Stormy Day Mysteries 5-Book Cozy Murder Mystery Series Bundle

by Angela Pepper

  As I was gathering the pet carrier and supplies to leave, she said, “Such a shame about that Murray fellow, especially seeing as how he’d just reconciled with his family.”

  I paused and set everything down on the counter. “His family? I didn’t think he had any children.”

  “Well,” Natasha said, taking a big breath. “I was talking to Mrs. Catfish, who knows a gentleman who lives near Warbler Street, and he told her that Murray Michaels was excited about getting back in touch with some family members. She seemed to think it was a nephew or a niece.”

  I asked, “How sure was she?”

  “Mrs. Catfish is in her nineties, but she’s a sharp one.” She leaned over to check on Jeffrey, who appeared to be listening with great interest, his gray ears perky in contrast to his sleepy eyes. “I suppose if there’s any money to be had, the family will come out of the woodwork to hear the will.”

  Right then, Jeffrey decided he’d had enough human conversation. He stuck his gray paw through the door of his cage and caught me with his claws.

  “Yes, we’re going home,” I told him, trying to shake free.

  “Be careful,” Natasha said. “We’re all going to be keeping our eyes open and our doors locked until this thing’s settled.”

  “Definitely lock your doors,” I said. “But don’t get paranoid about strangers. Most murder victims are killed by someone they know.”

  Her mouth dropped open, reminding me of how my friends used to react whenever I told them the truth about crime statistics.

  Jeffrey dug his claws into my hand deeper, reminding me that my primary obligation was to him. He blinked up at me with jade green eyes that weren’t quite focused and curled his paw around my finger as though we were holding hands. My heart melted like a pat of butter on a hot blueberry pancake.

  Feeling fuzzy as my parental instincts kicked into overdrive, I thanked Natasha, left with the pet carrier, and got us both loaded into the car with Jeffrey’s carrier in the passenger seat. I started the engine, ensured the seat warmers were at maximum, and turned the radio volume down so I could sit quietly for a moment.

  Jeffrey let out the most pitiful meow.

  “I know, Jeffrey. I know it’s cold. Give the heaters a minute.”

  He tried to stand up inside the pet carrier, but his legs were wobbly. His unfocused eyes seemed to be full of love for me, despite everything. I popped open the hatch at the top of the carrier and gave him some pats. His purr started with a ferocious rumble as he bunted his head against my palm. Just when I thought my heart couldn’t melt any more, it did.

  “Good drugs?”

  He gazed at me, the corners of his shiny dark gray lips turned up in what had to be a kitty smile. He didn’t seem concerned about his stitches but had a cone to put around his head in case he did start pulling at them.

  “You’re such a good boy,” I told him. “And now that you’ve had your little snip-snip, we don’t have to worry about any kittens showing up on the doorstep.”

  Jeffrey grabbed my thumb in his mouth and gave me a sleepy love bite.

  “Do you think that’s what happened to Mr. Michaels? Some long-lost kid showed up and started shaking him down for cash?”

  Jeffrey gnawed and licked my thumb as though it was a delicious breadstick.

  “But why kill him?” I asked. “And don’t say for the inheritance, it takes ages for wills to get changed, and if the person dies under suspicious circumstances, it’s pretty obvious the new beneficiary did something.”

  Jeffrey fell asleep with my thumb in his mouth. I gently extricated it and reached for my phone as an idea crystallized.

  Imagining my thumb as a breadstick had brought to mind the Olive Grove and not because I was hungry for dinner. The waitresses who worked there wore dark green slacks and cream blouses as their uniform, just like the blonde girl who’d applied her makeup in Ruby’s two-way mirror. She’d seemed more upset than the typical townsperson about the news, assuming that was what she’d been talking about with Jenkins and the woman on the scooter. I didn’t know anything about the blonde, let alone if she was a long-lost relative of Murray Michaels, but I knew someone else who might have more information.

