Summer Walsh Mystery Collection
3 Mystery Novellas:
Murder Under the Mistletoe
Gun in the Garden
Offed at the Office
Deborah Tisdale
Copyright ©Deborah Tisdale Mayne 2015
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This book is a work of fiction. The characters in this story are the product of the author's imagination and are completely fictitious.
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Deborah Tisdale is my maiden name that I use to prevent genre confusion. I also write women's fiction and romances under my married name Debby Mayne. If these genres appeal to you, here are links to some of my other books:
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Pretty Is as Pretty Does
Bless Her Heart
Tickled Pink
For the Love of Pete
Dixie Belle
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Table of Contents
Murder Under the Mistletoe
Gun in the Garden
Offed at the Office
Murder Under the Mistletoe
A Summer Walsh cozy mystery novella
Deborah Tisdale
Chapter 1
I've had a steady stream of bad jobs ever since I left the Nashville Police department – one after the other. And then the day after Thanksgiving, AKA Black Friday, put me over the edge.
I'd just finished refilling the bin of bargain camisoles when the manager announced that we needed "all hands on deck" an hour and a half before opening the next morning. In other words, everyone on the payroll had to report in and fight the hostile crowds another day.
"I'm sorry, but—" I gave her the biggest apologetic smile I could manage, but she just stood there shaking her head.
"No exceptions, Summer. This is how things are in the retail business."
"I can't do it." I swallowed hard and then cleared my throat. "I already have other plans." And I did. I'd been on the job twelve hours a day, working seven days in a row, and I needed some sleep.
"If you're not here by eight-thirty in the morning, don't bother coming back." She tilted her head toward me and glared at me from beneath hooded eyebrows.
"Fine." I took off my nametag, walked over to the counter, placed it there as gently as I could in the mood I was in, went to the back of the store, grabbed my purse, and left her standing there, gawking after me.
It wasn't until I got to my car that what I'd just done hit me hard. For the first time in my life, I walked out on a job without giving at least two weeks notice. And I felt fine – not even a twinge of guilt. In fact, for the first time since I'd started that job, I felt like singing, so I turned the radio up full blast, found a station playing Christmas music, and sang "Here Comes Santa Claus" at the top of my lungs. I didn't know all the words besides the title, but I faked it and just kept on singing, all the way to the garage apartment behind my parents' house.
Mom flashed the blinds open and closed, a sign that they were still up and it would be okay if I wanted to come over. Normally I would have gone straight there, but after what I'd done, I didn't want to ruin my good mood and face them. At least not now.
So I parked in front of my apartment, forced myself not to look at my parents' kitchen window as I got out, and made a beeline for my front door. I'd barely made it inside when my cell phone rang. I didn't even have to look to know it was Mom. But I also couldn't not answer it because she knew where I was. There were times when it was terribly inconvenient to be so close to the parents.
As soon as I answered, she started. "What's wrong, Summer? It's not like you to ignore the window."
"I wasn't—" Well, I was, actually, and she'd always been able to see right through me. "Mom, I had a rough day at work. Can we talk later? Like tomorrow?"
"Oh, Summer, sweetie, I know how difficult it is working retail during the holidays. Why don't you come over, and I'll fix you something to eat? I know you can't stay late because you have work tomorrow."
"Okay, I'll come over." I planned to sleep late, and if I didn't tell her about quitting my job, she'd be over there pounding on my door bright and early to make sure I wasn't late for work … and if I didn't open it, she'd get the key and let herself in to make sure I was okay.
"I'll heat up some of the vegetable soup I cooked for dinner. Do you want something cold to drink or hot cocoa?"
"I'll have some sweet tea," I said. "That goes with hot soup."
One thing I could count on was Mom cooking soup on cold winter evenings. Tonight was vegetable, and next on the rotation was chicken noodle. Then there were several different types of bean soup—all of them good—and an occasional experiment—some not so good.
I'd barely made it to the top step when Mom flung the door open wide. One look at me, and she grabbed my arm, pulled me inside, and cupped my face in her hands. She didn't care about the fact that I was in my thirties. I was still her little girl.
"What happened, Summer?"
"Mom, you're going to be so mad."
Her eyebrows slammed together. "What did you do?"
I glanced down and then slowly lifted my gaze to hers. "I quit my job."
"Well, it's about time."
"Wha—?"
She pointed to the kitchen. "Your soup will be ready in a couple of minutes. Let's go on in there and talk about it." As we walked to the back of the house, she chattered nonstop. "Your dad will be so glad. He was worried about you, ya know. And I'm happy that you'll be free to look for something with decent hours … and a husband. You do realize you're not getting any younger, and most of the good men are already taken, don't you?" Before I had a chance to open my mouth, she kept chattering. "At your age, finding a suitable man can be a full-time job. You have to be so careful, ya know. Men your age and older come with baggage."
