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

by Anna Drake

  “Exactly.”

  “But she wasn’t anywhere near the rehearsal dinner. I think I would have noticed her if she had been.”

  I set the phone book back down between us. “So maybe Candy only placed the call to Gary. Maybe somebody else swiped your cell phone and passed it on to her.”

  “Or maybe she didn’t make the call.”

  “Then how come she has your cell phone?”

  “I don’t know,” Ginger looked worried. “I’d hate to accuse somebody of theft or worse. What if I was wrong and an innocent person suffered because of me? I don’t think I could live with the knowledge.”

  “Yes, well you weren’t so tender a couple of days ago when you were hurling suspicions at Cordelia.”

  “That’s different.”

  “How is that any different than this?”

  “We know Cordelia. This gal I’ve never seen in my life.”

  Somewhere in that statement there was logic, although at the moment I couldn’t quite lay a finger on it.

  I glanced about us and saw a curtain twitch at the window of one of the houses we were parked near. Nosey neighbors were apparently just as active here as elsewhere in town.

  “Ginger, for now,” I said, “lets just figure out which house she lives in?”

  I repeated Candy’s address aloud.

  “There it is,” Ginger cried out.

  I glanced up from the phone book. “Where?”

  “The blue house over there.” She pointed.

  Following the direction of her finger, I saw a one story, older home painted a washed out blue with gingerbread trim decorating the porch roof. The address was 217 A listed above 217 B,

  “Do you think there are two apartments in that tiny place?”

  “Well, since there isn’t a second floor, I’d say apartment A is in the front, so I’d say B much be around back. Now what?”

  “Let’s go get some coffee and let the sun go down.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if we have to break in I don’t want to do it in the daylight, someone might see us.”

  “What makes you think we’ll need to break in?”

  “We’ve been trying to reach Candy for days and days now without luck. What makes you think she’ll be home tonight?”

  “You intend for us to burglarize Candy’s apartment?”

  “Only to make sure she has your phone. That’s all.”

  “What if she’s home?”

  “We’ll knock first. And if she is there, we’ll introduce ourselves, wish her well, and tell her she needs to let people know she’s alive, and demand she return your phone.”

  “You think that will work?”

  “We won’t know ‘til we try.”

  So more hour later, with multiple cups of coffee sloshing around in our bellies, we emerged from Howie’s eatery and headed back to Walnut Street. The sun had set. Stars twinkled above. But even in the dark, Ginger’s face showed signs of inner turmoil.

  “You think this is safe?”

  “Do you have another suggestion?”

  “Not off the top of my head.”

  “Trust me, then.”

  “Trust her, she says.” Ginger shook her head fiercely. “Seems like last time I did that somebody called the cops.”

  I kept mum and pulled in front of Candy’s apartment. “We’ll be in an out of that place before anyone will notice we’re around.”

  “So you say.”

  “Want to wait here? Keep the car running in case we need to make a quick getaway?”

  “I do not. There’s safety in numbers. I figure I owe you that much support at least. But if you land me in jail, I won’t be responsible for my actions when we get out.”

  “Fair enough.”

  I stepped out into the night. It was still. There was a nip in the air. A ribbon of light poured out of the living room window in the front apartment. I could see an elderly woman seated in front of a televisions set.

  Taking care to stay well outside the bright beam which cut a wide swath through the front lawn, I led Ginger cautiously to the rear of the house. We pranced up the porch stairs on tip toe and pulled up silently before a narrow back door.

  “Now what?” Ginger whispered.

  “Well, there aren’t any lights showing. That’s a good sign. I suspect the house is empty.” I lifted my hands and rapped lightly on the door. I didn’t want to alert the woman in the front apartment to our presence. We waited several minutes. I repeated my effort. Again there was no response from within the darkened dwelling.

  Casually, I slipped a credit card out of my pocket and slipped it into the narrow strip separating the door from the frame. I’d practiced this move on our back door before picking Ginger up. I was rusty with the trick.

  “Where’d you learn to do that?” Ginger whispered from beside me.

  “Larkin showed it to me once. I don’t know why. I’m sure if he saw me at this moment, he’d want to take the lesson in burglary back.” I couldn’t hold in a chuckle.

  A second wiggle of the card, and the bolt slipped free. I swung the door open.Ginger and I crept across the threshold, and we proceeded from being two honest women to potential felons if we were caught. We took two more steps into the interior of the home.

  “Anybody here?” I called out softly.

