Stormy Day Mysteries 5-Book Cozy Murder Mystery Series Bundle

by Angela Pepper

Jessica turned to me, tilting her head in confusion.

  “You gotta stand,” I said.

  She got to her feet and held up her mug with a shaking hand.

  In a pale imitation of my father’s brogue, I intoned, “There are good ships, and there are wood ships, the ships that sail the sea. But the best ships are friendships, and may they always be.”

  We clinked glasses and took a sip. The mulled hot cider was perfect.

  The next hour passed quickly as we talked about old friends, our wacky families, and next month’s plans for Christmas and New Year’s Eve.

  “You should come here to the Fox and Hound,” she said. “It’s the best place in town because they do a masquerade party. It’s fabulous. You should come with me, and you’ll meet my friends Marcy and Marvin.”

  I coughed and shifted uncomfortably in my chair. “If the costume shop is closed due to the owner being behind bars, that might put a wet blanket on everyone’s masquerade plans.”

  “Behind bars?” She looked confused. “I hear Creepy Jeepers made some sort of deal, and he won’t even serve time for the break-in.”

  “But what about the murder?”

  She tipped her head to the side. “I’m guessing by the look on your face, you didn’t hear the news. He was out of town at the time the police figured the you-know-what happened.”

  I folded my hands in my lap looked down, making my face neutral, acutely aware of the sensation I was being watched.

  Jessica jumped up, waving her hand and calling to someone. She asked if I would mind if someone joined our small table, and I mumbled something, barely able to hear my words over the buzzing in my head.

  The third chair pulled out, and slender legs in tight jeans came into view.

  Chapter 22

  Jessica said to the newcomer, “This is Stormy Day. She’s basically my best friend, so you might be seeing a lot of her.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, looking up with a pleasant smile for the newcomer. “You must be… Marcy?”

  “Not even close,” she said. “My name is Harper, like the author, Harper Lee.”

  I shook her hand and repeated, “Harper Lee.” Her fingers were very cold.

  “Minus the Lee,” she said. “Just Harper.” She turned to Jessica and complimented her lipstick as well as her hair, worn down and unbraided for a change from how she had to wear it at work.

  Harper wore the same too-dark lipstick she’d applied in front of me the day before when she’d fixed her makeup in the one-way mirror at Ruby’s. She’d been standing next to Mr. Jenkins, the man who’d broken into the victim’s house, but was apparently not being charged in the mysterious death. Was Harper connected somehow? She’d seemed rattled by the news yesterday, but then again, who wouldn’t be? I was still reeling from Jessica’s bombshell about Creepy Jeepers. When I’d seen the skinny guy outside House of Bean, it must have been him after all. I would do well to trust my instincts more, and right now they were telling me something wasn’t quite right with Harper.

  I watched her with interest. She scanned the pub again and again, twisting the jewelry in her nose piercing with fingernails that had been bitten to the quick.

  Jessica continued the introductions, telling me she worked with Harper and telling the blonde, “Stormy’s father is a cop.”

  “A retired police officer,” I said, watching Harper for any signs of discomfort. She sat up straighter and blinked repeatedly.

  Jessica said to her, “Don’t worry. Stormy’s not a stick-in-the-mud just because her dad’s a cop. In fact, she’s the one you want to get in trouble with because she can talk her way out of anything.”

  “Cool,” Harper said with a head bob. “What kind of trouble?” She tucked a lock of blond hair behind her ear with one hand while she twisted the jewelry in her nose piercing with the other.

  Jessica answered on my behalf. “In high school, Stormy used to go after the bullies. She’d teach them a lesson.”

  I held my hands up. “Guilty as charged. I dumped mashed potatoes and gravy on a few guys in the cafeteria, and now I have a reputation for being nuts.”

  Harper gave me a sly smile. “Cool. All the best people are crazy.”

  “I’m not crazy,” I said. “I can get a little emotional about things.”

  “She’s passionate,” Jessica said with a knowing smirk. “For example, if Stormy wants a vanilla latte, that’s what she wants, and not something with a silly name. Once she picks a battle, she’ll die on that hill.”

