Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime: Includes Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crimes
Page 1
HAPPY HOMICIDES 4:
Fall Into Crime
~*~
Joanna Campbell Slan
Linda Gordon Hengerer
Carole W. Price
Lesley A. Diehl
Nancy Jill Thames
Teresa Trent
Maggie Toussaint
Anna Celeste Burke
Randy Rawls
Nancy J. Cohen
Terry Ambrose
Deborah Sharp
~*~
~ Our Happy Homicides 4 Gift to You ~
We appreciate your interest in our work, and so we have a special gift for you. If you send us an email to HH4Bonus@JoannaSlan.com, we’ll automatically send you a file with recipes and craft tutorials that go along with the stories in this book. In addition, we’ll add you to our mailing lists at no charge so you can keep up with future offerings, such as free books, discounted books, contests, and short stories.
If you have any trouble accessing the free bonus, contact our assistant, Sally Lippert, at salfl27@att.net
All best from your friends,
Happy Homicides
About cozy mysteries…
A “cozy” is a nickname for a traditional mystery, much like those written by the great Agatha Christie. Usually—but not always—a cozy is solved by an amateur sleuth, and the puzzle is “fair play.” That means there’s a possibility the reader could figure out “whodunit,” given both the clues and the relationships involved. Cozies generally avoid graphic sex, graphic violence, and foul language. In other words, they are “clean” reads.
About Happy Homicides 4…
The first book in our anthology series—Happy Homicides 1: Thirteen Cozy Holiday Mysteries—quickly became an Amazon bestseller. Readers told us they liked being able to sample so many authors in one, reasonably-priced volume.
Happy Homicides 2: Thirteen Cozy Mysteries/Crimes of the Heart followed the format of the first edition: multiple authors, cozy mysteries, affordable price. We released it on Valentine’s Day 2016, with the theme of love gone wrong.
Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crimes features stories about crimes taking place during summer. Bad behavior doesn’t care one bit about the calendar, does it? Whatever the season, people will find a reason to commit murder and mayhem! This volume came out before Memorial Day 2016, perfect for reading on the beach.
Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime has stories about crimes taking place in the fall. From back to school to Halloween, autumn is a season about change and transition. We feature authors from the first three volumes, as well as several new to our anthology family. Cuddle up and read more cozy mysteries!
~*~
Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime * Copyright © 2016 – 1st Edition
Cara Mia Delgatto and the House of Refuge: A Cara Mia Delgatto Novella * Copyright © 2016 by Joanna Campbell Slan, all rights reserved;
Dying for School Tea: A Beach Tea Shop Novella * Copyright © 2016 by Linda Gordon Hengerer, all rights reserved;
The Glass Birdhouse * Copyright © 2016 by Carole W. Price, all rights reserved.
Bobbing For Murder: Aunt Nozzie’s Wonderful Autumn RV Tour * Copyright © 2016 by Lesley A. Diehl, all rights reserved.
Raven House: A Jillian Bradley Novella * Copyright © 2016 by Nancy Jill Thames, all rights reserved;
Falling for Murder: A Pecan Bayou Series Novella * Copyright © 2016 by Teresa Trent, all rights reserved;
Dead Men Tell Tales * Copyright © 2016 by Maggie Toussaint, all rights reserved;
All Hallows’ Eve Heist: Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #3 * Copyright © 2016 by Anna Celeste Burke, all rights reserved;
Accident, Suicide, or Murder * Copyright © 2016 by Randy Rawls, all rights reserved;
Haunted Hair Nights: A Bad Hair Day Mystery * Copyright © 2016 by Nancy J. Cohen, all rights reserved.
Spirit in the Rock: A Trouble in Paradise McKenna Mystery * Copyright © 2016 by Terry Ambrose, all rights reserved;
Haunting in Himmarshee: A Mace and Mama Short Mystery * Copyright © 2016 by Deborah Sharp, all rights reserved;
Kiki Lowenstein and a ‘Doodoo’ to Remember: A Kiki Lowenstein Short Story * Copyright © 2016 by Joanna Campbell Slan, all rights reserved.
