Death among the Roses: a Melanie Hart Mystery (Melanie Hart Cozy Mysteries Book 1)

by Anna Drake

  “You’re kidding, right. You don’t really believe in true love?”

  “Of course I do. I want to find a man who when I look into his eyes makes me regret every moment I spend away from him. And let me tell you, if you don’t really believe in love, then I feel sorry for Josh, because I think he does.”

  It was a sobering thought. One I’d not considered before. Josh was married to his job. Just like my college boyfriend. Josh, too, would expect me to give up my life in Cloverton to accommodate his dreams.

  Dang. Why was love so complex? And why did I think Josh might prove to be a problem on that front?

  THIRTEEN

  That afternoon, as Ginger and I reviewed what we knew and what we suspected about Gary’s murder, an uneasy truce rose up between us. On some level we understood we needed to work together rather than going for each other’s throats.

  But I also doubted it would be easy task. We were two very different types of women with vastly different views of life. I was mostly cerebral. I sat and hatched schemes and plotted and found ways to track information down. Ginger thought with her heart and responded to every problem instantly. She was much more agile than I at figuring thing out.

  Thoughts of skinny Jack Sprat and his chubby wife wormed their way into my mind. And just like those two, I thought the differences between Ginger and me made us stronger. They made us a better team than I’d expected us to be. But then given our current rate of success – or should I say lack of it – I probably was giving us far too much credit.

  After I finished updating Ginger on my session with Larkin, my friend’s eyebrows nearly collided with her hairline. “Your snitch turned you down?” She laughed. “Do you perhaps need to seek out a new, little mother’s helper?”

  “I do not. There’s nothing wrong with my man. He’s just a tad bit over protective. That’s all.”

  “You’d better be making alternate plans then to follow up on that license plate number.”

  “I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”

  “I certainly hope so. That number is a darn good lead.”

  Not to mention, I thought, the dratted information was flushed out by you. “Anyway, Josh came up with something on Stepich.”

  “Josh? You have him jumping through hoops for you, too?”

  “He just said he had friends he could check with in New York. I didn’t ask him to do anything. He volunteered.”

  “You’re toying with a darn fine guy there.”

  “No argument. Not with the toying part, though. I do like the man.”

  “That’s your problem. What I was is what you’ve learned about Stepich. Is he in the clear?”

  “You wish.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  For a moment I thought I should have filed this information away without sharing it with Ginger. She wasn’t going to like what she heard. But that would be dishonest of me. If we were going to try to solve a murder together, we each had to know everything uncovered to be effective. Still, I had to bite back the urge to run from the room before I unloaded this bomb.

  I took a deep breath. “The deal is the Stepich family is suspected of having mob ties.”

  “What? Where did you hear that?”

  “Josh. It’s what he learned from his friends in New York”

  “I bet hearing that just made your day, right?”

  “Ginger. I’m not against you — or him. I have nothing to prove one way or the other. But the facts are what they are.”

  “You did say suspected, though. So this is rumor. It’s still unproved?”

  “That’s correct. Nothing has been confirmed, at least as far as Josh’s friends could tell.”

  The thunderclouds over Ginger’s head began to recede. “Besides, what if it were true? Tony’s not responsible for his family’s connections.”

  “Ginger, he bragged to me about how he signed up in the family business immediately after graduating college. I’d say he’s up to his elbows in family matters.”

  I heard Ginger’s foot taping a raid cadence beneath the table. And within my eyesight, she folded her arms over her chest and storm clouds settled on her forehead. “Seems like in this country the law says people are innocent until proven guilty.”

  “There’s also that old saying that where there’s smoke there’s fire.”

  “You stick to your outlook, and I’ll hang on to mine.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “And if the rumors are true?” Ginger asked, her shoulders rising. “So what?”

  I nearly choked on my iced tea. “So what?”

  “Yeah, what’s that got to do with killing Gary?”

  I blinked. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “It certainly proves he’s capable of it.”