"Mo-om."
"I know, I know. But it's the truth. Sit down. I'll bring you your tea."
As Mom poured the tea, set it down in front or me, stirred the soup, and ladled some into a bowl for me, she talked. And talked and talked, until Dad appeared at the door.
"What are you ladies doing?" He grinned at me. "How's work? Was the opening day of Christmas rush successful?"
Mom pointed to the chair across the table from me. "Have a seat, and she'll tell you all about it."
Dad did as he was told. I started to tell him what happened, but Mom couldn't contain herself.
"She finally came to her senses and quit that terrible job. Maybe now she'll have more time for a life."
He tilted his head and gave me a look. "Did you really? How much notice did you give?"
"None." I hung my head. My parents had instilled good manners in me from early childhood, which included giving a decent amount of notice to quit a job. "But—"
"Hey, I can't say I blame you. Those people were working you to death. It's always good to give notice, but you can't put your health in jeopardy, and I'm afraid that's what you were doing. Your
mother and I both noticed that you were getting pale and gaunt looking."
I had lost a few pounds—something that never happened to me before. Back when I was with the police department, I actually put on weight.
"So what are you going to do now?" He leaned back in his chair and sipped the tea Mom had placed in front of him. "Got any employment prospects?"
I slowly shook my head. "I have no idea what I'll do."
Mom got herself some tea and joined us. "Ya know, after how hard you've been working. I think you need a break." She glanced over at Dad, who nodded. She turned back to me. "Your father and I reserved a room at that cute little bed and breakfast place outside of Charleston, South Carolina … you know the one we go to as often as we can. But unfortunately, we're not going to be able to go this time."
"That's too bad," I said. "Why can't you?"
Dad chuckled. "Your mother forgot about it and agreed to volunteer at the Children's Hospital charity gala."
Mom took over. "Why don't you see if one of your friends can get some time off, and y'all take our room?" She paused and smiled. "It's already paid for, so all you have to cover is the gas to get there and lunch. They feed their guests breakfast and dinner, so you won't have to worry about that."
I'd always liked South Carolina. "Okay, sounds good. I'll see if Cindi wants to go, but even if she doesn't, I will."
Mom and Dad exchanged a glance before Mom turned to me and smiled. "There have been times when I wish you weren't so all-fired self-sufficient. But I'm glad now. I would never have gone off on a vacation alone when I was single."
Dad chuckled. "You didn't exactly have much of a single adult life. You were nineteen when we got married."
"True." Mom stood up and started clearing the table. "I'll send some muffins with you so you can relax in the morning."
"Mom, you're the best." I got up and started helping her clean before I picked up my purse and the basket of muffins she prepared. I lifted the corner of the napkin and saw that she'd put a variety in there—blueberry, banana nut, and apple bran. "They look and smell delicious."
"If you need anything, call." She followed me to the door. "I'm having some of the women from church over for brunch. You're welcome to join us."
I nodded toward the muffins. "I think I'll be happy with these, my coffee, and a little HGTV."
She laughed. "For someone who doesn't have a domestic bone in your body, I'm surprised you like that channel."
"I like to see how the other side lives."
*
The next morning, I woke with a start before I remembered that I didn't have to be anywhere. I stretched, yawned, grabbed my extra pillow, and rolled over. I knew I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, but I could at least loll about for a while.
The muffins were delicious, and HGTV was airing reruns of my home favorite makeover show. I stayed in my pajamas until past noon, when I decided to find out what days my parents had booked the bed and breakfast. I called my parents' house, and my dad answered.
"Oops, sorry. I thought your mom told you. We're booked for a week, starting tomorrow. I'll call and let Mrs. Birchfield know you'll be there in our place."
Oh wow. I needed to get on the phone and call Cindi. As soon as I told her, she groaned. "I wish I could go, but I promised to stay with my brother's kids for a few days while he and his wife go on a Christmas shopping trip."
In a way, I was relieved, but I didn't tell her that. After I got off the phone, I jumped around the apartment. I'd have a whole week of doing whatever I felt like doing, most expenses paid, in one of the prettiest towns ever. First, I'd walk around downtown Charleston and have lunch at Waterfront Park. And then I'd do a little shopping at some of the cute little antique and craft shops.
I'd better start packing.
Since I was driving, I packed everything I thought I'd need. Mom came over after her friends left and helped me load up my car so I could leave right after early church on Sunday morning.
"We called Mrs. Birchfield and let her know you were coming. She remembers you from the last time you went with us."
"She's such a sweet woman."
Mom nodded. "That, she is. Oh, did I tell you she met a man last year? He's the first guy she's been interested in since her husband passed away twelve years ago."
"No, you didn't tell me. I wonder if I'll get to meet him."