Cover art and the logo “Happy Homicides” are the property of Spot On Publishing, 9307 SE Olympus Street, Hobe Sound, FL 33455 USA
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from the authors, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
These are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors’ vivid imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Front Cover: Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs www.wickedsmartdesigns.com
Contents
~ Our Happy Homicides 4 Gift to You ~
Cara Mia Delgatto and the House of Refuge: A Cara Mia Delgatto Novella
~ Our Happy Homicides 4 Gift to You ~
Dying for School Tea: A Beach Tea Shop Novella
The Glass Birdhouse
Bobbing For Murder: Aunt Nozzie’s Wonderful Autumn RV Tour
Raven House: A Jillian Bradley Mystery Novella
Falling for Murder: A Pecan Bayou Series Novella
Dead Men Tell Tales
All Hallows’ Eve Heist: Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #3
Accident, Suicide, or Murder: A Jonathan Boykin Short Story
Haunted Hair Nights: A Bad Hair Day Mystery
Spirit in the Rock: A Trouble in Paradise McKenna Mystery
Haunting in Himmarshee: A Mace and Mama Short Mystery
Kiki Lowenstein and a ‘Doodoo’ to Remember: A Kiki Lowenstein Short Story
~ Our Happy Homicides 4 Gift to You ~
BONUS - Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crimes
~ Our Happy Homicides 3 Gift to You ~
Cara Mia Delgatto and the Empty Nest: A Cara Mia Delgatto Short Story
Dying for Graduation Tea: A Beach Tea Shop Short Story
A Fair Day for Murder: A Jess Randolph Mystery
Birthday Bash: A Jillian Bradley Mystery Novella
The Dog Days of Murder: A Pecan Bayou Series Novella
Turtle Tribbles
Surf’s Up
A Simple Case of Stalking: A Jonathan Boykin Short Story
Murder on Front Street: A Trouble in Paradise Novella
Short Order Dead
Bubba Trouble: A Mace and Mama Short Mystery
Kiki Lowenstein and the Shark Bait: A Kiki Lowenstein Short Story
~ Our Happy Homicides 3 Gift to You ~
Cara Mia Delgatto and the House of Refuge: A Cara Mia Delgatto Novella
By Joanna Campbell Slan
Editor’s Note: The House of Refuge on Gilbert’s Bar is known for its 150-year history as a way station for shipwrecked sailors. But when Cara Mia visits, the museum becomes the scene of a crime.
Chapter 1
Cara Mia Delgatto/Stuart, FL
I signed the guest register at Gilbert’s Bar House of Refuge with a sense of awe. After living 32 years in Missouri, I was now a resident of the Sunshine State—and to think my relocation had happened
by accident!
My unintended arrival happened when a road trip went awry, and my car engine acted up. I was never in any real danger. My grandfather, Dick Potter, an ace mechanic, was only one exit away.
Other travelers to Florida have fared far worse than I did, especially those who journeyed by sea in centuries past. This house of refuge and nine others like it were funded by the US government in 1876 as an effort to save the lives of shipwreck victims. But today, this place, located next to a reef called Gilbert’s Bar, is the only one left.
A loud thump from the floor above the gift shop brought me out of my musings. The docent paused while ringing up my postcards. We both turned our eyes toward the ceiling.
When silence ensued, she shrugged and went back to her calculations.
Scanning the rest of the page in the guest ledger, I saw that other visitors had come from around the world to see this, the oldest building in our county. The guest ledger showed four sets of tourists from Europe. The line above my name held a scrawled listing for Gabriel Marciano, Camogli, Italy.
Italy.
Wow.
One day I hoped to return to my father’s homeland and meet whatever relatives were still there. I might even take my grandfather, so he could spend time with his late wife’s family, although traveling with Poppy might be a surefire recipe for heartburn. My grandfather could be irascible at his best and downright mean at his worst.
“Ahem.” The docent cleared her throat and named a figure for my purchases. I handed her a twenty.
Another thump sounded above us. Louder than before. This time both the docent and I froze.
Was that a signal from the famous House of Refuge ghost? An apparition so well-known that he’d been featured in media and on television all around the country? Behind me, a trio of local ladies paused in their chatter to cock their ears as well. Their clothing choices shouted “South Florida.” All three wore solid-colored Capri pants, patterned tunics with beaded necklines, and Jack Rogers sandals, standard apparel for wealthy Treasure Coast matrons.
The docent called out to her male counterpart. “Mr. Haines? I hate to interrupt you, but I’m worried about that thump we heard. Would you mind terribly going upstairs and seeing that the last of our visitors is all right?”
“Uh, in a minute, Adeline.” The man stroked his moustache and hoisted his belt, while keeping his attention on the clutch of twittering ladies. They giggled in a parody of girlishness.
The docent—Adeline?—wasn’t about to let Mr. Haines off the fishhook that easily. “I don’t want to interrupt you, Mr. Haines. But that nice young man from Eye-taly might have tripped over our uneven floor boards. We don’t need to get ourselves sued.”
The startled expression on Mr. Haines’ face suggested he hadn’t considered liability issues.
“Reluctantly, ladies, I need to leave you.” He executed a half-bow from the waist.
“Let’s hope that ghost of yours isn’t acting up,” twittered a silver-haired woman, as she batted her eyes at him. “John, you will be hosting your annual Halloween party, won’t you?”
“Of course I will, Martha.” The dapper man smiled at her. “That gives you three weeks to plan your costumes. And invite these friends of yours, too. The more the merrier. Especially when we’re talking beautiful women. Now let me get the door for you.”
Reluctantly, the threesome turned to leave. “What a nice man!” one of them exclaimed.
“Handsome. Rich, too,” said another. Perhaps she meant it as a whisper, but the object of her attention—John Haines—blushed with happiness and sent her a lecherous wink, as he held open the door.
“The guest from Eye-taly, Mr. Haines?” The docent’s voice took on more urgency. “Please go check on him? I’ll close up down here.”
“At your service, Adeline.” John gave the docent a rakish grin that would make any card-carrying member of AARP proud, and walked out of the gift shop.
“Huh.” Adeline the Docent did not hide her grunt of disapproval. “At your service, indeed. What a phony.”
