Stormy Day Mysteries 5-Book Cozy Murder Mystery Series Bundle

by Angela Pepper

  I got dressed, brushed my teeth in the upstairs powder room, and went down to see what Pam was burning in the kitchen. We hadn’t spoken the night before. She’d turned off the TV and gone to bed as soon as I’d arrived, leaving a still-hot cup of tea on the coffee table in her haste. I didn’t take it too personally. She’d probably heard about my trip to Portland and suspected I knew about the breakup.

  Pam let out a shriek when I walked into the kitchen. She held her hand over her heart. “I forgot you were here,” she said. “I heard the floor creak, and I thought for sure it was a big man with a beard, coming to strangle me.”

  “Not on my watch,” I said with dramatic flair. “I’ll protect you, Pam.”

  She stared at me for several seconds before letting out the first genuine-sounding laugh I’d ever heard pass through her lips.

  “Good one,” she said. “Coffee’s on.”

  I was already helping myself. “Dad looks good,” I said. “I made the drive to see him yesterday. He says they might even spring him as soon as tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? I’d better get ready.” She continued with what she’d been doing, which was rinsing off dark leaves of curly kale before adding them to a light-colored mixture already in the blender.

  “Do you mean ready with a nice dinner?” I had to choose my words carefully, or she’d know that I knew about the breakup. Part of me wanted to get the messy emotional stuff over with quickly and then offer to help her pack. In the bright light of the morning, my soft-hearted feelings from the night before seemed sappy and foolish. By the way she was looking at my hair, I imagined she was busy thinking up new insults. Why did I think being nice to her would do me good?

  She turned on the blender, ignoring my question. I regretted promising my father that I’d go easy on her.

  I took a seat at the table and looked around the kitchen, mentally noting which items were unfamiliar and could be tossed into a cardboard box as soon as I got the go-ahead. Pam finished blending the green smoothie and offered me half. The brackish concoction looked like the exact opposite of something I’d want half of.

  “No, thanks,” I said. “I’m trying to cut back on pond scum.”

  She joined me at the table, giving me a stern look as she sipped the green drink and licked her lips dramatically. “I’m not surprised you don’t have a taste for healthy foods,” she said. “Growing up the way you did, with no woman in the house, you might as well have been raised by wolves.”

  I sipped my coffee and licked my lips, mimicking her. “We did have that wolf we called Nanny.”

  “It’s a miracle you made it to adulthood.”

  I crossed my arms. “Who are you calling an adult?”

  She rolled her eyes. “And that hair of yours! Tell me you didn’t pay good money for that accident.”

  “Pam, how can you even say that? Get a mirror. You and I have the exact same haircut.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not the same. Mine is tapered, and I have normal hair. Yours is curly, or wavy, or kinky, or something. It’s not normal.”

  I looked away. “It must have been all the wolf milk I was nursed on, while my father was out working to support his family.”

  “He didn’t have to do it alone,” she said. “I knew him back then, and he could have had anyone. He should have gotten married and made a proper home for you two girls, but he didn’t put your needs ahead of his own, his own selfish desires.”

  Through gritted teeth, I said, “We turned out just fine, thank you.”

  She gave me a patronizing look. “Is that so?”

  The phone rang, and she jumped up to get it. Through the rushing in my ears, I heard her repeat a doctor’s name. I listened, wondering if it was news about my father. She lowered her voice and left the kitchen with the cordless phone.

  Once I’d simmered down and finished my coffee, I followed her into the living room, where she was pacing at the window and giving brief yes and no answers on the phone. I picked up her sketchpad from a side table, and wrote out a question: Is that about Dad?

  She glanced at the note, shook her head, and snatched the sketchpad out of my hands. Still murmuring brief answers, she left for the main floor bathroom and closed the door behind her. I listened, curious about her phone call, but her voice was too low.