  “Why, Just because he’s a hood? He certainly wouldn’t kill someone without very good reason. And what cause did Tony have to kill Gary?”

  She had me with that point. “I… ah, I don’t know,” I stammered. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe one has nothing to do with the other.

  “Darn straight.”

  “Maybe. But our job this afternoon, as I see it, is to figure out what lead to pursue next.”

  Ginger nodded. “Okay. So what are you thinking?”

  “I met with Bella this morning. She said she said Gossford had interviewed her and her staff. I don’t know what information Gossford was after. But if we want to know more about that bachelor party, we need to talk to that waitress ourselves. Could you try reaching her again?”

  “Sure. But you’re asking me to contact her shows continuing bias on your part toward poor Stepich, you do understand that?”

  “I’ll just have to live with it,” I replied. “As you once said, at this point, we still have to suspect everyone.”

  “Huh.” Ginger folded her arms over her chest. “I’d be happier if we were making a little forward progress about now.”

  “We’re ferreting out information on Treadway. That’s no small thing.”

  “True. Maybe we’ll get lucky. Who knows. If we shake a finger at him, maybe he’ll toss up his hands and confess to murder.”

  “That’s if we could persuade him to take his eyes off Cordelia long enough to notice us,” I muttered.

  ***

  But days drifted past us. Cordelia continued her slow mend. Ginger and I kept in touch . But Candy’s whereabouts remained unexplained.

  Finally, I took the extreme step of trying to reach Ginger at her shop – a place she’d warned me never to call. She claimed she liked to keep her work separate from our investigative efforts. Although I could not see the point, I’d honored her position, Up until today,

  “Ginger,” I said after she’d answered the phone. “Do you know anyone who might know where this waitress has gone?”

  “Her sister, maybe?” she hissed. “I told you never to contact me here.”

  “What’s her name again?”

  “Beverly Grant,” Ginger groused.

  “Do you have her phone number?”

  “Not a clue. But she is listed in the phone book if that’s any help.” She lowered her voice, “Melanie, don’t do this again. I have customers here. They respect me. I don’t need them knowing I’m plowing around town with a lunatic in search of a killer.”

  Lunatic? Was she talking about me?

  “Ginger, this entire gig was your idea,” I said and hung up.

  Beverly Collins came on the line after only two rings. I proceeded to introduce myself. “I’m trying to reach your sister. But I haven’t had any luck.”

  “I know. I’ve gone to the police.”

  “The police?”

  “Yes. Candy was due back days ago, but she still hasn’t turned up. I’m worried. I’ve call the police.”

  “Do you know what she planned to do with her time off?”

  “Yeah. She was going to stay at a small inn up at Covey Lake. But she never showed up there.”

  “Not at all?”

  “Nope. I called the
hotel yesterday. I didn’t want to intrude if she was just having herself some fun. But they assured me she’d never arrived there.”

  “Was she going with anyone?”

  “Yes. She said some fella was taking her. But she never said who. My sister was like that. Very secretive about what she was up to.”

  A missing waitress. A questionable bachelor party. A murdered man. I couldn’t help but wonder at the possible connection between those strange facts. Had Candy known something about Gary’s murder? Could she have been killed because of that knowledge?

  I shook my head, I was reaching conclusions without any supporting facts. Perhaps the woman had run away with her lover. It had happened before There were other explanations than murder for disappearances, I reminded myself,

  Still the thought lingered, and after disconnecting with the sister, I sat at my desk wondering how I might track her down — dead or alive,

  I reached over and snagged phone and dialed Larkin’s home phone number. His sleepy voice answered on the third ring.

  “I’m sorry. I forgot you were on night patrol this week. I didn’t mean to wake you,” I said.

  “Not a problem. Who is this?”

  “One of your many female friends, that’s all.”

  “Ugh. I should wish.” He was quiet a moment, then asked,. “Is this Melanie?”

  “One and the same. Look could we meet up sometime soon?”

