“So toward the end of the Ball you lured her into the kitchen to talk, and stabbed her instead.”
Vivian chimed in. “You knew about that secret panel in the drawer because you grew up here, didn’t you?” She looked at Walter. “And Detective, those aren’t new cabinets, only the surfaces were refinished when we renovated.”
Alex drooped his shoulders. “I want my lawyer.”
Sirens approached as backup arrived. I shook my head. “It’s over, Alex.”
After Walter cuffed him and read Alex his rights, the detective looked at Teddy and me. “It’s time to go home. Great job, you two.”
“Woof!” Teddy barked.
By the time my head hit the pillow I was spent. Teddy lay sound asleep at the foot of my bed. What an amazing little sleuth dog he was. And yet, he was just a dog, doing what dogs do. Protecting their owners and sniffing out things that did not belong. Of course, the blood on the knife he found may have had something to do with his discovery.
The next morning Kim called to thank me for helping solve her sister’s murder. In turn, I thanked her for giving Shakespeare a good home.
Susan Porter was on my heart ever since I’d visited Deborah Dunlap. It was time for the call.
“I’ll go if you’ll come with me, Jillian. I don’t think I can do it alone.”
“Can you be ready in an hour?” I asked. She agreed, and together we met Deborah at her assisted living complex.
Susan looked around the complex. “I’ve never been to one of these before. I’m a little nervous.” We wrote our names and time of arrival in the guest book on the front entry table, adorned with a stunning flower arrangement. Deborah was waiting in the same spot where she and I had talked. When she saw Susan and me, she smiled and waved.
“Now, don’t be nervous,” I said. “You’ll like her.”
Susan was shaking, but after I introduced her, she extended her hand to Deborah. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
We sat facing Deborah. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw David Thorndike coming down the hall. “Ladies, would you excuse me? I’m sure you have things to talk about. I see someone I know.”
I left them together and prayed. Lord, help them through this time of reconciliation, especially help my friend Susan. Amen.
David saw me approach. “Jillian! What are you doing here?”
“Just visiting a friend of mine. What are you doing here?”
“Just visiting Mrs. Raven. Let’s sit.” We found an empty spot away from everyone, where we could talk.
“Did you hear we caught Karla’s killer?” I asked.
“No. Who was it?”
“Alex Raven. He thought he’d lose everything if people found out he wasn’t the real heir to the Raven estate. If only he knew.”
David was silent a moment. “I’m sorry for him.”
“What did Mrs. Raven have to say?”
“After I told her who I was, she almost had a heart attack. They were able to stabilize her, though, and she insisted we talk. According to her, she had no idea Alex and I had been switched. Everything made sense to her after she read the doctor’s notes.”
“The notes with the birth certificate? I remember seeing them, but I didn’t read what they said.”
He sighed. “The doctor believed my mother had been exposed in early pregnancy to a harmful chemical they used in gardening. After I showed her the note, she told me she had fallen ill and Mr. Raven was beside himself with worry during her pregnancy.
“Looks like his fears came to pass.”
“Exactly.” He nodded to his leg. “The birth was breech. Mrs. Raven was given drugs that knocked her out. She doesn’t remember my birth at all. Mr. Raven had already arranged for the exchange by the time Mrs. Raven was awake enough to hold me. But it was Alex she held, not me.”
I put my hand on his knee. “Did you tell her about becoming a chemist?”
“Yes. She took my hands, held them, and asked me to tell her everything about myself. Jillian, she was crying. It made me feel terrible. But I wanted her to know that even though my father didn’t think I was good enough, I thought I was good enough—and it must have ultimately been because I was their son.”
“I’m glad you were able to tell her. How do you feel now?”
“Sad. Relieved. Grateful for the parents who raised me. I want to talk to them next. Then I think I can put this behind me.”
A worker rushed toward us. “Dr. Thorndike, would you please come with me? It’s Mrs. Raven.”
“Go,” I said. “I’ll wait in the living room for you.”