I raised a curious eyebrow, encouraging her to talk a bit more. Her shoulders heaved a weighty sigh, so I added, “He looks familiar.”
His silver hair bobbed past the windows as the man traveled the circuitous route clockwise around the outside of the building to the public entrance.
“You’ve probably seen him on TV. That’s John Haines, owner of Wind Haven, Sea Haven, and a dozen other cheap housing complexes. Advertises them as gracious living. Got more money than sense—and an ego that could fill a football stadium times two. He fancies himself a historian, but he doesn’t know diddly about this place, except that one of his kin got himself pulled out of the brine years ago. John’s semi-retired and likes to hang around here because it makes him feel important. He’s a donor, you see. We appreciate his money, but it comes at a price.”
An even louder thump echoed through the floor boards above us. A scuffling began, like the sound of shoe leather against wood. The docent and I cocked our heads, trying to hear better. We were underneath the House of Refuge proper. I assumed this basement had been added as an after-thought, once the place was decommissioned from its original purpose as a way-station for shipwrecked sailors. Once upon a time, there had been ten such houses of refuge. This is the last one left.
Angry voices filtered through the ceiling above us.
“That fellow from Eye-taly must not want to go. Either that, or he took a tumble down those steps from the attic where the sleeping quarters are, I wager. Ignored the sign. Had to have himself a look.” The docent clucked her tongue. The motion set her wrinkled skin swaying.
She added, “John is probably helping that young ‘un to his feet. Last week, a chubby old fart tripped and busted his lip. Stupid coot. Claimed our ghost went chasing after him!”
Chapter 2
My first impulse was to pocket my money and run the other way, rather than to offer help.
I’d already spent too much time away from my store. The Treasure Chest is a décor shop in downtown Stuart. We stock upcycled, recycled, and repurposed goods with a coastal theme.
I dearly love the tiny universe we’ve created, but retail can become all-consuming.
“You’ve been working too hard, Cara,” said my best pal and full-timer, Skye Blue. Skye’s a creative dynamo whose fantastic ability to turn trash into treasure is largely responsible for our success. “There’s still a month to go until Halloween, and you already look pale as a ghost.”
That set the rest of my staff snickering. In the run-up to my favorite holiday, I’d gone bonkers planning and decorating the shop. This would be our second Halloween. The last one had been good, financially, and this one could be even better.
My four employees were positively giddy with excitement. The store had been decorated with fake cobwebs, a ghoulish mannequin dressed like a butler, flying bats, a coffin, and stray spiders. We all were working at a feverish pitch to complete a variety of projects. Even my computer guru, Sid, was busy. He put together “word find” sheets with sales promotions on the opposite side. If you found every word on the front, you scored a discount.
“Skye’s right. You’ve been hanging around the store too much, Cara. You need to get fresh air,” added Honora McAfee, my oldest employee, and a woman who insists on acting like a surrogate grandmother to all of us.
Honora is a miniaturist. She sees the world in smaller scales. Specifically 1:12, 1:24 and 1:48. It was her idea that I visit Gilbert’s Bar House of Refuge and take photos of the Georges Valentine Exhibit. “I’d love to do a half-inch scale scene based on the shipwreck. Perhaps skeletal remains rising out of the sea? I’d like to get it done by the anniversary of the tragedy.”
I thought her timeframe rather ambitious; that anniversary was two weeks away.
For three storm-tossed days in 1904, the Georges Valentine’s captain and crew fought to keep their ship in deep water, away from the shoals along our coast. On October 15, the hull finally
broke apart. The lifeboats had washed away earlier, leaving sailors no choice but to swim through rough water toward the shore. Naked, wet, and injured, one of the men struggled to the sand, lugging with him a helpless shipmate.
Thus alerted, Captain William E. Rea, the Keeper of the House of Refuge, went out to search for more survivors. Seven men were saved. Five men were trapped inside and went down with the ship. What’s left of the Georges Valentine rests near Gilbert’s Bar, the sandbar named for a pirate. The remains are listed in the National Register.
“Perhaps I could create a scene showing the survivors in the aftermath,” Honora said. “Longing for their homes. One of them set up a business here locally and never went back to his native land.”
“Won’t that be hard to portray?” I didn’t want to put a damper on her creativity, but I couldn’t feature the project in my head.
“You must remember, Cara, after their rescue, sailors spent months at the House of Refuge. One wonders if they sat around doing the handicrafts associated with life on the high seas as a way to pass the time.”
“I thought the houses of refuge stocked provisions for only ten days,” Skye said.
“That’s the amount of foodstuff the government mandated each house of refuge keep on hand,” Honora said. “However, not all of the sailors could leave that quickly. Think about it. They couldn’t just hop on a plane or take a train. They were forced to wait for other ships to take them home. That’s what I might design a scene to show. How they kept themselves busy while they were waiting.”
Once in a while Honora gets testy with us when we don’t recognize how much local history she’s absorbed, but as she’s almost eighty, that’s easy to forgive.
My other full-time employee, MJ Austin, spoke up, “Honora, do you have photos of the interior of the House of Refuge? I don’t recall there being enough images on their website to guide you.”