Stormy Day Mysteries 5-Book Cozy Murder Mystery Series Bundle

by Angela Pepper

  Jessica said, “Next open house, we're staying for the whole thing. I'll be quiet, I swear.”

  “I'm not an idiot,” Samantha said with some irritation. “We do have security. We always get people to sign in and out of the visitor's book.”

  I shook my head. “A book? Someone could kill you and then rip the page out of the visitor's book.”

  Her emerald-green eyes widened. “Really?” She swallowed. “I guess you're the expert on these things.”

  “Better safe than sorry,” I said. “A logbook is not security.”

  Jessica cried out in alarm.

  Someone in the crowd had bumped into her, nearly sending Jessica tripping over the rock wall into the fountain. I caught her by the arm and hauled her back to safety.

  “Speaking of safety,” Jessica said with a laugh. “Maybe we should move this party out of here to the relative safety of home.”

  “We were just heading out,” I said to Samantha. “Can we help you here with anything? Are you looking for someone?” Like, say, Colt Canuso?

  “Michael wasn't at home, or answering his phone,” she said. “I thought he might still be here with Sophie and the McCabes. They all came down here as a group to have the girls audition for that acting role.”

  I said, “Speaking of the McCabes, did you know that Chip is my father's mailman?”

  “Mail carrier,” she corrected. “That's the preferred term. Not that Chip cares. Chip marches to the beat of his own drum.”

  “His daughter seemed confident about getting a starring role in House of Hallows. She reminds me a lot of her mother, Quinn, as a teenager. A chip off the ol' block.” The word chip rang a bell. I couldn't help myself. “You could say she's a chip off the ol' Chip.”

  Jessica gave my bad pun a pity chuckle.

  Samantha gave me a blank stare. “I wouldn't know,” she said. “I didn't grow up here like all of you did. I've only known Quinn the last five years, since our girls met in school and became inseparable. Those two are like sisters.”

  “Like us,” Jessica said, looping her arm around my back.

  “You're better than a sister,” I joked. “I actually get along with you.”

  The three of us chatted for a few minutes about little girls and sisterhood before the sound of an angry altercation distracted us.

  “Oh, no,” Samantha said. “Does that sound like my husband to you?”

  Jessica leaned from side to side, trying to peer through the crowd in the atrium. “You mean the guy yelling? I can't tell. Just sounds like an angry man to me.”

  The three of us cocked our heads and listened.

  Over the noise of the crowd, I heard a male voice yell, “You dummies spent a fortune to class this place up, but it's just lipstick on a pig! You can't polish a turd!” And then he followed up with a few racial slurs for good measure. The casino and lake were on reservation land, and he had a few opinions about that.

  Samantha's eyes widened and her skin paled, like it was covered in a fresh snowfall.

  “Oh, dear,” she said, and then she used a few stronger words.

  Jessica gave me a grim look. “That does sound an awful lot like good ol' Mikey Sweet.”

  “He must be drinking,” Samantha said. “He gets belligerent after a few drinks.” She made a high-pitched, keening noise. “I told him not to drink today!”

  I jumped up onto the rock ledge surrounding the water feature to get a better view over the crowd. “I see him,” I said. “He's by the pretzel stand.”

  And there was Michael Sweet, red-faced and belligerent, being held by two of the casino's security guards. I couldn't hear what he was saying at the moment, but based on what I'd already heard, it was probably for the best that his speech wasn't being broadcast clearly.

  Samantha was frozen in horror. Their real estate business was based on their reputation and trustworthiness in the town. Michael yelling and making a scene in front of the whole town was bad news on many levels.

  I reached down for Samantha's hand to pull her up onto the stone ledge with me, but she wouldn't budge. She put her hands around her mouth and called out, “Michael! Where's Sophie?”

  I'd forgotten about their daughter. I scanned the crowd near Michael and the guards, looking for a small blond girl. I spotted a dozen kids who could have been Sophie. The place was packed with children who'd come for the open auditions. The kids couldn't go into the gambling areas of the casino, but there were plenty of little girls here in the atrium, where the free food samples were.