  I crossed my arms and gave her a pretend-scathing look. “What did you hear?”

  She gave me an innocent expression.

  Our snowy-haired waitress appeared with three ciders. We hadn’t ordered another round yet, as I still had most of my original cider remaining.

  “On the house,” she said.

  “Dharma, no way,” Jessica said, rummaging in her purse. “I’ll get this round.”

  The waitress winked at me before saying, “The bearded gentleman at the bar has already paid.”

  All three of us turned at once to see who she meant. There were three men with beards sitting around the bar, but only one looked back at us with a smile and a wave. Logan Sanderson. He’d changed out of the gray suit he’d worn into my store earlier that day, but he looked every bit as suave in a casual denim shirt.

  “What’s he drinking?” I asked the waitress.

  “Whiskey,” she said.

  I asked her to list their top-shelf whiskeys and returned his gesture by sending over a glass of twenty-one-year-old Bushmills that my father would have approved of.

  After the waitress had left, Jessica wanted to chip in on the drink. I practically had to arm wrestle her to get her to put her purse away.

  Harper asked me, “Is that guy a friend of yours? He’s cute.”

  “Cute?” I pretended I hadn’t noticed.

  Jessica said, “Great. I get you to come out one time, and now some handsome guy is going to steal you away from me.”

  Laughing, I said, “That’s highly unlikely. Never mind me. What’s new in your love life? Have you got the usual crew of admirers wanting to find out how fiery a genuine redhead can be?”

  “You’re so bad.” She slapped my knee playfully. “I’ve really missed having you around to keep me on my toes,” she said with a sigh. “Things haven’t been so great in the dating department, though. Maybe your friend at the bar has some friends he can introduce me to. How do you know him, anyway?”

  “Stop trying to change the subject. What’s happening with your skateboard guy?”

  “Oh,” she said, and soon the details were flowing.

  While Jessica filled me in, I replied just enough to keep the conversation going while I observed Harper. Whenever someone walked in the door of the pub, she didn’t just glance up casually to see who it was, the way the other people in the pub did. She would stop talking and freeze, like a prey animal looking out for the big, bad wolf. Was she watching the door for the cops, or for someone else? What was her story?

  When the conversation came around to her, I asked, “Where did you say you were from, Harper?”

  “Here and there. Nowhere interesting.” She leaned in and settled her chin on her palm, pretending to be at ease, but leaning to one side if I moved my head enough to block her view of the entrance.

  “And what brought you here? Did you move here just to fulfill your lifelong dream of working at the Olive Grove?”

  Jessica reached across the table and flicked my arm. “What’s next, Stormy? Asking the poor girl what her five-year plan is? Gosh. Lighten up.” Jessica explained to Harper, “Stormy owns that cute little gift shop. She’s looking for someone else to work part-time so she has more time to…“

  Jessica trailed off, looking perplexed. “Stormy, what exactly will you do on your days off? Besides hang out with me. Do you have any hobbies?”

  I crossed my arms, unhappy with the way the conversation had turned. “Fine,” I admitted. “I’m a recovering w
orkaholic. Maybe I’ll take some arts and crafts classes at the community center. I might try yoga, or meditation.”

  Jessica laughed, leaning forward as she shook, dropping her wavy red hair around her face like a modesty curtain. She kept laughing until she was wiping the corners of her eyes.

  Harper bobbed her head, a forced smile on her lips, her eyes on the door.

  Jessica wiped her eyes and said, “I might be down to my last twenty dollars, but I’d pay good money to see you in a meditation class. You can’t sit still for five minutes, let alone an hour.”

  “I could if I wanted to.”

  “Do you want to?”

  I frowned at my cider. “Not really,” I admitted.

  They both laughed and began talking about various exercise classes they’d tried.

