Stormy Day Mysteries 5-Book Cozy Murder Mystery Series Bundle

by Angela Pepper

  When was I going to learn to stay out of investigations that weren't my business?

  Chapter 21

  “Dimples, talk fast,” I told Officer Kyle Dempsey. “I've got a date tonight.”

  His sky-blue eyes fixed on my shirt, which was still the pajama top I'd changed into after dinner, before I'd realized I had plans to see a movie with Logan.

  “Stormy, you don't have to lie to me,” he said, looking straight at my flannel shirt.

  “I'm not dressed yet,” I said.

  “Ah,” he said, as though he didn't believe me. “Either way, I won't be long. I'm going to see that new sci-fi horror movie everyone's talking about.”

  “Hah! That's where I'm going, too.”

  “Great. You can sit beside me and share my extra-large tub of popcorn.”

  “I'm going with Logan.”

  “Oh.” Kyle grinned, the dimples in his smooth, young-looking face deepening. “Then I take back my offer. It's bad enough I have to see Logan with you. He's not getting any of my popcorn.” He turned toward Jessica, who was making a cup of chamomile tea in the kitchen. “How about you, Red? I've got a spare ticket.”

  “Thanks, but I don't do horror movies.” She dunked the tea bag three times. “Real life is plenty scary.”

  “But that's the whole point of horror movies,” Kyle said. “It's controlled fun, like being on a roller coaster.”

  “Not really,” she said, shaking her head. “I love roller coasters, but I hate horror movies.”

  “Only because you haven't been to one with me.” He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at her.

  “Stop hitting on Jessica,” I said. “She's got a boyfriend.”

  He turned back to me. “Mitch the Fireman? How's that going?”

  “You tell me. Isn't he a friend of yours? I know you uniform types all hang out at the Loose Moose.”

  “I see Big Mitch around,” Kyle said. “He's so large and muscular. Girls don't like that, do they?”

  “Some girls like that.”

  “Girls like you?” He leaned casually against the kitchen counter next to where Jessica stood. “Should I be hitting the gym a lot more?”

  “Only if you think it will help you catch more bad guys,” I teased.

  Jessica interjected, “You two are so weird.” She tossed her used tea bag in the compost bucket under the sink. “I'm going to read a book in my room. Feel free to continue discussing my love life without me.”

  After she left, Kyle asked, “Am I in trouble?”

  “No more than usual,” I said. Loudly, for the benefit of my roommate down the hall, I added, “I'm glad we're done talking about other people's romantic lives now, so we can get down to discussing homicides, as usual, Officer Dempsey.”

  “Maybe I'm here on a social call.” He sniffed the air over the sink. “Is that tea a legal substance?”

  “Just chamomile,” I said. “The last time Jessica took drugs was during the Great Smoothie Incident.”

  “How about you?”

  “High on life.” I took a seat at the table and kicked out a chair for Kyle. He took off his leather jacket and hung it on a hook by the door, revealing a very form-fitting, pale violet T-shirt with a deep V-neck.

  “Nice shirt,” I said. “Do they make it in men's sizes?”

  He took a seat and quirked a light-brown eyebrow at me. “Is this your sibling rivalry coming out? Are you feeling snappy because I've been spending so much time with Finn?”

  “No,” I lied.

  He gazed at me steadily, his sky-blue eyes only darkened slightly by being indoors. “Let's get to it. We don't have long until your boyfriend gets here.”

  “What?” I pulled together the upper front of my pajama top as I blushed. Too late, I realized he was referring to the movie start time.

  He grinned knowingly. “Why were you asking your dad about knives and DNA?”

  I quickly explained to him all about the concerns my neighbor Dean Lubbesmeyer had about skin cells containing his DNA being found on the knife.

  “It's a moot point,” Kyle said when I was done. “You didn't see the murder weapon in the bathroom, did you?”

  I pulled up a mental image I wished I didn't have. “No. There wasn't anything sharper than a pair of nail clippers in that washroom. Did the killer take the murder weapon away?”