"I think you will." Mom grinned. "He's been renting a room from her ever since he sold his house, so he sort of lives there."
"Interesting." Mrs. Birchfield must have been at least seventy, maybe even older. "And you think I'm getting too old to find love."
"Not too old to find love," Mom said. "Just too old to settle down and have a family with a nice man."
I wasn't sure that was what I wanted, although I had thought about it a time or two. What didn't appeal to me was making a relationship work with someone I wasn't sure about, and so far I hadn't been sure about anyone yet. There were a few close calls, but nothing that serious.
The next morning after church, I went straight home, changed into some jeans and sneakers, and headed for South Carolina. For the first time in a very long time, I felt totally carefree.
When I pulled into the shell parking lot of Mrs. Birchfield's boarding house, my excitement jumped up another notch. The house was painted seafoam green with teal and white accent. The wraparound porch had a row of rocking chairs, all of them empty. Christmas lights, greenery, and bright red bows adorned the front door, over which hung a tiny spray of mistletoe tied with a red ribbon.
The sign on the door read, "Welcome home. Come on in and rest a while."
I turned the knob and pushed the door until it opened and jingled the bells on the other side. The place smelled of vanilla and ginger spice, warming me from the inside out. I noticed that some mistletoe had been hung above an archway on either side of the stairs leading up to the bedrooms and another off to the right, beneath a floating shelf. There was even more above the door to the kitchen, only that bunch appeared to be barely hanging on by a strip of tape. A red ribbon had come untied and hung lopsided from the tip of the mistletoe. That didn't seem like something Mrs. Birchfield would let happen. From what I remembered, she was meticulous to a fault.
The place was dreadfully quiet, which was another odd thing. Last time I was in the boarding house, there were at least a dozen people in the front room—some of them playing checkers and others working jigsaw puzzles. Mom said it was often much more crowded than that.
I stepped all the way in and closed the door behind me. The sound of my own breathing was the loudest thing I heard. Mrs. Birchfield must have either been in the kitchen or out doing some shopping, so I decided to try the kitchen first.
I'd barely gone a couple of steps when I spotted her on the floor.
My first thought was that she must have fallen, so I rushed to her side. Her hand was still tightly wrapped around what appeared to be torn paper, so I glanced around to see if the rest of it was somewhere nearby. That was when I noticed the bloody knife lying off to the side. My heart pounded as I stared at her motionless body. My ears rang. This was bad.
Chapter 2
"Mrs. Birchfield," I said as I lifted her arm and felt for a pulse. Nothing. I wanted to scream, but my police training kicked in, and I pulled out my cell phone to call 911.
Within minutes, the bed and breakfast swarmed with police officers and paramedics. I was told to have a seat and that I couldn't go anywhere until someone talked to me. Shortly after that, a couple of B&B guests arrived on the scene.
"Ms. Walsh," one of the detectives said as he perched on the edge of the chair adjacent to me. "Was there anyone else in the house when you got here?"
"I have no idea who might have been upstairs, but no one else was in this room."
For the next half hour, the detective asked one question after another—most of the same things I asked people when I worked law enforcement. "How well did you know the victim?"
"I'
d just met her a couple of times when I came here with my parents."
"Are they with you now?"
I shook my head no. Then I thought about Mom and how devastated she'd be about what had happened.
"Do you know anything about her, like if she has a husband or children?"
"She's widowed," I replied. And then I remembered what my mother had said. "Apparently she's been seeing one of her permanent guests, a man who has been renting from her for a while."
"Do you know his name?"
I shook my head. "I have no idea, but maybe some of the people do."
"Excuse me, young man." The voice was that of a woman who appeared to be in her late 60s or early 70s. It was hard to tell since her hair color was so flaming red it cast a strange glow on her face. "Will the guests have to leave, or can we stay here?" She nervously glanced around at the commotion that had subsided a little. "I don't know what we'll do if we can't stay here. Everyplace else is booked."
"I'm afraid we're going to have to clear out the building after we talk to everyone since this is now a crime scene."
"Oh dear." She sighed and turned around to face the man behind her. "Stanley, it looks like we're up a creek." She took her husband by the arm, and they started to wander away.
"Don't leave, ma'am. We still have to question you and your husband."
The woman rolled her eyes and put her palm to her forehead. "First you say we have to clear out, and then you say we can't leave. Make up your mind, young man."
I could see him stifle laughter. "Please just have a seat until I finish with this woman."
She groaned. "C'mon, Stanley. He says to have a seat. We better do what he says before he changes his mind again." As they walked away, Summer heard the woman mumbling something about the "wishy-washy" detective.
Summer Walsh Mystery Collection (Boxed Set) (Omnibus): Murder Under the Mistletoe, Gun in the Garden, and Offed at the office (Summer Walsh Mysteries) Page 1