders boil down to… what are they? Uh, greed.”

  They had reached the downward slope toward the bumpy lane where Vivian’s Mercedes was parked, and she was concentrating on her footing while trying to remember the various motives for man’s violence to man. “Damn these shoes, anyway,” she grumbled.

  “Jealousy,” Jesse supplied, filling in the blank while she kept an eye on Vivian’s progress. “Also, called love, but it’s really jealousy. I can’t have you, so nobody can. Or, I may be getting ready to lose you, so I’ll take the guesswork out of it and kill you just in case.”

  “And the last one is to hide something,” Vivian added, triumphantly reaching the bottom of the slope in one piece. “I don’t care what anyone else says, those are my three and I’m sticking with them. And never again with these shoes, I swear.”

  “Just put a pair of flats in your car and keep them there. Something with a rubber sole, not slick leather.”

  “You’ve always been so wonderfully practical, dear.” Vivian tucked her arm through Jesse’s. “So, I doubt it was jealousy in this case, which leaves greed and someone trying to hide something.”

  “You don’t think maybe the sheriff’s department’s going to be able to figure this one out?”

  Vivian gave Jesse’s arm an affectionate tug. “I think they’re going to pick jealousy and come looking for Winnifryd first. Then after they’ve wasted a whole lot of time and made her life miserable, maybe they’ll pick one of the other two and try to figure out who really did it. But in the meantime, I think we can have it taken care of.”

  In what sounded like a loud poof followed by a slow leak, Jesse blew out the breath she had been holding. “You’re not giving up on this, are you?” The resignation in her voice signaled the beginning of acceptance. “And you’re not going to give me any choice but to go along with you.”

  “That’s not me you’re hearing, hon. It’s the little voice inside your head that’s already started to work on this.” Vivian gave a consoling pat to the arm still tucked into hers. “So, I guess we’d better get Winnifryd out of here before someone remembers a question they forgot to ask her.”

  “They already have,” Jesse reluctantly confided as they passed the M.E.’s van. “There is a chance Winnie knows where Roy Lee was fishing when he was killed. And if he had a favorite fishing hole nearby, Deputy Murphy would like to question Winnie about it.”

  “But not before you and I have a chance to talk to her,” Vivian said. “Once poor Winnifryd’s had a bite to eat and a chance to rest, that is.”

  “And after you’ve plied her with whiskey?”

  “After I’ve plied all of us with whiskey,” Vivian corrected. “Do you suppose your mother would like to join us? We could go by and pick her up.”

  “If you do that, you’ll have the whole gang joining us.” Jesse wasn’t sure if that sounded overwhelming or like the first really fun thing that had happened all day.

  “That sounds like fun,” Vivian said, giving her opinion on the unspoken thought. “But maybe we should give Winnifryd a chance to catch her breath before we introduce her to the others. The tearoom will be closing soon, and after that your mother will be on her own.”

  “Oh, gosh! Connie!” Jesse cried, suddenly remembering her plans for later in the day. “I’ve got to call her and let her know I won’t be there.”

  “Good. And then invite her to join us. She can bring your mom with her.” A thin current of excitement ran through Vivian’s voice. “I think I see a late night planning session in our future. And we’ll need daiquiris.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Good grief, Vivian, you can make the most awful things start to seem like fun.” Jesse wasn’t sure if she should feel relieved or guilty at the reluctant lifting of her spirits.

  “Optimism, dear. I’m pretty sure it’s contagious.”

  “And you feel no guilt whatsoever, do you?”

  Vivian’s laugh was a long, lilting and completely happy sound. “None whatsoever,” she finally agreed when they reached her car. “And neither should you. You didn’t make any of this happen, Jesselyn, and together we’re going to do everything we can to make it better.”

  “Thank you, Obi Wan,” Jesse said softly as she opened the front car door on the passenger side. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Age has its benefits,” Vivian whispered back across the top of the car. “And Lord knows I intend to take advantage of every one of them.”

  Smiling as she slid into her seat, Jesse saw Winnie straighten herself from the corner in the back and shake her head.

  “Wow, I just had the weirdest dream,” Winnie said in a groggy, slightly hoarse voice. “There was this scary-ass storm, and Roy Lee was in some tree staring down at me, and then there were all these people I didn’t know, and…” Blinking, she looked around through eyes still struggling to open. “Wait, where am I? Whose car is this?”

  Seeing Jesse, Winnie grinned. “Hey, you were in the dream, too.” Then she quit grinning and scrubbed at her forehead with her fingertips. “Man, have I got a headache. What’s going on, anyway? Seriously…” She raised her head with a frown. “What’s going on?”

  Jesse watched her friend fighting her way back to reality from a dream that had apparently glossed over some details. “Give yourself a minute to wake up,” she suggested gently.

  Vivian started the car and executed a neat turn that avoided the worst of the potholes. Winnie stared over her shoulder at the white M.E.’s van and the deputies’ car parked behind it.

  “My truck.” Winnie twisted further in the seat to look out the back window. “My truck is gone.” Her voice was thick with unshed tears as the car waddled its way down the uneven lane toward the paved road and away from the scene behind them. “It wasn’t a dream, was it?” Her broken voice was barely above a whisper.

  “Winnifryd, dear,” Vivian said without turning around. “If it’s alright with you, we’re going to my house for a late lunch before we do anything else. Will that be okay with you?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Windsor, hi, there. I didn’t realize that was you.” Winnie cleared her throat and nodded. “Yeah, that would be good, if it’s not too much trouble for you. I don’t want to be a bother to anybody. Wow.” She shook herself, then looked at Jesse. “I didn’t get hit in the head t
his morning, did I? I feel a little strange.”

  “You’re not going to pass out, are you?” Jesse asked, trying to remember if any flying debris had made contact while they were hiding among the trees. “I don’t think so.” Then she remembered they were well past brunch and the morning had begun before dawn. “Did you have any breakfast?”

  “Don’t normally eat breakfast.”

  Exiting the dirt road onto the nicely flat paved one, Vivian pointed to her glove box. “There should be some chocolates in there. One or two of those should keep her going until we get some food into her.”

  Jesse opened the door in the dash, and there sat a small gold box embossed with the name of a specialty candy store in Tulsa. She recognized the chocolatier’s label because she had given Vivian a slighter larger box for Valentine’s Day.

  “They were so good, I went back and got more,” Vivian said. “Plus a smaller box to keep in my car for chocolate emergencies.” The corners of her mouth tugged up in amusement. “Who knew we’d actually have one?”

  “Whoa, stop!” Winnie cried, leaning between the seat backs to grab Jesse’s arm. “Stop!”

  Holding the box firmly in both hands, Jesse pulled it closer. “I haven’t given them to you yet.”

  “No. The car.” Winnie twisted around to stare behind her. “Stop!”

  “She means you,” Jesse said to Vivian, who had already come to a halt in the middle of the road.

  “Winnifryd, she’s going to take one chocolate out and give it to you. You’re going to eat it, and then you can tell me what you’re trying to say.”

  “Go back!” Winnie insisted.

  Vivian looked at Jesse and pointed to the box. Jesse took out one ornate mound of swooped chocolate drizzled with thin ribbons of white, red and caramel. Then she closed the gold box and returned it to the dash compartment before handing the piece of dark brown decadence to Winnie over the back of her seat.