Snowflake Bay Cozy Mysteries Boxset 1

by C Farren

  “He’s in there somewhere. When I look into his eyes...”

  She put her hand on his arm. “It’s okay.”

  Hang on...

  “Help me with this,” said Wren.

  Keegan joined her, and together they started pulling up a fallen beam. Something was sticking out from under it.

  “This is heavy,” Keegan complained.

  “You go to the gym,” she said. “You can handle it.”

  They managed to lift the beam a little and push it aside, but only a little. It was too heavy for even the two of them. Underneath it was a small poinsettia pendant. It was almost broken in half, and it looked expensive.

  “That’s pretty,” said Keegan. He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a plastic evidence bag, which he used to scoop up the pendant. “I’m ashamed we didn’t find it earlier. Remind me to tell off some of the deputies later.”

  “I know who that belongs to,” said Wren. Keegan looked at her, waiting impatiently for her to speak. “Chelsea Rickard.”

  Chapter 25

  Chelsea Rickard owned her own pottery shop on Marina Boulevard, the new modern area next to the docks (modern as it built in the 1980s). It was a small but expensive place, catering to people, mainly summer tourists, with more money than sense. There was a china monkey in the front window that was so gauche Wren wanted to walk away. She’d never buy anything in a store like this in a million years.

  “I don’t come down here that often,” said Wren.

  “I figured as much,” said Keegan.

  Wren looked at him crossly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well...”

  They entered the shop and were immediately assaulted by vanilla scented candles and incense. Chelsea and her assistant Cameron, a small Lebanese woman in her late twenties, were stocking shelves with what appeared to be sexy Mrs. Claus figurines. They were ghastly. Whoever ended up with one of those for Christmas would be very unlucky indeed.

  “Do you really think we’ll sell any of these?” Cameron asked dubiously. She held up one of the figurines to her face, looking at it like it might bite her. “They look like something my grandmother would throw in the garbage.”

  Chelsea glared at her. “I have it on good authority that these are in this year. Have faith.”

  “They’re in bad taste.”

  Wren agreed with Cameron, though she probably would’ve bought one for someone as a gag gift. Seeing their face on Christmas morning when they received one of those ghastly things would make her year.

  “Oh, hi Wren!” Cameron called, coming over to her. “You look so good! I told you that shampoo would get rid of your split ends!”

  Wren had babysat for Cameron for a long time ago. It was one of her first paid jobs. She’d been a good kid, though a little excited. They’d had many evenings watching scary movies together and hiding under the sheets with bowls of popcorn. Wren once took Cameron and her friends trick or treating as the Spice Girls. That had been such a fun night. They saw each other occasionally now, mainly because Cameron’s mother lived down the road from her.

  “We’re here to talk to Chelsea,” said Keegan. He had on his authoritative police voice now. “Is this a bad time?”

  Chelsea sighed. “Fine. Cameron, go and do the books or something.”

  Cameron waved to Wren and exited into the back. Would Cameron be someone to talk to? If anyone knew any gossip about Chelsea it would be her. She’d worked here since she was sixteen years old.

  “Have you found out who killed Delia yet?” Chelsea asked, still putting up the Mrs. Claus figurines. “They say if you don’t catch the murderer within the first twenty-four hours then you won’t find them at all.”

  Keegan held out the pendant in its evidence bag. “We found this at the scene of the crime.”

  “I’ve been looking for that,” said Chelsea. She put a sticker in front of the figurines. It said ‘$40’. Wren almost choked on the price. It was extortionate. “I lost it during the commotion after the crash. Wherever did you find it?”

  “It was under a ceiling beam next to where Delia was found,” said Wren, taking over from Keegan. “You left it there before the crash.”

  “Perhaps I did,” said Chelsea. She didn’t reveal anything. “That day was quite hectic. You know, you were there, Wren.” She saw that they weren’t having any of it and said, “She snatched it off me, alright? I accused her of something, and she retaliated by yanking the pendant from off my top. She nearly ripped my blouse in half as well, and it was a present from Everett for our anniversary.”