  Jeffrey wove his way around my legs before jumping on the living room’s window sill. He flicked his tail and then turned to watch the little winter birds forage for frozen berries in the front hedge. His tail swished as he chattered at the delicious-looking birds as if they were the cat equivalent of french fries and ketchup.

  I sat on the couch for a moment and watched him watching the birds. Time passed. Watching Jeffrey felt very restful, the exact opposite of trying to have a conversation with Pam.

  She seemed to be finished her phone call but hadn’t emerged from the bathroom yet.

  I tapped on the door. “Pam, is everything okay in there?”

  She answered, “Did you want to use the shower?”

  “No, thanks. I guess I’ll be on my way. I’ve got some errands to do.”

  “Errands?” she echoed. “Where are you going?”

  “It’s kind of a long story,” I said to the closed door. “I bought back some old cufflinks from a pawn shop where Murray Michaels was selling things he’d picked up. They belong to Leo Jenkins, so I’m going to do a good deed and return them to him today.”

  She cracked open the door and looked me up and down. “That’s awfully kind of you,” she said. “How did you know where to find the cufflinks?”

  I waggled my eyebrows. “I have my ways.”

  “What else was he selling? Did you happen to see a scarab-shaped brooch?”

  “Just a panther,” I said.

  She sniffed with annoyance. “Never mind. I probably lost it in the street when I was getting out of my car. You remember my scarab. I always wore it on my wool jacket.”

  “Do you mean the dung beetle? That was pretty cute for a bug rolling around a ball of poo.”

  She closed the bathroom door with a bang. She hadn’t appreciated my compliment of her brooch the night of my father’s party, either. The ancient Egyptians, who’d revered the dung beetle as a symbol of rebirth, must have had a better sense of humor than Pam.

  “I’ll keep an eye out for your scarab,” I promised.

  Through the door, she said, “Gather up your things from the spare room before you go.”

  “Am I being kicked out as a houseguest?”

  “I don’t want you here,” she said. “I mean, I don’t need you here. I’m quite capable of looking after myself, and I’d rather have my space, thank you.”

  I shook my clenched fists at the closed door. You get out! This is my house, I wanted to say but didn’t.

  I finished getting ready for the day, making some toast for a quick breakfast and then gathering up my things from the spare room. On my way out, I wished her a good day through the bathroom door. She didn’t respond, but I could practically feel her seething through the door.

  It took me another five minutes to get away because Jeffrey had arranged himself to be irresistible. He lay on his back, in the crack between two sofa cushions, tempting me with the cuteness of his belly. In a low voice, I told him how much I’d miss him when he moved out. He twisted and stretched, luring me into his pet-my-tummy trap before grasping my wrist and gnawing my thumb.

  I extricated myself without a scratch and was on my way.

  Outside, the chilly winter air was bracing.

  I paused on the porch to zip up my jacket and noticed movement next door, at Mr. Michaels’ house. A man with dark hair was standing on the lawn where the snowman had been, taking a picture of the house. The man had a beard and looked familiar, but it wasn’t my new tenant or anyone whose name came to mind.

  I called over a hello.

  The man looked over at me and then turned and started walking away briskly.

  Was this the bearded man Pam had repo
rtedly seen in the neighborhood weeks earlier? What was he up to?

  I pulled my phone from my purse, set it to take photos, and started following the guy.

  Chapter 36

  I followed the bearded man to the end of the block and around the corner. I stayed a safe distance back, pretending to be reading something on my phone, but my fine detective work was wasted. He didn’t even glance back over his shoulder, let alone notice me taking pictures as he got into a car and drove away.

  As I walked back to my own car, I called Officer Tony Milano and gave him a full report.

  “Slow down,” Tony said. “You’re getting yourself all worked up, just like you did over the girl who calls herself Harper. I talked to her this morning, and you’re lucky she’s not pressing charges against you for assaulting her.”

  “She’s mad at me?” I asked. “Over the laundry detergent?”

  “Not exactly,” he answered cagily. “But I saw the bruising on her forearm, and she told me what happened last night.”