  “No time like the present.”

  “No please, finish your nap.”

  “I’ll be over in twenty.”

  “At our spot?”

  “Nah, I’ll come to your workplace.”

  “But the sheriff?”

  “I suspect he’s already figured us out. But if he should ask I can always tell him I was delivering you this week’s Crime Stoppers report.”

  “You call me up at the office with those things,” I said.

  “So, I’m on nights and their killing time. I need something to do with myself until I start my shift. I’d rather be busy than lying here trying to fall asleep all afternoon.”

  “Your call,” I responded. Although I suspected Larkin could call a dozen women and instantly come up with better things to keep him occupied.

  “I’ll be there in twenty,” he repeated.

  Alan Larkin walked into our offices a short time later with an unbearable swagger. I’d always attributed his strut to the swollen head he’d developed while playing high school quarterback. He’d used his superior passing arm the fall of his senior year to take our school to a victory at the state championships. Which was no small trick for a school as small as ours. The prize had never been captured before in Cloverton history nor had it been repeated since then.

  My dad looked up at Larkin’s passing and scowled. If Dad was worried about Josh dislodging his favorite candidate for son-in-law, he had nothing to fear from this guy. Larkin had his pick of women for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks. Me, he kept around to feed his need to tease folks.

  “What’s up?” Larkin lowered himself into the chair next to my desk.

  I must admit I was relieved to see him. I thought after he’d turned me down last time, he might be unwilling to deal with me ever again.

  “I’ve got a missing woman I’m trying to track down. She reportedly left for a weekend retreat with a man, and she hasn’t been seen since.”

  “What’s your interest?”

  Yes, I thought, this is where it gets dicey. How could I pull this off without alerting Larkin to my continuing pursuit of Gary’s killer? “I simply want to find her. I thought maybe with your penchant for rumors, you’d know who the man might be.”

  “What’s the woman’s name?”

  “Candy Collins.”

  “Is that the Candy who waits tables out at Bella’s Place?”

  “Yes, do you know her?”

  “Sure. Cops spend a lot of time in restaurants. Very few of us go home for meals or coffee. We get to know most of the local waitresses.” He shot me a lopsided grin.

  “I see.” I could hear the primness in my reply and cursed myself for it. “Anyway, do you know who she was dating?”

  “Hmm. Let me see.” He paused briefly, his brows drawn together in concentration. The, he smiled. “I knew it would come to me. Last I heard, she was running with Eddie Branch.”

  “Hmm.” I replied. At least if she was involved with Eddie that took Larkin off the list.

  The deputy’s eyes darkened with suspicion. “Hold on here. Your interest in Candy doesn’t have anything to do with Gary's death, does it?”

  “Me? Oh, come on. Between you and Dad, what choice do I have but to behave myself?”

  I chuckled internally. Somehow I found the thought of Dad and Larkin engaged in a joint effort amusing. I’m sure my Dad would be startled by that pairing. Dad didn’t look down on people based on their profession. He liked most of the cops that he dealt with just fine. But Dad had never appeared to really care for the deputy.

  But while I was amused, Larkin appeared to be in the grip of a different emotion. “Melanie, I’d like to believe you. Because if it gets back to me that this has any connection… any connection at all… with Gary’s murder, I’m gonna come back here and complain to your father.”

  And wouldn’t that be an interesting exchange, I thought.

  Larkin shook his head, stood and headed for the doorway. “Don’t think I won’t do it,” he warned. “I’m getting tired of your efforts to sneak information from me.”

  I swallowed hard. “Yes. Well, you’ll just have to trust me on this one. That’s all.”

  Liar, liar.

  His gaze caught mine and held it. “Trust you? Of course I do. That’s why I keep so close an eye on what you’re up to.” He rapped the door frame lightly with his knuckles and departed.

  I swallowed a sigh. I’d be a lot happier if that man were easily fooled.