  Wren could see Delia doing something like that.

  “Why did she do that?” Wren asked. “Was it something to do with her interfering in her son’s... donation to Veronica?”

  Chelsea looked embarrassed. She cleared her throat.

  “You know about that,” she stated. “How embarrassing.”

  Wren nodded. “Everett told me.”

  She nodded and sat down by a chair next the counter. She ran her hands through her long hair, as if trying to summon up the courage to speak.

  “I wasn’t pleased with my husband’s decision,” Chelsea admitted. “Who would be? He should have asked me first if he wanted to hand out his seed to anybody that asked for it, especially Veronica. I’ve heard all the rumors about her stalking Garrett before he died.”

  “I’d be upset too,” said Keegan. “But why would that make Delia rip jewelry from off your body? It seems a little excessive.”

  Wren didn’t think it was excessive. She was surprised Delia didn’t have a sacrificial alter in her basement.

  “Excessive?” Chelsea exclaimed. She laughed. “Nothing was excessive for that malevolent creature.” She picked up a black marker pen and marked up the price on the Mrs. Claus figurines to $45. “Anyway, I had empathy for Veronica. Any normal person would have. What Delia did to her, hounding her, giving her grief, was appalling. I told my mother-in-law so. I called her an inhuman monster and I wished just she’d just die. She decided I didn’t deserve the poinsettia pendant her dead husband left me in her will.” She stared up at them accusingly. “I didn’t kill her. The two of us didn’t get on, and I admit that I haven’t shed a tear since she died, but I didn’t kill her.”

  Wren believed her. She’d probably suffered years of abuse from her mother-in-law. The fact that she hadn’t strangled the woman already spoke volumes. Quite how she had managed to keep herself civil for all this time Wren had no idea. Chelsea must have the patience of a saint.

  Would I have held back for that long?

  “I’m just going to catch up with Cameron,” said Wren, the conversation over. She had all she needed to know for now. “Is it okay if I head through?”

  Chelsea nodded as Keegan asked her a few more questions about her relationship with Delia. She didn’t want to hear any more stories about that woman.

  Cameron was sitting by a desk, reading some glamour magazine. She smiled when Wren entered. Cameron had a million dollar smile that could out-dazzle the sun. She had the occasional modelling gig, though nothing too big. She’d once starred in a commercial for anti-fungal foot cream.

  “Are you available to talk?” Wren asked.

  “I know nothing about the murder,” said Cameron. She laughed. “I love that you’re investigating this! It must be so exciting!”

  “I suppose it is,” Wren conceded.

  There was a family portrait on the wall among a sea of other photos, stuck there with tape. Everett, Chelsea, Kerry, their other children, and a scowling Delia stood to the side. They looked content. Wren had never really seen the younger children because they were infants and toddlers, but they were very cute.

  “Any family secrets that I should be privy to?” Wren inquired casually.

  “Not really,” said Cameron. “They’re a pretty normal bunch; well, apart from Delia that is. She told me my eyes were too Asian.”

  Was there anyone in town who wasn’t white that had been safe
from Delia’s bitter tongue?

  “So, they haven’t let anything slip?” asked Wren.

  “Chelsea knows I like to gossip, and so she doesn’t talk much about her family problems, if they even have any. I mean, she did have a few problems after the birth of Connie, her last child. Post-partum depression? But even then, she saw a therapist and everything went back to how it was. Like I said, they’re pretty normal.”

  Maybe they seemed that way on the outside, but Wren had discovered enough secrets to fill up a cauldron. But did any of those secrets lead to murder?

  There was another photo that caught her eye. It was of Everett, standing in front of a red car. He wore a mechanic’s overalls and seemed quite proud of himself. Kerry was with him, holding some sort of small golden trophy up into the air.

  “What’s this all about?” Wren asked.

  “That was from some county fair competition that Everett won,” Cameron explained. She came over to stand beside Wren. “They had to build a car from spare parts or something. Everett was the first one to complete his car.”

  “Everett knows how to build a car?”