  “We found the knife that matched the wounds. The assailant gave it a good cleaning, with bleach, and tossed it into the washing machine with the clothes for good measure.” He leaned forward, resting his forearm casually on my kitchen table. “But you can't tell your neighbor about that. It's one of the details we're keeping out of the news.”

  I promised to keep the murder-weapon detail to myself.

  We talked for a few more minutes about the case. There'd been some people calling in tips, but nothing concrete.

  Finally, I said, “I hope you make an arrest soon. That'll put everyone at ease.”

  “What we need is physical evidence. Something connecting Colt Canuso to the crime scene.”

  “Colt?” It was the first time Kyle had mentioned a suspect by name, and I didn't like it. “No. He didn't do it.”

  Kyle made a too-casual, forced shrug. “Then find me someone else. Work your magic. Get me a name.”

  I sighed. “I'm not on the clock. Even just talking about this case with you is costing me money, Dimples. This is time I could be spending thinking about something that actually is my business.”

  I would have given him more heck, but my phone alerted me to an incoming message. It was Logan.

  Logan: Have to run out for one more stupid waste of time meeting. Can't make the movie tonight. Sorry. Love ya.

  I glanced up at Kyle. “Love ya,” I said, mystified.

  “Don't tease.”

  “No, it's just—never mind.” I sent Logan back a quick text response and put my phone away. “Do you still have that extra ticket?”

  “Only if you change your shirt. That flannel thing looks something a grampa wears to mow the lawn.”

  I snorted. “You're one to talk. How about we trade? You give me that V-neck and I'll find you something more appropriate, like a burlap sack.”

  “Okay.” Kyle got up from his chair and pulled off the pale purple shirt in one smooth motion. His body was smooth and rippled in all the right ways over his stomach, like buttercream frosting.

  I squeaked. And I stared at his bare abs just a little too long before I wheeled around and ran to my bedroom, calling back for him, “Kyle, put your shirt back on! I was just kidding!”

  I quickly pulled on a dark- gray, scoop-necked shirt and ran to the bathroom to check my hair. It was flipping up at the back in a way that looked intentional. Good enough.

  I popped my head into Jessica's room. She was sitting on her bed cross-legged with Jeffrey on her lap. He kept reaching up and batting the pages as she turned them.

  I asked, “Are you sure you don't want to come to the movie? It's more sci-fi than horror. Not too scary.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Did I hear something about Officer Dempsey having his shirt off?” She put the paperback down and waved her hand. “Never mind. I don't even want to know.”

  “Will you come see the movie?”

  She pointed to the dark gray cat on her lap. “Can't disturb His Royal Fluffiness, sorry. And I don't watch horror movies.”

  I fidgeted by the doorway for a minute. I wanted to tell her how Logan had signed off his text message with a casual Love ya.

  It was not the first time Logan and I had used the word “love.” He'd made a few heartfelt speeches about loving me, but it was usually within the larger context of loving his new life in Misty Falls, as though I was part of the New Life package he'd ordered. So, he'd said something to the effect of “I love you” a few times, but it hadn't yet made it into our daily greetings. Until tonight.

  Was my bearded lawyer boyfriend Logan Sanderson signing off his text message with Love ya because he was genuinely missi
ng me, or because he was overcompensating for something?

  I wanted to get Jessica's take on the situation, but that would mean opening up a whole big discussion, and Dimples was waiting to take me to the movies.

  Chapter 22

  It was a good thing Kyle had pre-purchased two movie tickets, as the show was a hit and every seat was sold out.

  The crowd in line for the nine o'clock show was mostly teens and younger folks who were more concerned with each other. We had to line up outside the small theater, as the seven o'clock showing hadn't let out yet. The theater, like many in small towns, had only one screen. Most movies showed for one week only, which I didn't mind, because it made for more of a big event when everyone in town had to go at the same time.

  Once we joined the line for ticket holders, I scanned the line. There were a few familiar faces in the crowd, but thanks to the youthful audience the film had drawn, I had the rare experience of feeling anonymous.