  Samantha screamed again for her husband and daughter.

  Michael swiveled his head and glanced in my direction. There was about fifty feet between us. He looked at me and then through me. As Samantha screamed his name again, he yanked away from the two security guards. The crowd reflexively pulled away, giving them room. I watched helplessly from my elevated position on the rock wall as Michael wound up his fist and punched one of the guards in the face.

  A shockwave of gasps went through the crowd. The few people who'd been minding their own business were now paying attention.

  A hand tugged on mine. It was Jessica, wanting to join me up on the rock wall. I took her hand and pulled her up to stand beside me.

  Samantha had left our side. I saw the back of her head as she wove through the crowd toward her husband, who was still yelling while fighting with the uniformed men.

  The crowd moved as though choreographed, stepping back to give Michael and the two security guards space to fight.

  Here we go again, I thought. This was a familiar scene, indeed, right down to me observing the fight with a raised view. Jessica and I had climbed up on cafeteria chairs back in high school. History was repeating itself. Once again, Mikey Sweet was goading other guys into fights and taking on anyone who stood up to him. Once a bully, always a bully, I thought grimly.

  Michael and the two security guards circled each other within the makeshift boxing ring.

  Suddenly, a new person entered the fight zone.

  Colt Canuso.

  He shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it at a woman wearing a casino uniform. He entered the ring, fists raised. Now it was three against one. Michael was a big guy, but even he couldn't take on three grown men. And Colt had muscled up since high school. He was no longer a slouching, scrawny teen who could be pushed over by a strong breeze.

  The crowd got quiet—so quiet, I could hear a small child, unaware of what was happening, demanding more ice cream, and the parent shushing them.

  In the center of the ring, Colt pointed an angry finger at Michael.

  “Mikey, this is not your domain,” Colt said coolly. “This is Canuso territory. Our land, our rules.”

  Michael straightened up and ran one hand over his fair hair defiantly. “Isn't it enough that you and your family don't pay your fair share of taxes?” Michael rolled up his sleeves and raised his fists. “You need to stay out of my business.”

  Colt cracked his knuckles. “You stay out of my business, and I'll stay out of yours. I'll make it easy for you. Michael Sweet, you are hereby banned from entering these premises. For life.”

  Michael puffed his chest out. “I go where I want. I'm a free man.”

  Colt shook his head and backed away slowly. “We're done here.” He pointed his finger at Mikey again. “If you ever show up here again, on my turf, it'll be the last thing you ever do.”

  A shocked murmur rumbled through the crowd. That was a threat, for sure.

  As Colt backed away, he nodded to the incoming wave of reinforcements dressed in black security uniforms.

  Michael hurled another racial slur at him, but Colt didn't take the bait.

  Colt said to the new wave of security, “Show Mr. Sweet to the exit, please. Make sure he gets all the way to his vehicle safely. We wouldn't want him to trip and mess up that pretty face.”

  Colt started to put on his jacket and then seemed to think better of it. He lay the jacket neatly over his left forearm then whipped arou
nd and sucker punched Michael Sweet in the stomach.

  The whole crowd collectively gasped.

  Jessica made a strangled sound next to me on the rock wall.

  Back in school, Colt had never hit Michael back. Not once, despite all the times he'd been picked on. But today, after years of simmering rage, he had. And what a punch it had been.

  Outwardly, I was calm as can be, but on the inside, I had to cheer. It may have taken fifteen years for the karma to come around, but Mikey Sweet truly did deserve at least one punch in the guts. There was a poetic beauty in that it had come courtesy of Colt Canuso, who'd grown into such a powerful, self-assured man.

  People started talking, murmuring to each other. Kids started pestering their parents for more ice cream and mini donuts.

  Over the fray, I heard Samantha again. She was yelling for her daughter. “Sophie! Michael, where's Sophie?”