  There was no reply

  “Did you bring a flashlight?” Ginger whispered.

  “Yes, but we can’t use it until we close the window shades. I don’t want us signaling our presence with an errant flashlight beam.”

  “I’ll take the living room,” Ginger said, moving to my right. “You go handle the other rooms.”

  Her division of labor didn’t seem quite fair to me considering this was her phone we were after. But I decided to keep mum on the point.

  I inched along in the dark searching for the door to the next room. Fortunately, the apartment was small, leaving me with a closet-sized bedroom and a tiny bathroom to cover. I pulled the drapes tight in the bedroom and lowered the shade in the bathroom. Then, I flipped on the flashlight and worked my way back to Ginger. Flicking the beam around the living room, I noticed a line of cabinets and appliances on the far wall that apparently counted as a kitchen.

  “It’s a small apartment,” I told her.

  “So I noticed. Not much room for a grown woman with a child.”

  “She probably can’t afford anything better.”

  “When she turns up, I’ll talk to her about going to beauty school. She could do better than this if she worked for me. Plus, I’ll free up an apartment on the second floor of my shop for her.”

  A couple of years ago, Ginger had moved her business into the first floor of her deceased parent's old Victorian house on Main Street. The second floor was rented out to whatever staff needed a cheap place to live. That Ginger would even consider hiring a woman she suspected of stealing her phone astounded me. But that was Ginger. As a child, she’d never met a stray animal she didn’t drag home with her to nurse back to full health.

  I shook my head “Just look for the phone.”

  She dove for the couch.

  “What are you doing?”

  “This is where my things always end up, buried in that little space between the seat and the frame.” She ripped the cushions off and shoved her hand into the crevice along the right side of the sofa. I thought she was mad.

  “Aha,” she said, raising a triumphant hand in the air. It bore a cell phone.

  “Is it yours?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I don’t believe it.” I drew nearer.

  “See that nick there in the right-hand corner? That’s my baby all right. Plus, look at this list of contacts. See your name there?”

  “Okay, you’re right. Now, put it back.”

  “Huh?” Ginger glanced over at me.

  “We have to leave it here for the police to discover.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this is evidence in a murder
case, and they’d skin us alive or worse if they discovered we made off with it.”

  “But it’s my phone.”

  “You’ll get it back when the cops are done with it. Anyway, you can afford to buy a new one.”

  “I already have. But I like this one better.”

  I studied the object. “Are your fingerprints on file anywhere?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your fingerprints. Have the police made a record of them?”

  “How would I know?”

  “It’s dead simple. They roll your fingers over an ink pad and then print the whorls on a blank paper.”

  “Ah, no. I don’t remember anyone ever doing that to me.”

  “Good. That means we can leave the phone just as it is. I’d hate to have to wipe it clean of prints, but if your prints aren’t in the system, we’re good to go.”

  Besides, wiping the phone free of prints could also count as tampering with evidence. I was pleased my conscience did not have to struggle with that wrinkle. Even knowing Ginger’s fate rested with my decision, I wasn’t sure which side of the fence I’d have come down on then. My willingness to commit a felony will only takes me so far before I yield to my sense of duty.

  Ginger eyed me curiously. “But how are the police going to find my phone?”

  “You’re going to use my cell phone to call them and tell them about your GPS trick.”

  “I am?”

  “You can feed the police the coordinates, then let them figure it out from there.”

  “You’re devious.”

  “Come on, let’s get out of here, I’ll feel a whole lot better on the other side of that door.”

  SEVENTEEN

  The next morning I resumed my place at work confident that Dad would be getting a phone call from Gossford before the day ended. Candy must have been the person who’d called Gary and lured him to his death. The police would have no trouble twigging to that fact. It would be a real break in their murder investigation. They’d want to put the word out. Make themselves look good. Dad would have an exciting murder story to write for tomorrow’s edition of the Gaze

  And good thing it was, too. Dad’s sighs over the absence of progress in Gary’s death had worked themselves up to the size of hurricane-force winds. I couldn’t take listening to his displeasure another hour let alone another day.

  Well, that’s the way things were supposed to work out, but instead the next morning, I received a summons to Dad’s office that shifted the murder investigation into a whole new direction.

  “I’ve just had a call from Gossford,” Dad said.

  I smiled internally, assuming I knew what was coming. “Super. What did he say?”

  “That the police in Claire County have discovered the body of a murdered woman.”

  My knees buckled. I sank down in the chair opposite dad’s desk. “A woman? Murdered? Who?”