  I groaned. “That was a misunderstanding. She had a scary hammer. Plus the lighting in that laundry room was super creepy, like the kill room in a serial killer movie. You would have been jumpy, too.”

  “Good to know,” he said sarcastically. “I’ll make a note here in the file. Creepy lighting. Yes, this is very damning. Thanks for calling it in. Oh, and I’ll get right on running the license plate for this new suspect, the one who very suspiciously took a photo of a house.”

  I told Tony what I thought of his sarcasm and his casual dismissal of my help.

  The call did not end well.

  After he had hung up on me, I jumped into my car and drove around the neighborhood. I searched for the bearded man and his car, but he was long gone.

  I considered calling in my license plate tip again, this time to Officer Wiggles, but I needed a moment to get my temper under control.

  Coffee. I wanted coffee. Pam’s brew had been weak, and I needed the real stuff. I drove to House of Bean.

  My least favorite House of Bean employee was working. Chad took one look at me and prepared for combat. He turned to me, chest thrust out, shoulders squared, smug face begging to be punched.

  “Good morning,” he sang.

  “And a good morning to you,” I said evenly. “I’ll have the third item on the menu, please.”

  He gave me a ferociously happy smile. “Do you mean the Teenie Weenie Beanie Steamer?”

  “If that’s the third item on the menu, then I suppose I do.” I pointed to the stack of large cups. “This size.”

  Chad’s nostrils flared big enough for flames to shoot out. “Mountain size,” he said.

  “Sure,” I said with a deliberate shrug. “I’m easy. That sounds great.”

  I paid for my coffee and put a generous tip in the cafe’s tip jar. This generosity was met with suspicion, just as I’d anticipated.

  I took my vanilla latte to a corner table and enjoyed it along with a copy of the Misty Falls Mirror, which I read from cover to cover. Their coverage of the Murray Michaels case included a two-paragraph obituary and a statement from the police asking citizens to come forward with information. I called the phone number listed and asked to remain anonymous. I passed along the description of the bearded man I’d seen at the house, along with his vehicle make and plate number. Tony hadn’t taken me seriously, but perhaps someone else would.

  Feeling the satisfaction of one task completed, I tipped back the last of my coffee, checked the contents of my purse, and continued on my way. I would visit Leo Jenkins at Masquerade and return his stolen cufflinks. Then I would get out of the costume shop as fast as I could, before Creepy Jeepers got grateful enough to hug me with his spider arms.

  Chapter 37

  On my way to Masquerade, I stopped at my reflection in Ruby’s big mirror on the corner. I ruffled up my spiky hair and smiled. I liked how I looked with the postcard-pretty view of the small town and mountains behind me.

  Was Ruby was sitting on the other side with a cup of tea? I waved, in case she was.

  I turned away, walked down the street, and entered the costume shop with a bounce in my step.

  Leo Jenkins, who was standing on the platform for the window display, greeted me with a dismayed look on his face and a decapitated foam snowman in his arms.

  “Now you’ve done it,” I said jokingly.

  He sighed. “Busted.”

  “You’ve killed that snowman,” I said.

  “He was asking for it,” Jenkins replied, rotating the snowman’s face so it looked right at me.

  I laughed. “You’ll have to kill me next. You can’t go around leaving witnesses.”

  “But I’m so busy this afternoon. I have to change this window display myself and then get to the bank for coins.” He gave me a thin-lipped grin. “This will be our little secret.”

  “Sure.” I stepped back and let him by with the foam snowman, which he placed in a cardboard box that advertised its contents as DAPPER SNOWMAN.

  “I’m glad you stopped by,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to apologize for the other night. I’m so sorry if I gave you a scare. Breaking and entering is just about the craziest thing I’ve done in my whole life, and I feel dreadful about, well, everything.”

  “People make mistakes,” I said. “Those cufflinks must have meant a lot to you.”

  He continued loading the snowman into the box, avoiding eye contact. He’d gotten his glasses fixed, but he still bore a small red cut on his angular cheekbone, where he’d gotten injured during the arrest.