  I composed a brief text message to an old friend of mine but paused before sending it. I’d been avoiding Jessica Kelly since my return to Misty Falls. We’d been close, once, but our closeness had been replaced by an uncomfortable wariness, and I couldn’t even remember why it was we’d fallen out. Did I really want to contact her for a favor? Was finding out more about the blonde, who might have simply been having a bad day, worth the hassle of blowing on the embers of a relationship that had gone so cold? And what business did I even have, sticking my nose into the investigation?

  Then again, what business did Tony have treating my father, a man who did nothing but serve the needs of the town, as a suspect?

  My outrage at Tony steamed up inside me. He was going to be sorry he told me to stay clear of this matter. He’d underestimated my abilities and how far I’d go to defend my father. I’d do anything for him.

  I hit the send button.

  Chapter 14

  I drove toward my father’s house one-handed, my right hand in the pet carrier, rubbing Jeffrey’s head and chin to keep him from meowing about the inhumanity of being in a cage, inside a moving vehicle.

  I parked at the back of the house, next to Pam’s car, in the space next to the garage. The sun was already setting, and judging by the brightness of the windows next door, the crime scene technicians were collecting evidence to be tested. They would have their work cut out for them because Murray Michaels had been what some people call a packrat. His garbage can was never overflowing on pickup day because the man didn’t throw out anything, not even broken items. Whenever some type of pest appeared in my father’s house, from pantry moths to mice, Mr. Michaels would be blamed.

  “Pam!” I called out as I came in through the back door. “I’m home. I mean I’m here.”

  The floor creaked in an adjoining room.

  I called out, “How are you doing? Did Tony’s crack team of investigators already interview you?”

  Her voice came weakly. “Yes. It was just awful.”

  I kicked off my snowy boots, moved some other coats so I could use my regular hook, and brought the pet carrier through to the living room. The television was on but muted, and Pam wasn’t in the room.

  “Pam? Are you hiding? Don’t jump out from a closet at me.”

  Her voice came again, “I just want to forget all about today.”

  “Do you know they’re treating Dad as a suspect?”

  Without hesitation, she answered, “Your father did threaten the man.”

  I stopped in the kitchen. The cat carrier was getting heavy. Jeffrey meowed for me to let him out.

  Did Pam actually think my father did something to Mr. Michaels? Where in the house was she hiding? She was smart to hide from me, if she was going to say things like that.

  “Stormy, I know your father didn’t do it,” she called out, as though she’d read my mind. “They’ve got nothing on him. He’s innocent… of that crime.”

  “Of course he’s innocent. They’re being ridiculous.” I looked around the kitchen, at the mess from a recent meal. Pam had apparently experienced technical difficulties using my father’s vintage electric can opener; a red trail of tomato soup stretched across the counter.

  Her disembodied voice said, “I’m glad you’re here, but I’m not sure if I want to talk about the awfulness next door.”

  “Okay.” I used my free hand to clean up the soup with some paper towel. “We’ll talk about something else.”

  Jeffrey meowed with conversation topic suggestions ranging from releasing him to feeding him.

  Someone sniffed behind me, in the dining room that didn’t get much use. The lights were off, but Pam was in there, sitting in the dark. She was probably shaken up, and my father wasn’t in town to calm her down. It was up to me to be suppor
tive in her time of crisis. Was this the terrible thing that was fated to bring us closer? Would she ask me to be a bridesmaid at some as-yet-unplanned Bochenek-Day wedding? Was this our tender moment? I swallowed hard against the bile rising in my throat.

  She sniffed again, and though her sniff smacked of theatricality, I did feel for her. Pam was the chief architect of most of her own trouble, but she still suffered. I didn’t want to be her friend, but my father cared for Pam, and I loved him, so I would make yet another effort at being nice to her.

  I went to the doorway and asked softly, “Are you having one of your migraines?”

  “Just a regular headache,” she answered. “I could use some cheering up. Tell me one of your little jokes.”

  The only joke that popped into my head was a dirty limerick, so I said, “Your little Russian Blue cat got a sex change. He’s a boy now, and he has a proper name.”