  As we emptied our mugs of mulled cider, I warmed up to Harper. I wondered if my suspicion of her had any logical basis or was part of some reluctance to meet new people. Making friends was hard. You had to take a risk and feel insecure. Compared to me, Harper was so young. I kept glancing over at Logan to see if he was looking at her, but he seemed focused on the game playing on the TV.

  Jessica reached over and wrenched away the napkin I’d been twisting in my hands. “It’s dead now,” she said. “You strangled that napkin expertly.” To Harper, she said, “You can tell when she’s stressed about something because her hands won’t stop moving. If there’s paper around, she’ll start making lists.”

  “Cool,” Harper said. “That must have been scary when you found that man in the snow. Did you know he was one of our regular customers? He came for the early senior’s dinner a few times a week.”

  “He came by himself?” I asked.

  Jessica answered, “Table for one, and he brought one of his cowboy novels to read.” Her brows knitted together. “He seemed happy enough. He’d talk to the waitresses, and most of the girls didn’t like him much because he didn’t tip, but he never did anything awful. I can’t see why someone would kill him.”

  I asked, “Did you mention he was your landlord or something like that?”

  “I heard he was an investor in the holding company that owns our apartment building. Harper lives in my building, too.” She snapped her fingers. “Wait. That’s how I know. Harper, he was talking to you about where you lived, and he said he was basically your landlord, so he wondered if he could get a discount.” She smiled. “He was funny like that. We never caught him, but I think he took things from the table. Spoons and salt shakers.”

  Harper jumped to his defense. “He only took one salt shaker. He wasn’t that bad. I worked in this other restaurant before, and we had this one family who’d clean us out, everything from ketchup to sugar packets and the big rolls of toilet paper in the bathroom.”

  Jessica asked, “What restaurant? I thought you didn’t have any experience waiting tables before.”

  Harper’s cheeks reddened. “Oh, I was just the cashier, and it was only for a few weeks.” She took a sip of her drink and looked at me. “Poor Mr. Michaels. I hope it was painless. You saw his face, right? How did he look?”

  I considered my response. The muscles of the face contort with rigor mortis, and it’s only in extreme situations, such as a painful death from strychnine poisoning, that facial expression gives any hint of the deceased’s emotional state on passing. The peaceful expressions seen on loved ones at open casket services are the result of the good work done by caring embalmers and funeral cosmetologists.

  Harper was leaning in, looking both sad and hopeful, giving the impression she cared about how Murray Michaels had felt as he passed into his next adventure. She didn’t want to hear forensic science. With her sweet expression and the flickering light from the fireplace making her pale hair a golden halo, she looked like an angel who’d come to watch over the man’s final days, refilling his coffee cup and looking the other way while he snagged silverware. She didn’t look at all like someone who’d snuff out his life. I felt slightly guilty for even considering a suspect.

  “Well?” Harper bit her lower lip. “Did he look scared?”

  “He looked peaceful,” I said. “Very peaceful, considering.”

  “Good,” she said softly. “May he rest in peace.”

  Chapter 23

  It was midnight when I got home. I’d avoided bumping into my tenant at the house so far, but by the look of the bright windows on his side of the duplex, he’d beaten me home from the Fox and Hound.

  I bypassed the driveway and pulled up along the sidewalk, where I could catch a glimpse into his place. The curtains were wide open, showing off his living room furniture, which was all modern and enviably stylish. His color blindness hadn’t hampered his decorating efforts. While there were some unpacked cardboard boxes stacked in the corner, he had, in less than twenty-four hours, made his side of the duplex look more like a home than my side.

  “What a jerk,” I muttered with equal parts indignation and amusement.

  My car was still running.

  The mature thing to do would have been to get out of my car, walk over to his door, knock politely, and properly introduce myself. There would be an awkward transition when he realized he’d made crude remarks about his landlady to his landlady, but we could get over that. We could be friends. He could tell me where he bought his very attractive standing lamp.

  My eyes wandered from the lamp to the framed prints on the wall to a man’s bare chest. I let out a girlish squeal. Logan was shirtless, walking around the brightly-lit living room half naked. He brought a laundry basket full of clothes to the sofa and began folding clothes.