He hurried down the hall, back toward Mrs. Raven’s room. I saw Susan walking toward me, alone.
“It’s bingo time in the activity room. Deborah never misses it.” She smiled. “Thank you so much for coming with me.”
“It was all Deborah’s idea, you know. I’m glad you two talked. I’m waiting to talk to David Thorndike again. He was called away briefly. He has a friend here.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to wait in the car.”
I handed her my keys. “I’ll be there shortly.”
David returned with awful news. “Mrs. Raven just passed away. The nurse said it was peaceful, based on the smile she had on her face when they found her. I’m glad she never knew what Alex had done.”
“I’m so sorry, David. Maybe it was for the best. I’ll talk to Detective Montoya about funeral arrangements. Perhaps he’ll allow Alex to pay his last respects, although now that Alex knows Mrs. Raven wasn’t his real mother, he may not care to.”
“I’m sure her estate will take care of things.” We shook hands and signed ourselves out.
Things had worked out as I had prayed. There were no more accusations about Dr. Singh overprescribing medications, Ron Porter won the election and became a city councilman, Susan Porter stopped seeing Dr. Singh for depression, and David Thorndike continued his stellar career as a chemist.
Alex Raven was given life in prison for killing Karla, and Vivian Rivers got her story about the successful fundraiser at Raven House.
One good thing came out of this mess, though. Cecilia was offered Karla Wilson’s old job at the Clover Hills Daily.
Well, maybe that’s not the only good thing that happened.
Walter asked me to bring Teddy to the station. When I arrived, there were balloons and a cake waiting in the entrance. “What’s all this?” I asked.
Officers broke out in song. “For he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s a jolly good fellow, which nobody can deny.”
“Woof! Woof!” Teddy barked as if he knew this was for him. Walter handed me a jewelry box. Inside was a new name tag that said, “Sleuth Dog,” with my address and phone number on the back, of course.
“We honor you, Teddy, for all the help you and your mistress have given us over the years.” Walter gave him a rub and a hug. I kissed the top of his little brown head.
--The End--
“Raven House,” a short story that takes place in the fall in Jillian Bradley's hometown of Clover Hills, comes full circle after the seasonal Happy Homicides short stories including “Teddy Saves Christmas,” “Sweets Treats and Murder,” and the summer tale “Birthday Bash.” For more on the full length novels in the Jillian Bradley mystery series please visit the book page at nancyjillthames.com.
Nancy Jill Thames was born to write mysteries. From her early days as the neighborhood story-teller to being listed on Amazon Author Watch Bestseller List, she has always had a vivid imagination and loves to solve problems – perfect for plotting whodunits. In 2010, Nancy Jill published her first mystery, Murder in Half Moon Bay, introducing her well-loved protagonist Jillian Bradley and clue-sniffing Yorkie “Teddy.” When she isn’t plotting Jillian’s next perilous adventure, Nancy Jill travels between Texas, California, and Georgia finding new ways to spoil her grandchildren, playing classical favorites on her baby grand, or having afternoon tea with friends. She lives with her h
usband in Texas, where she is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers, Central Texas Chapter.
Falling for Murder: A Pecan Bayou Series Novella
By Teresa Trent
Editor’s Note: Helpful hints columnist Betsy Livingston is an expert at household organization, but her skills are put to the test when she’s called upon to conduct an efficiency review for a haunted house.
Chapter 1
The flimsy paper foot of a skeleton hit me in the head as I entered Birdie’s Diner. Orange crepe paper hung from every corner, and my friend the skeleton was just one of many Halloween decorations Birdie had chosen to adorn the little Texas eatery. Aunt Maggie motioned to me from the corner booth where she sat with the town’s most sought-after beautician. Ruby Green could make any girl look like a beauty queen using the raw materials God gave her and highlighting them with all kinds of manmade chemical concoctions. Ruby was the proud owner of The Best Little Hairhouse in Texas. She and my aunt, lifelong friends, were huddled close in conversation. What had my aunt called me for that involved such cloak-and-dagger behavior?