  I pulled the cufflinks from my purse and held them out. “Here you go,” I said. “I happened to come across these at a pawn shop, and I wanted to get them back to their rightful owner.”

  He frowned at the cufflinks, his thin face look practically skeletal.

  “You can toss those on the counter,” he said without so much as touching them. He continued his work in the window display, rolling up the white felt carpeting.

  I walked over to the cash register and set the cufflinks down with a clink. Was he too ashamed about the break-in to let on he was happy to get the cufflinks back, or did he genuinely not care? Had the cufflinks been a cover story for the police?

  Stalling for time, I pretended to be interested in the circular display of masquerade masks.

  Mr. Jenkins continued changing the window, pulling snowflake decals off the glass with his long fingers.

  Something was definitely odd about the man. He’d been released by the police after providing an alibi for the entire window of time during which Mr. Michaels must have been killed, but wasn’t that, in itself, odd? Was there even another person in the entire town who had an alibi for that exact same period?

  I grabbed my phone and set it to record a memo. I used the memo function often, to take down worries that hit me while I was driving or falling asleep. Our voices would be muffled by my purse, but if the costume shop owner said something damning, I could pass it along to the police. Tony couldn’t ignore my help forever.

  “I set your cufflinks by the cash register,” I said. My voice sounded squeaky, compressed by the tightness in my throat.

  He didn’t even glance up. “Thanks for doing that. I wish you wouldn’t have.”

  “Oh? Why?” I edged my way around the shop’s displays so I had a clear escape route to the door.

  He didn’t answer my question, so I pressed on. “Why shouldn’t I have gotten your cufflinks back? Didn’t you want them?”

  He answered, “They’re not worth much.”

  “But you wanted them, didn’t you? Why else would you break into Mr. Michaels’ house?”

  He turned his body so his back was to me, and I couldn’t even see the edge of his face to gauge his expression. He slumped over and groaned.

  I took two more steps toward the door. “You can tell me,” I said.

  Softly, barely loud enough for me to hear, he said, “No. I can’t tell anyone. It’s too disgusting.”

&n
bsp; My skin prickled, and the urge to run for the door became almost unbearable. But I had to stay calm, stay present. I’d been in stressful situations before, on the brink of losing huge financial deals, and I knew that the secret to success was pressing on beyond the point where most normal people would give up.

  Just a little further. Just another nudge.

  I took a risk and bluffed, “I saw what you were doing inside his house. I already know everything. Why don’t you let it all out? Tell someone. You’ll feel better.”

  “Okay,” he said softly. “Please don’t tell anyone else.”

  I casually tugged my purse open wider. I wouldn’t tell anyone, but I would certainly share the recording. With the police.

  “Start at the beginning,” I said.

  He reached for something on the platform next to him. A box cutter. My heart pounded. I could make it to the door in five steps, but he had such long legs, he could make it there in three. I held still, ready to bolt if he so much as twitched in my direction.

  “The weight loss started in the summer,” he said. “I didn’t mind because it was swimming season. My wife actually admired me and said I was looking younger.”

  “Okay,” I said, waiting to hear what this had to do with killing Mr. Michaels.

  “By the fall, though, I kept losing weight, and I finally went in to see my doctor. They ran all the tests, so many tests, but there wasn’t much they could do. I must have had a bad reaction to some medicine I took earlier this year for an ear infection. They said it could take years for my digestive system to recover, but there was an experimental treatment.”

  “How experimental?” While I listened, I kept a lookout for people entering the shop. I hoped someone would come in but not before I got a full confession.

  “I had to fly to a special clinic,” he said. “It was very expensive, not covered by insurance, and when I got there, I’m ashamed to say that I couldn’t do the treatment. I stayed in the hotel the whole time and then flew back home. I told everyone I was feeling better, but I wasn’t. I kept losing weight. So, I had to pay for the trip a second time, and off I went. The second time, I managed to go through with it.”