  Pam’s curly-haired head didn’t move. “What? Is that a joke?”

  “It’s the truth. Jeffrey Blue was very brave at the vet’s office, and he hasn’t touched his stitches.”

  After a long stretch of silence, she answered, “Bring the cat in, but please don’t switch on the overhead lights.”

  I came in, set the carrier on the table, opened the lattice door, and gently lifted Jeffrey out. When I brought him to my chest, he snuggled against me. Cuddling him in my arms like a baby, I swayed from side to side in the dark dining room. I hoped that comforting her cat was buying me some points.

  After a moment, Pam started talking. “That poor man,” she said. “One day, he’s minding his own business, and the next day, he’s a snowman. It could happen to any of us.”

  “But it probably won’t,” I said. “Most murder victims are killed by someone they know, someone with motivation and opportunity.”

  Breathlessly, she said, “It could have been one of those thrill killers. An honest-to-goodness serial killer. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  Jeffrey squirmed as I squeezed him too tightly. My first instinct was to argue with Pam, to tell her how thankfully rare thrill killers were, but setting her straight would likely lead to an argument. Any disagreement with Pam’s Official View of the World resulted in acrimony. So, I chose to agree.

  “Yes, a serial killer would really be something,” I said. “It would put Misty Falls on the map but not in a good way.”

  “I’ll say.” She sounded almost excited.

  “Pam, can I get you something for your headache? Or something to eat? Did you get any of that innocent tomato soup into a bowl?”

  She took a gasping breath. “What if this serial killer comes for me next? What if he’s going house by house?”

  “That wouldn’t be very practical,” I said. “He’d only be able to get two before the pattern was obvious to anyone with eyes, and they’d nab him at the third house.”

  “He’d still get two of us,” she said with a sigh. “But I guess you know better than me. I’m no expert. I don’t care for those ghastly TV shows your father watches. I can’t even go into the room when they’re on. Too much sex and violence. Anyway, that’s what I told the police today.”

  “They asked about what Dad watches on TV?”

  She made a non-verbal noise.

  “What else?” I asked. “Did they say anything about Dad having arguments with Mr. Michaels?”

  “They’re simply being thorough,” she said. “It certainly doesn’t mean your father did anything. I didn’t say he did. Exactly what are you accusing him of?”

  “Nothing.” My tone was sharp. Jeffrey squirmed in my arms. Softer, I said, “Take it easy, Pam. Nobody’s accusing anybody of anything. I’m sure they’ll have this figured out before Dad gets home.”

  “He will not be pleased,” she said with a snort. “This whole thing will be a nightmare that never ends.”

  “Maybe not,” I said. “I’m trying to help with the investigation.”

  She replied, “Are you sure that’s wise? Wouldn’t it be dangerous?”

  “I’m looking into a rumor about Mr. Michaels getting back in contact with estranged family members.”

  “You must have heard wrong,” she said icily. “Murray didn’t have any family.”

  “Maybe he did.” I went on to explain what I’d learned at the veterinarian’s that afternoon, finishing with, “But it might not be true at all. Plenty of gossip flies around this town without fact-checking.”

  Pam pushed her chair back and stood. “I’m tired and ready for bed.”

  “But it’s barely dinner time. And don’t you want to see your cat? He’s happy to be home again.”

  “I can’t sleep in this house tonight. I’ll pack a bag and go to my friend Denise’s house.”

  “Were you planning to take Jeffrey with you? He won’t like getting jostled around again. He should recover here in his own house.”

  “Why do you keep calling her Jeffrey?”

  “I told you, Pam. She’s a boy. He’s a boy.”

  She snorted. “Sounds to me like you two have quite the bond.” She came around the table and reached for him. He gave her a sleepy hiss that made her step back.

  “Sorry,” I said on his behalf.

  She turned on her heel and left the room, muttering under her breath about ungratefulness.

  Jeffrey relaxed, melting in my arms.