With my boys in school and my toddler, Coco, now doing a few days a week in a neighborhood daycare, I was happy to have time to myself again. The idea of getting to go out to Birdie's Diner without a baby and fifty pounds of car seats, strollers, and snacks was making me downright giddy.
Aunt Maggie, her bouffant hair freshly puffed, turned to greet me with earnest blue eyes and the sweetest smile in Texas. “Betsy, you made it.”
“Tell me, what was so important I had to get right down here?”
Ruby Green patted the booth seat next to her. “Sit yourself down there, Betsy. We have a news flash for you.” Ruby wore a short-sleeve tunic adorned with black cats with fluorescent green eyes. It looked like it might just glow in the dark. She finished off her look with a pair of orange stretch jeans. Emphasis on the stretch.
“So what is it?” I asked.
Aunt Maggie pointed. “Look out the window there, down the street.” I gazed out the window at downtown Pecan Bayou. It was late October, and the town had taken on the customary Halloween cloak of pumpkins, spider webs, and various ghoulish displays. From the hardware store to Earl's Coffee, many of the downtown merchants had been there for decades. People were strolling around, looking in the shops on a lovely fall morning. A cool front had blown in, ending a long, hot summer. My gaze rested on my workplace, the Pecan Bayou Gazette. My editor, Rocky, had asked me to stop by after I finished my lunch date with Aunt Maggie and Ruby. The buildings at either end of Main Street dwindled off into larger pieces of real estate. I always felt like it was kind of ironic that if you go far enough down Main Street in Pecan Bayou, you find yourself in the cemetery. The other end of the street held our complex of schools. In Pecan Bayou, you grow up at one end of town, and are laid to rest at the other.
“Look at Jerry Marion's house. What do you see?”
I stretched my neck to see the old Marion Funeral Home. It had been unoccupied for at least a decade. There was a rented moving truck sitting in the driveway. “Someone's moving in?”
“Jerry had a nephew. He's not from Texas, poor boy. At least that's what Elroy Dean said at the Stop and Go. The nephew is planning to try and live in the old Marion Funeral Home.” Aunt Maggie’s eyes were bright with fresh intrigue.
“I didn't even think that house was livable,” Ruby added. Marion Funeral Home had served Pecan Bayou for half a century. Mr. Marion was not only the town mortician, but he was also the caretaker of the cemetery bordering his home. As Mr. Marion aged, his upkeep of the grounds became irregular, making the cemetery an eyesore.
“Who would want to live there after the way Mr. Marion died?” Aunt Maggie whispered, as if it mattered if others would hear us.
“It was the spirits of the dead that got 'im.” Ruby had been one of the leading purveyors of the crazy stories that centered on the Marion house. Originally the funeral home, as well as the cemetery, had been surrounded by a black, wrought-iron fence with points at the top of each fence post. Mr. Marion said the barrier was necessary to keep undesirables out of the graveyard. They found Mr. Marion after he had fallen off of a ladder and landed on one of the spikes. It was a grisly way to go, and unfortunately, his untimely demise was within full view of the downtown stores and restaurants of Pecan Bayou.
He’d been painting the exterior of his home and somehow lost his footing on the ladder. His death was ruled an accident, but the people of the town disagreed and blamed it on the dead. The working theory was that Mr. Marion’s former clientele were getting revenge because he had a habit of putting on too much basecoat when he set them up in the parlor for viewing.
Mr. Marion must have bought a case of makeup on sale, because for years the only shade he used was wildly unpopular. For a while there, it seemed every newly deceased person was sporting a deep tan, much to the shock of their relatives, when they said their final goodbyes.
“It was that cheap ladder he got by collecting green stamps back in the sixties. It’s the cheap part that got him. Couldn’t hold his weight,” Aunt Maggie said.
Birdie handed me a menu. I was in the mood for a bowl of her chicken and dumplings with a side of apple pie. “However he died doesn't matter,” I said. “The house has a new tenant. Maybe this guy will rewrite the whole history of the place. I always felt sorry for the empty house with nobody there to live in it.”