  FOURTEEN

  Larkin’s chair hadn’t cooled off before I was ringing up Eddy Branch. He worked as a hired hand for farmer Harold Phillips. I figured Harold was probably out in the fields at this hour. But that’s why answering machines were invented.

  As I’d expected, I later listed to his canned voice telling me to leave a message.

  “This is Melanie Hart. I’m trying to reach Candy Collins, and I’m not having any luck. Call me.”

  I left my work number, my home number, and my cell phone number and crossed my fingers, my eyes, and my toes. If this dude had taken off with Candy, I probably didn’t have much chance of contacting him. But I had to try. Plus, I couldn’t believe Candy would have gone off and left behind a beloved daughter. I wondered who was watching the girl. Maybe, I should contact them. But first I’d have to learn just who that was.

  That evening, still having heard nothing from Candy’s boyfriend, I updated Ginger on the importance of tracking Candy down.

  “I’ll try Julie, again,” Ginger volunteered. “I’m sure she’ll know who’s watching the little girl.”

  I’d always prided myself on my lengthy list of contacts. People willing to help me track down information were invaluable to me. I might not have as long a list as Larkin, but my contact sheet wasn’t too bad. But now I found Ginger reached an even a broader mix. I was impressed and hopeful that between the two of us, we might crack this case.

  “So what’s new on Treadway?” Ginger asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “And what do we do what about that?”

  Ginger was stumped. I did an internal fist pump.

  “We could check out his lair.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We could drive up to Chicago and canvass his neighbors.

  “Why would we want to do that?”

  “So we can ask them what kind of man they think he is. Maybe, with the use of a handy credit card on his locked door, I can even get inside his place.”

  “You’re nuts. Do you know that?”

  “No, I’m not. We can tell his neigh
bors that he’s applied for an insurance policy, and we’re checking into his background on behalf of the insurance company.”

  “You have an overactive imagination.”

  “Come on. I’m a journalist. No one is more realistic than I am.”

  “What if his neighbors ask for credentials? What then, huh?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.”

  “Worry is starting to work its way into my world when I’m around you.”

  “Flattery will get you no place. Besides, do you have a better idea?”

  I had to wait through many moments of silence while Ginger apparently considered her options. Finally, she asked, “When do you want to pursue this little trick?”

  “This weekend. We know Treadway comes down here every Saturday to see Cordelia. So while he’s driving down, we can be driving up. Easy, huh?”

  “What about Josh?”

  “He has a report due Monday. He can’t make it down this weekend.”

  So that Saturday morning, Ginger and I headed out of town before daybreak. As we set out, we both worked our way through a pair of breakfast sandwiches. Two steaming cups of coffee sat in the cup holders. Around us, the day was dark and dreary and chilly. Clouds hung low, promising to deliver a mean spring shower or two.

  Ten minutes later, I flicked on my windshield wipers. The system I’d thought would bring us showers instead poured down a hearty deluge of rain. It poured across the highway, and I instantly slowed my speed. Then I cursed the fates, as tires from speeding trucks sloshed rainwater onto my windshield. Only the tender shoots of bean and corn plants in the farmers’ fields we passed looked happy about the downpour.

  “I hope you brought an umbrella along this time,” Ginger groused from her seat beside me.

  Our sandwiches had been consumed. Their wrappers had been collected by Ginger and stuffed into the drive-through bag they’d been delivered in. Coffees were nestled in their cup holders and had been more than half consumed.

  “We can stop along the way and buy a couple of umbrellas if this rain doesn’t let up,” I said. That brought our conversation to a halt.

  We continued to roll eastward over the flat Illinois countryside in silence. Our trip this weekend would cost us five hours of driving time. We planned to scope out Treadway’s neighborhood today and take up residence in a posh motel tonight. Our accommodation was located next door to one of Chicago’s most spectacular suburban shopping malls. We intended to hit the mall hard and heavy tomorrow. I acknowledge no law that says business can’t be mixed with a little shopping pleasure.