  “His uncle was a mechanic, remember? He had his own place in town before the Fosterlings took over. Even though Everett decided to become a vet, his uncle taught him all he knew about cars when he was growing up.”

  Wren nodded. She remembered Kyle. He was so unlike his sister that everyone assumed he must have been adopted. He was outgoing and boisterous and kind. He’d helped fix her very first car after Alex drove it into a tree.

  Everett would know how to tamper with the brakes on a car. But did he tamper with the brakes on his mother’s car? Did that mean he expected her to die in a fiery car crash and didn’t stab her, or did he stab her because she didn’t die in a fiery car crash? He must not have known his daughter took the car out instead, otherwise he would’ve stopped her. That must mean he wouldn’t have stabbed her because he was fully expecting his mother to die another way.

  Or he realized his mother hadn’t take her car out when it crashed into the store and he used the confusion to kill her right there and then?

  “Are you thinking Everett Rickard tampered with the brakes on his mom’s car?” Cameron asked, her tone scandalous. “That’s some sick stuff!”

  “Don’t tell Chelsea,” Wren warned her.

  Cameron mimed zipping her mouth shut.

  Outside the pottery shop Keegan and Wren told each other what they’d learned. Keegan had heard a litany of horrible things Delia had done to Chelsea over the years, including changing the wedding venue on their wedding day without telling them and buying her faintly racist Native American gifts for birthdays. After telling him what she now knew about Everett’s car mechanic skills he was certain Everett was the man they were looking for. Wren couldn’t agree more.

  “I’m going to arrest him,” Keegan announced.

  Wren nodded. “It’s him, right?”

  A car screeched past them, going wildly fast. Keegan pushed Wren out of the way and she almost smashed headfirst through the front window of the pottery shop.

  “Sorry,” said Keegan.

  Wren pulled herself to her feet to see the offending car heading straight for the docks. Someone was inside, screaming for help. It sounded like a man.

  “Call my dad,” Keegan shouted, running.

  Wren started to dial the local sheriff’s station when the car crashed through a rotting wooden building at the end of the docks. It ploughed straight through and plunged into the arctic waters of the Atlantic ocean. Keegan was still running. When he got to the end of the pier he took a deep breath and dived into the churning waters.

  Chapter 26

  When Wren arrived at the end of the pier, Keegan was already giving someone CPR. The two of them were sopping wet and shivering uncontrollably. Several of the business proprietors from the marina were out, gawping.

  I can’t believe Keegan just jumped into the water like that! He could’ve been killed!

  The man Keegan he had pulled from the water was Everett. His skin was blue and he wasn’t breathing. He looked dead.

  “Everett!” Chelsea screamed, running over.

  Wren tried to keep her away. “Let Keegan do his job.”

  “Why would he do this?” Chelsea demanded, desperate. “Why would he drive his car into the ocean like that?”

  “I heard him screaming,” said Wren. “I don’t think he did this intentionally.”

  They continued to watch with bated breath as Keegan continued to work CPR on Everett. It didn’t appear to be going well. Chelsea suddenly grabbed her hand, clutching it for comfort.

  Please be okay.

  Keegan stood, panting. He turned to them.

  “I managed to start his breathing again but he’s still not conscious,” he announced.

  “What does that mean?” Chelsea asked.

  Keegan said, “I think he may have been deprived of oxygen for too long. We’ll have to see what they say at the hospital.”

  Chelsea ran to her husband as Cameron gave Keegan a huge fluffy towel to dry himself off. The gawpers slowly returned to their premises, sad the show was over.

  “Do you think he’ll be okay?” Wren asked.

  “I honestly don’t know,” Keegan admitted.

  “I watched the whole thing. The way he was driving forward like that, not stopping – it reminded me of the time when Kerry crashed into the toy store.” Her theory that Everett had cut the brakes on his mom’s car was now shot to hell. “He was coming to visit his wife, and he couldn’t stop the car, and so he headed for the pier so he’d crash into the water and not hurt anybody.” It made sense in a way, but something was missing. “I just don’t know. I’m so confused about it all. For just a second there I thought Everett was the murderer, and now somebody has tried to murder him.”