“You felt sorry for a house? Really?” Ruby asked.
“Yes, I did. Houses can hold the stories of so many different kinds of people. The Marion Funeral Home, I’m sure, had plenty.”
“Especially if you count the dead folks in the back room,” Aunt Maggie added.
Ruby jumped. “Oh...oh. There's the guy. He's carrying in boxes.” A handsome man about six-feet tall effortlessly carried three boxes into the funeral home. He didn’t look much like Mr. Marion. Lucky for him.
Aunt Maggie whistled under her breath. “He must be strong. He looks like he's barely breaking a sweat.”
“You cannot see that from here. You're silly, Aunt Maggie.”
“Give me a break. At my age silly is a state I try to achieve at least once a day.”
I studied the old house. It was good news the house would finally have an occupant, but if someone were to ask me to spend the night in the place, I don't think I'd be able to do it. We all had memories of the funeral home.
Mine was attending my Uncle Jeeter's funeral. My uncle died after Mr. Marion used up the bad makeup, so at least his color looked normal. My aunt had asked me to go and make sure Uncle Jeeter looked okay. Normally, this wouldn't have bothered me, but after looking at him laid out in his coffin, Sunday suit on, his hands crossed over his heart, I found I couldn't turn my back on him. I backed out of the room, worried that if I turned around, he'd pop up and say something. It was irrational and stupid, yet those were the feelings I had at the time.
I have gone to other funerals since my uncle’s but never forgot the fear that registered with me that day. Now those rooms would be used for living people, not dead ones. I had to wonder if such a thing were possible.
Chapter 2
Armed with my newsflash, I headed to the Pecan Bayou Gazette and told my boss. Rocky Whitson is the editor of the newspaper. He listened closely to my information about the developments at the Marion Funeral Home.
“Man, nobody's lived in that house for years. What's this fella going to do now that he's moved in?” Rocky asked. He leaned back in his office chair and propped his feet up on the desk. Rocky's son Nick came back from the coffee pot and sat down at his desk.
“Aunt Maggie and Ruby didn't get that far in their speculations. They're just excited that someone is living in that place.”
“What happened there?” Nick asked. Even though Nick is Rocky's son, he has only lived in Pecan Bayou for a couple of years. His mother never told Rocky he was a father; Nick searched out his father on his own. Once he found him, he also found a home in Pecan Bayou.
Because he hadn’t grown up in our town, Nick was constantly catching up on the local lore.
“Folks around here had all kinds of cock and bull theories, even after Mr. Marion’s death was investigated by the police and ruled as an accident. There was one set of loonies who blamed it on some sort of paranormal riff-raff. Of course, it was the kind of accident you'd see in a Hitchcock movie, so our fine neighbors here in Pecan Bayou turned it into a cut-rate horror story.”
“Seriously? I run past that place every day,” Nick said.
Pulling a chair up to a spare computer, I logged into the newspaper's network. “Whatever. I've done my errand. Now you know. I'll let you take it from here.”
Rocky laughed. “Some communities have a man on the street. We've got town busybodies. I'll check it out. There might be something to this story. You never know.” My boss spoke like a true newsman. The Pecan Bayou Gazette had been the main source of news around here for the last fifty years. There wasn't a story in town that would get by Rocky. He’d find out if there was anything going on at the old Marion place.
“Glad you stopped by, Betsy. First of all, you’ll need to get your fingerprints done for Mayor Obermeyer's community security program.”
“His what?”
“He’s decided he wants all of our fingerprints in the system. He’s been watching the crime channel again and thinks anybody who works for the town should be cleared for security purposes. He plans to run background checks on everybody. It’s his version of ‘Townland Security.’”
“Isn’t that a little paranoid? Besides, I work for you, not the town.”
“Yes, it is paranoid. He included all of us at the paper after seeing a documentary on yellow journalism. Cable TV is going to ruin this town.”
“One more thing to do.”
“He wants it done by November first, so you’d better get a move on.”
Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime: Includes Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crimes Page 19