  I shared my thoughts with Kyle, who said, “That's why I wear things like this V-neck shirt when I'm off duty.” He looked at a group of kids off to the side and pointed at them with his chin. “For example, if I was wearing a dark button-up shirt with a collar right now, that smart-mouthed dipwad over there with the skateboard would recognize me as that jerk cop who busted him for underage drinking last week.”

  We watched the kids for a few minutes.

  I confessed, “I don't know if I'm getting old or what, but I don't like the way that dipwad is talking to the girl with the half-shaved head. She looks like a shy kid who's lost in the world, and I don't like how she's looking at him like he's her new role model.”

  “That dipwad never had a chance,” Kyle said. “But you never know. He could turn himself around, the way my brother Julian did.”

  “Julian Dempsey,” I said, and the name conjured up old feelings. I used to look at Kyle's older brother the way the head-shaved girl was looking at the dipwad with the skateboard. Julian had gone through a pyromaniac phase, but he'd straightened his life out eventually. The last I'd heard—from baby brother Kyle—Julian was a pyrotechnics expert working in the film industry.

  Kyle frowned at me. “Did you have a crush on my brother?”

  “Me?” I laughed. “Gross. No way.”

  “Mm hmm.”

  The doors of the lobby cracked open, and the crowd from the early show began pouring out. A minute later, our line started shifting forward quickly.

  I went ahead to find two seats while Kyle stayed behind to get the snacks.

  The movie was as good as the reviews promised, and Kyle Dempsey shared not just his tub of popcorn with me but also his large bag of almond M&Ms.

  After the film, Kyle had to visit the restroom, thanks to his extra-large tub of iced tea.

  I stood alone in the lobby while the teenage staff walked around cleaning up.

  There was a large cardboard cut-out display advertising a package combo deal for “date night.” The couple pictured was shown sharing a large root beer with two straws.

  The boy in the picture looked so much like Colt Canuso that I almost couldn't believe my eyes.

  I took out my phone, snapped a picture of the cutout, and sent Colt a friend request through his social media account, along with the picture, captioned, “Can you believe this?”

  Kyle came out of the men's room, apologized for taking so long, and we walked outside to his car.

  On the drive back to my place, we only discussed the movie and how good it had been.

  I'd all but forgotten about sending the picture to Colt until I was climbing into bed. My phone buzzed with an alert.

  It was Colt, and he'd apparently taken my message as an invitation.

  Colt: Sure! I'd love to buy you that root beer, Stormy. Thanks for asking! What are your plans for lunch tomorrow?

  I wrote back: I'll be at my store, if you want to meet me there.

  Colt: It's a date.

  Me: It's lunch between two friends, not a date.

  Colt: Tell it to my hopeful heart.

  I set the phone on my nightstand, turned off the light, and snuggled up to Jeffrey, who was hogging my pillow as usual.

  Chapter 23

  “One root beer, two straws.” Colt smiled down at the drink between us.

  He'd picked me up from Glorious Gifts ten minutes earlier, and we'd beat the lunch rush to the cafe. The restaurant was a small place I didn't usually go to, but Colt seemed familiar with the staff.

  The drink was, indeed, a single root beer with two straws.

  “You finally get your teenage wish,” I said with a smile. “And it only took you, what, twenty years to break me down?”

  “It hasn't been that long,” he scoffed. “Then again, hold your horses a minute while I do the math. I would have been about fourteen, and now I'm thirty-four, so...” He trailed off into chuckling. “Damn, Stormy. Twenty years. We're both getting old.”

  “Speak for yourself. I'm skipping all birthdays from now on.”

  “Good idea.” He shifted in his seat, unbuttoning the jacket of his western-style suit. “You can skip birthdays by refusing to answer their call. Like how the process server can't serve you papers if you don't answer the door.”

  I held my finger in the air like a lecturer. “Actually, that's a common misconception.”

  He raised his eyebrows, his dark eyes dancing. “Tell me more, Ms. Private Eye.”