  Michael was still reeling from the gut punch. His head swiveled around, looking for his wife or his daughter or both. Two security guards had him by the arms. He tore away from them and rushed forward, into the crowd of people. He wasn't being careful about where he was going. Elbows flailed as people bumped into each other and got knocked over.

  The crowd's noise got louder. People were getting out of the way now, trying to get their little kids to safety, but they didn't know what was happening or where to go. The atrium was even more packed than it had been minutes earlier. A brawl always draws spectators. As panic levels rose, more people went sprawling. I watched helplessly as the crowd turned into a stampede.

  Panic turned to terror. People screamed. The stampede changed direction, and before I could formulate an escape plan for myself and Jessica, a group of people started tipping over toward me, like a chain of dominoes.

  Arms, heads, and bodies struck me from the waist down. I couldn't keep my feet under me, and I had nowhere to go except... straight into the splashing fountain.

  I reached out to steady myself, but all I caught with my hands were the red braids of Jessica's hair. I tried to let go, but my fingers curled in reflex.

  I tried to warn her, but another body from the crowd hit me hard enough to knock the words from my lips.

  Over we both went, straight into the misty, rushing water beneath the replica waterfall.

  Chapter 8

  After the security guards fished us out of the water feature, they took us to a staff area for a towel-off and a talking-to.

  The casino's head of security, a jowly man with dyed black hair, gave us a stern lecture about not standing on ledges that were clearly marked with signs reading DO NOT SIT, STAND, OR PLAY ON ROCK WALL.

  We asked about the Sweet family and were assured that everything was under control.

  I asked, “Did Samantha find Sophie in the crowd?”

  “She's just a little girl,” Jessica said. “I hope she didn't see her father getting beat up.”

  The jowly man snorted. “Nobody got beat up.”

  “I know what I saw,” I said evenly. “Michael Sweet better have made it to his vehicle without further incident.”

  The man lifted his jowly chin defiantly. “He strikes me as the clumsy type.”

  I shook my head. “This may be private property, but the laws regarding assault are still applicable here.”

  The man raised his gray-specked eyebrows. “Oh, really?”

  I explained, “Fourth degree assault is a Class A misdemeanor, carrying up to one year in jail and a fine up to six grand. But if one were to commit this offense in front of a child, it could be elevated to a Class C felony. And Class C felonies can carry up to five years in prison and much higher fines.” I gave him my steeliest look, which took serious effort with fountain water dripping down my face. “And the atrium was filled with families and seven-year-old girls.”

  “Then it's a good thing nobody assaulted anyone,” the man said. “I'll make sure everyone with the last name of Sweet makes it safely off the property.”

  “Good,” I said. I could feel my cheeks flushing. I'd just rattled off some facts about misdemeanors, but if the casino was on Native American land, the laws and fines might be quite different. I was certainly no expert on Tribal Council law. But I had learned, from spending time with my lawyer boyfriend, that if you talk fast and spout off a bunch of numbers, people take you more seriously. Even if you're wrong. And even if you're sopping wet and dripping fountain water on the carpet.

  The head of security checked his phone screen. “Everyone's been accounted for,” he said. “Safe and sound.”

  “I'd like to see Colt now, please.”

  “Sure. Let me arrange a meeting.” He grinned. “Do you two young ladies promise to stay out of the fountain?”

  Jessica said, “It was an accident, honestly.”

  I added, “There should be a guardrail around the base of the fountain.”

  He stared at us.

  “We promise to stay out of the fountain,” I said.

  “We do,” Jessica agreed.

  That seemed to satisfy him. He called over two security guards and gave them instructions, presumably to take us to see Colt Canuso.

  We followed the guards down a hallway.

  “Your meeting is right through here,” the smaller security guard said.

  He opened the door and shoved us through.

  It wasn't a corridor leading to Colt's office. We'd been kicked out through a side door, into the bright autumn sunshine. The crisp breeze made me shiver in my wet clothes.

  Jessica and I exchanged a look.

  She muttered, “So much for saying goodbye to Colt.”

  “We can still make a dignified exit,” I said, and started walking along the side of the building.