  “There could be two murderers.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. What if someone found out Everett murdered Delia, and tried to kill him for revenge? It was possible. It only made this all the more confusing. It made finding Garrett’s killer seem simple in comparison.

  WREN ACCOMPANIED CHELSEA in the ambulance. She didn’t want to go, but the woman needed someone with her. Cameron said she had a phobia of hospitals and refused to get in the vehicle with them.

  “Do you think he’ll be okay?” Chelsea asked. She was clutching her husband’s hand.

  Everett’s skin had more or less returned to a normal color, but he was still breathing quite shallowly. He still hadn’t regained consciousness yet either. There was an EMT sat beside him, constantly on watch.

  “The last time I was in an ambulance was the night my sister died,” said Chelsea. She wiped at her eyes. “I feel as helpless now as I did then.”

  “He’s breathing,” said Wren. “I know he’s going to pull through.”

  “That’s what Delia said in the ambulance about Belinda, but she was wrong.”

  Wren clutched Chelsea’s hand again, giving her comfort. “How did Delia get in the ambulance?” Wren asked. “She wasn’t in the car with you that night.”

  “Did I say Delia?” Chelsea looked away. “I meant the female EMT. She reminded me of Delia. They had the same hair.”

  Wren didn’t pursue the slip-up any further. The woman was in shock. She had to be confusing things in her mind.

  Kerry met them at the hospital, desperate with worry over their father.

  “Is he alive?” Kerry asked, rushing up to them. “Please tell me he’s alive!”

  Chelsea burst into tears and hugged her daughter. Kerry began to cry too, huge wrenching sobs that echoed down the hospital corridor. Wren felt awkward, witness to such an emotional family scene.

  “We’ll get through this,” Kerry reassured her mother, her hands on Chelsea’s shoulders. “Dad would want that.”

  “He’s not dead,” said Chelsea. “He’s just unconscious.”

  “Oh.” Kerry wiped at her eyes and smiled. “That’s good! Then there’s hop
e.”

  Kerry and Chelsea went to talk to the doctors, leaving Wren on her own. She didn’t have a ride home and her mind was a blur of theories. Everett’s attempted murder changed things. Keegan’s idea that there might be two murderers warranted merit, but she wasn’t sure.

  She sat down, tired, as the hustle and bustle of the ER department continued around her. She considered going for a coffee to calm herself when she spotted a familiar face sitting next to her.

  “Maureen?” said Wren. “What are you doing here?”

  Maureen worked at the unemployment office in the city. While Wren wouldn’t exactly call them friends (Maureen was a little weird) she actually liked the woman. She was also an amateur snoop, who out of sheer boredom listened in on people and wrote down what she heard. She was like a spy with dowdy shoes.

  “I fell down a well last month,” Maureen explained. She had plaster casts on one arm and both of her legs. She was in a wheelchair. “It was very scary.”

  “You fell down a well?” Wren exclaimed. There wasn’t a hint of mischief on the woman’s face. She wasn’t joking. “That’s horrible!”

  “I was in a coma for three weeks.” Maureen used her free hand to try and scratch her thigh. “It was like having an odd drowsy sleep where all you could see was shadows and voices. I wouldn’t recommend it.” She looked Wren up and down. “You spend more time in here than I do.”

  “I do seem to be in here an awful lot.”

  I’ve been shot. I’ve had a brick thrown at my head. I’ve visited Uncle Camden in hospital. They might as well make up my own room.

  She told Maureen all about Everett’s accident. Maureen found the story fascinating.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve overheard anything interesting?” Wren asked. “Your help last time was invaluable.”

  “I’ve heard nothing,” Maureen admitted. “Ever since my accident I’ve been in hospital. I’m waiting for a car to take me home now. They’re late as usual.” She sighed with displeasure. “And I for the life of me I can’t remember where I put my black book! There’s been some memory loss since the accident.”