  I couldn’t tear my eyes away. He flexed and stretched, his appealing torso completely changing my feelings about laundry. When he was done folding and placing everything in neat stacks, he nestled everything back into the laundry basket and disappeared down the hallway.

  Now what? If I knocked on his door now, would he answer shirtless? Or was he down to his underwear by now? Or naked?

  I didn’t have to knock on his door tonight. I could go straight to my side and put off the introductions until tomorrow. So why couldn’t I shut off the car’s engine and get out?

  I was spooked. The bubbly feelings I got from seeing Logan with his shirt off terrified me. After breaking off my engagement, I’d planned to take a long break from anything romantic. I thought it would be easy to ignore the flirtations of men, that I’d feel numb, closed off from so much fighting and acrimony in that department. But I didn’t feel cold and dead inside after all. Some naive part of me felt as girlish and optimistic as I’d been as a teenager, before I’d ever known heartbreak. Naivety was a vulnerability, the exact opposite of being numb.

  Now fate had practically dropped into my lap this handsome, single lawyer. It was too good to be true. Like a big chunk of cheese resting on a ten-cent mousetrap. I knew a trap when I saw one.

  The only thing worse than having a girlish crush on a guy was dating him, losing him, and having to live next door while he carried on with other women. That exact scenario had never happened to me before, but I was able to imagine it with such perfect clarity, I wondered if it hadn’t happened to me in a previous life.

  I reached over to my purse to grab my phone. Jessica had made me promise to call her again soon. She wouldn’t be expecting me to do so within an hour, but she’d laugh at my predicament and probably have some words of encouragement. Her own relationships were disasters, but she gave sage advice to others. I had a feeling she’d tell me to go for it, go knock on Logan’s door, even if he was shirtless. She’d cheer me on, the way she always had in high school whenever I got uncertain about something. It was because of her that I learned how much fun could be had when I stepped outside of my comfort zone.

  If Logan was indeed a trap, she’d tell me to step right in and enjoy the ride.

  Instead of my phone, I accidentally pulled out a cloth satchel of something crunchy. It was the parting gift of catnip the Calico Veterinary Clinic had sent me o
ff with, as a pick-me-up for Jeffrey during his recovery. At the thought of his sweet face, my heart filled with a different type of longing. All plans to call Jessica for girlish encouragement evaporated. I wasn’t a teenager anymore. I had responsibilities.

  The little guy was at my father’s house. I’d assumed Pam would be back and taking care of him, but what if she wasn’t? I hadn’t spoken to her since the day before.

  The cloth satchel smelled faintly of mint but mostly like my father’s wool socks.

  I put the car in drive and steered away from the curb.

  Chapter 24

  I woke up to more unwanted eyebrow licking.

  “Jeffrey, you’re insatiable,” I said.

  I rolled onto my back, and he settled on my chest, his chin hovering over my chin.

  “Why are you in my room?” I asked him. “Don’t you want to sleep on Dad’s bed with Pam? She’s your real owner. Not me. I’m only here because I’m too chicken to return to my duplex and… make nice with my tenant.” Jeffrey twitched one ear. “Plus I was worried about you.”

  He began to purr, a loud rumble that expressed his loyal devotion to me, the amazing person who had fed him twice as much canned food as he was supposed to get for each meal.

  “You do love me,” I said.

  His purr got even louder, in agreement. And also to let me know it was time for breakfast. Now, please.

  I got out of bed and went down to the main floor bathroom for a shower, as the upstairs bathroom was only a powder room. I passed through the kitchen to give Pam a quick good morning.

  She looked up from the pots she was banging in the sink. “The woodchuck is awake!” she exclaimed. “Can you see your shadow? Will it be an early spring?”

  “You’re thinking of the groundhog,” I said.

  She blinked. “No. Your hair reminds me of a woodchuck.” She looked down at my legs, bare from the knee down below my sleep shirt. “Is that what you’re wearing today? I have some leggings you could borrow. It’s still winter outside, last time I checked.”