  Our wet shoes made squip-squip sounds with every step. So much for a dignified exit.

  Over the squip-squip sounds, I heard the security guards chuckling over how much fun it was going to be reviewing the video footage of us “frolicking like water nymphs.” They went on to say some things that were less delicate, concerning the sheerness of our outfits when wet.

  I stopped my squip-squip walking and wheeled around to face them.

  “You two chuckleheads had better watch your mouths,” I said fiercely. “My associate and I are old friends of your boss's, and I don't think he'd appreciate that sort of talk.”

  Jessica grabbed my elbow and whispered, “Stormy, your smoky eye shadow is dripping down your cheeks.”

  “So?”

  “You look exactly like a scary clown who's just escaped a carnival of nightmares.”

  “That's perfect,” I hissed back.

  At the doorway, standing in the bright sunshine and casting perfect cinematic shadows against the stucco wall of the new building, the two guards continued laughing at us.

  I lifted my chin defiantly. “Gentlemen, I believe the words you're looking for are I'm sorry.”

  The bigger and more mountain-shaped of the two uniformed men made a scoffing sound. “You two ladies don't know the boss,” he said. “You're nobody.”

  “We're old friends of Colt Canuso's. The three of us go way back.”

  The bigger guy waved one wide mitt dismissively. “You and every other lady in this town. Especially the broke ones.” He chuckled, his big voice a deep rumble. “Especially the crazy, broke ones.”

  Now he had my interest, but for a different reason.

  I changed tack, the apology forgotten. “Exactly how many crazy, broke girls? Is Colt dating anyone in particular? Maybe a blonde?”

  The two men exchanged a confused look.

  Mountain-Shaped Guy lifted his chin at me and demanded, “What's it to you, lady?”

  This wasn't my first day on the job. I already had the cash in my hand. I stepped forward and casually presented him with my offering like a professional.

  The big guy handed half the cash to the other guard, and they both tucked the bills away. Their postures softened.

  “No blondes,” the large man said. “Colt
's not dating anyone, even though he could have his pick.”

  “But you said he's friends with all the crazy, broke girls.”

  “Just friends,” he replied. “Colt's all talk, like a dog who barks a lot but doesn't do nothin'. If you ask me, he's still not over Susan.” He added in a softer tone, “That's his wife who died a few years back.”

  I nodded. I knew about Susan. Jessica and I had gone to school with her as well, though she was two years younger than us. The Mountain-Shaped Guy's words rung true. The last time I'd seen Colt before today, he'd been wearing his wedding band. The ring had not, however, been there today.

  The other security guard piped in, “I always try to get him to open up and talk to someone about his pain. Grieving doesn't have to be something you go through alone. But Colt's one of those tough guys who doesn't know how to talk about his feelings. I don't know what to do. If he doesn't get it off his shoulders, I'm worried he might crack some day.”

  I sniffed. “Some day? You mean like just now, when he punched an unarmed man in the stomach?”

  The big guy puffed out his chest and fixed me with a serious glare. “You didn't see anything like that. You couldn't have seen nothin' while you were swimming in the water feature.”

  The other guy said, “Today wasn't the first time Colt lost his temp—”

  The big guy elbowed his buddy to shut up. And then he gave me a stone-faced look I recognized. The interview, such as it was, had ended.

  I thanked them and started walking away. I'd gotten what I wanted to know.

  Under her breath, Jessica asked me, “Now you're bribing people?”

  “Would you prefer it if I'd challenged them to a two-on-two kung fu battle?”

  “Oh, Stormy.”

  It was a long, soggy walk back to the car with our shoes going squip-squip the whole way.

  My heart felt heavy for Colt. I wondered if he had many friends to talk to about his feelings. I did worry, like the smaller security guard, that his pain might cause him to lash out or find trouble.

  Chapter 9

  My boyfriend, Logan Sanderson, hummed to himself as he scraped the carbon off the barbecue racks. We were in the backyard, enjoying what might be the last Sunday barbecue of the year.