  “If an investigator wants to serve you papers, she will find a way. My personal favorite is to knock on the door, and then, when they don't answer, I go to their vehicle, assuming it's parked in front of the house or at least within view. As I walk away, I know they're watching me from the window, because, well, who wouldn't? Then I hand-write a note on bright pink paper and leave it under their windshield wiper.”

  “Does that count as being served? I don't get it. Do you put the court papers underneath the note?”

  “Nope.” I grinned, proud of myself. “I get in my car and drive away, but only as far as around the corner. Then I park again, get out, and come back quietly.” I paused, relishing how interested Colt was in my story. “You know that saying, curiosity killed the cat?”

  He smiled, catching on. “I do run a casino, Stormy Day. I'm familiar with many aspects of human nature, including curiosity.”

  “Nobody can resist a handwritten note on pink paper. The guy—or gal—goes up to their car and pulls off the handwritten pink note. While they're reading my love note, I tap them on the shoulder. Bingo. Papers served.”

  “What do you write on the note?”

  “It doesn't matter.” I grinned. “But usually I write something clever like, Look out. She's right behind you.”

  “Hah!” Colt leaned back and slapped his knee. “What if they lie about who they are, and throw the papers in the street?”

  “I've already taken their picture from a distance. Plus I've made my own visual identification. My word and judgment do count for something. I certainly don't need to swab for DNA or even get them to respond in the affirmative to their name.” I gave him a knowing look. “Unlike what you see on TV.”

  “So, they don't have to give you their name?”

  “It's a nice bonus if they do, but it's optional.”

  “You're so devious.” He reached out and drew a heart in the condensation on the side of the root beer glass. “You must love your job. I haven't seen you this energized since your cheerleader days.”

  “How about you? Do you feel fulfilled by your line of work?”

  His shoulders slumped, and he visibly flattened. “I'm responsible for a lot of people and their families.”

  “You didn't answer my question. Is your work fulfilling?”

  “Let's put it this way: I get to shower before I go to work, unlike my father and grandfather, who both used to shower after they came home from a shift at either the mines or the old pulp mill.”

  “Still not much of an answer. And coming home clean isn't everything. Take it from someo
ne who regularly gets herself soaked in lukewarm garbage juice.”

  The restaurant got quiet, and the words lukewarm garbage juice hung in the air.

  We both looked down at the root beer on the table between us.

  “Don't be grossed out. It's not that color,” I said, which wasn't entirely true. Lukewarm garbage juice came in all sorts of colors.

  The waitress, a thin woman with silver-streaked hair, came to check on us.

  Colt looked at me expectantly. “I'm not hungry yet,” I said.

  “You haven't touched your root beer,” the waitress said. “You two must have a lot to catch up on.”

  Colt grinned up at her. “I went to school with this young lady. Twenty years ago. Can you believe it?”

  The woman winked at him. “You must be mistaken. Twenty years is a long time.”

  “Thanks, Melody.” He winked back. “Are those grandkids keeping you busy?”

  “Not too busy for my slots. I'll be seein' you at the casino again soon.” She took a step back and tilted her head to the side. “A lot sooner if you leave me a big tip.”

  Colt chuckled and assured her he would.

  “I'm scandalized,” I said once she was gone. “That nice grandma just shook you down for money.”

  “It's the world we live in,” he said. “So, what do you really want?” Colt kept his gaze on the glass of root beer as he trailed his finger through the condensation. “The scrawny fourteen-year-old sci-fi-reading nerd inside me was hoping you sent me that picture last night as a precursor to a make-out session today, but based on your choice of clothing, I'm guessing seduction wasn't your intention.”

  I looked down at my sweatshirt. It was something I'd yanked out of my drawer on the way out of the house. As far as sweatshirts went, it wasn't the most sloppy. It was dark blue, and relatively new, so the collar was still round. However, it had a fuzzy gray pattern down the front that hadn't come from the store.

  “Jeffrey,” I said, looking down and trying to brush the fur away. “He pulls my dresser drawer open and climbs in to sleep on my sweatshirts. Honestly, I don't know how someone with no thumbs can get himself into so much trouble.” I kept wiping at the gray fur but it was no use. “Jeffrey's my cat,” I added.