  I rubbed his chin and whispered, “She’s had a tough day. Be patient with her. She’s okay sometimes. We shared a bottle of wine at the paint-your-ceramics place once, and we had quite a nice evening.” I kissed his shining, dark nose. “Try giving her some wine. Everyone’s more tolerable after a glass or two. You can have yourself a bowl of catnip. Do you like catnip?”

  Five minutes later, I was still petting Jeffrey in the dark dining room and saying increasingly ridiculous things about catnip parties and such.

  Pam came thumping by with a wheeled suitcase. She stopped at the arched doorway, an imposing shadowy figure.

  “Your hair looks different,” I said. “Did you get a new perm today?”

  She patted her hair. “Yes. I was at the salon this afternoon.”

  “Was that before or after your doctor appointment?”

  She reached into the room and flicked on the overhead lights, blinding me with the chandelier.

  “The doctor was last week,” her shadowy form said. “I’m all done with the doctors.”

  “That’s good news,” I said. She’d not disclosed to me what the appointments had been for, but I was genuinely relieved to hear the positive news that she’d been cleared.

  “You’ll stay here with the cat,” she said. It was a command, not a question.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “If you need me, my friend Denise’s phone number is on the fridge,” she said, and then she was gone.

  Once we were alone again, I resumed talking to my new buddy, Jeffrey. “Did you see that? She’s always so dramatic. Everything’s life or death with Pam Bochenek. Heaven forbid you get yourself a haircut without checking in with her. She’s probably mad at you because you changed into a boy without her permission.”

  Jeffrey kept on purring.

  The refrigerator in the adjoining kitchen clicked off, and the house echoed with emptiness around me.

  Something creaked. The dining room was now bright, and with the curtains open, I felt exposed to the world. Something creaked again, and my body tensed.

  I jumped up and went to make sure Pam had locked the back door. It was deadbolted, but given the age of the old wooden frame, it wouldn’t take much to kick down the door if someone wanted in.

  I nuzzled my chin against Jeffrey’s head as I walked through the house, checking all the doors and windows. When I got to the front room’s window, I peered out into the wintery darkness. Next door, the crime scene technicians were loading up their vehicles, done for the day. I squinted, but couldn’t distinguish anything interesting.

  They started up their engines, washing the snow with a red glow f
rom their tail lights as they pulled away.

  Now it was just me, Jeffrey, and the terrifying serial killer from Pam’s overactive imagination.

  Chapter 15

  Late at night, when the house is making noises and your imagination’s creating images for every creak, serial killers don’t seem so rare.

  Alone in my father’s empty house, I tried not to imagine a crazed killer going house to house.

  I took Jeffrey to the kitchen, found his food, and put out some canned dinner for him before foraging in the fridge for myself, settling on a roast beef sandwich. I sat at the kitchen table, facing the back door, and took out my phone.

  I called my father’s cell phone and got his voicemail. I left a message, my voice as neutral as I could make it.

  Jessica Kelly had replied to my text, which had been a vague let’s-get-together-soon message. She was inviting me to come out that night for drinks with some other people. She didn’t specify with whom, so I filled in the blanks with my least favorite people from high school days. I wanted to pick Jessica’s brain about coworkers at the Olive Grove, but the stress of the day made me pessimistic. I’d rather have a dental work than sit in a local bar while people yelled intrusive questions over loud music.

  I turned to the Russian Blue cat who was eyeballing my roast beef. “Jeffrey, you need me to stay with you, right?”

  He blinked innocently. He was recovering well from the day’s surgery, but surely the little man was too weak to be left alone, fending off the neighborhood’s serial killer with nothing more than his claws and good looks.

  I dug through my sandwich for a chunk of beef with no mustard. He licked his glossy black lips in anticipation.

  “The vet did say to keep an eye on you tonight, in case you need the Cone of Shame. What do you say to a sleepover party? We can watch old movies in the guest room.”

  He didn’t take his green eyes off my sandwich.