  Dad took a second look at me. “Melanie, are you all right?”

  I waved off his concern. “Did Gossford say who this woman was?”

  “Yes. her name is Candy Collins. She apparently works as a waitress at Bella’s Place.”

  My heart raced. My mind grappled with the news. We’d broken into a murder victim’s apartment?

  Dad’s brows drew together in concern. “Melanie, are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I may have another headache coming on.” I offered up a wan smile. “It will pass.”

  But I also knew this new wrinkle in Gary’s murder wouldn’t go away so easily.

  Father shook his head. “You need to take better care of yourself. You’re chasing around all over the place. Stay home more. Get more rest. Anyway, Gossford says you can call this guy to get the details on the killing.” Dad passed me a slip of paper with a name and phone number scribbled across it. “That fellow is heading up the investigation for the sheriff’s department up there in Claire County.”

  Finally, I had my hands on my first murder story. But it was tied to Gary’s death. I knew that for a fact. I just didn’t know who else did.

  I sat in the chair a minute, a list of possibilities shifting through my mind. Should I tell Dad that Ginger’s phone had been traced to this woman’s apartment? He’d demand to know where I’d obtained my information. I couldn’t see myself explaining that Ginger and I had found the phone for ourselves last night. I doubted Dad would smile at the news of having a cat burglar for a daughter.

  As far as Gossford was concerned, if he’d tracked down Ginger’s cell phone, he’d see the connection between the murdered waitress and Gary’s death immediately. I didn’t feel obligated to worry myself sick on Gossford’s behalf, at least.

  Back at my desk, I snatched up the phone. First things first. I had a murder story to write. Whatever questions I wanted answered about this woman’s role in Gary's death would have to wait until after I'd met my obligation to the newspaper and to our readers. This was somebody's daughter and mother. Whether innocent or guilty of Gary’s murder, her tale deserved to be told.

  The Claire County detective, Harry Ford, responded instantly to my call. “Her body was found by some picnickers in a remote spot about a mile removed from the lake. If it hadn't been for the group straying so far from the lodge, her remains might never have been found. We have a lot of wilderness up here. And not that many picnickers. The odds against them coming upon the body are enormous.”

  I finished writing his information into my notebook. “Anything more you can share with me?”

  “No, but you might do me a good turn. Give out my name and number and let your readers know I'd appreciate their sharing any tips they might have with me.”

  “You think someone from down here killed her?”

  “Other than the owners of the hotel, I can't find a soul around here who ever heard her name mentioned before.”

  "Did you know Candy was dating a local man?”

  “You got his phone number?”

  “Sure.” I put the detective on hold and looked up the number and passed it along to him.

  I hoped the detective wouldn’t mention me to the police here as the source of the boyfriend’s name. Gossford would be all over me wondering why I was pursuing information on a missing waitress. Then he’d want to know why I hadn’t shared the boyfriend’s name with him. This was all becoming so complex I felt I needed to start keeping a score sheet. “Do you have any idea of the time of death?”

  "The coroner says she'd probably been killed close to two weeks ago."

  Which meant she died soon after Gary’s murder, I thought.

  After ringing off with Ford, I placed calls to Candy's mother and Bella. I scribbled down their memories of the beloved woman. As I listened to the words of praise coming through the phone line, it was hard to keep my mouth shut. I knew Candy had played some role in Gary's murder.

  After I'd written up the news story, I gave Dad the high sign that the assignment was in the computer and ready for his editorial review. Then, I leaned back in my chair and pondered what role Candy might have played in Gary’s death.

  She'd lured Gary from the church. That was obvious. Why else would she have had Ginger's phone in her apartment? But I struggled to understand how deep a role she had played. Had she been the killer? I found it hard to picture a woman possessing the strength of strangle Gary. He’d been a large man. Besides, if she’d been Gary’s killer there would have been no need for her to die. She’d have hardly killed herself.

  More likely, I thought, Candy been a pawn drafted into someone else’s plan. Had she been paid to make the call, or had she placed the call as a favor? She worked at Bella’s Place. She had served the guests at the bachelor party. She’d have had contact with Stepich, I thought.

  But if she’d merely been an accomplice, had she known placing that call would lead to Gary’s death? Or had she believed her message was nothing more than an innocent prank, something designed to make a groom look foolish on his wedding day. Then, perhaps, after the murde
r, she put things together. And she’d needed killing to shut her up?

  I sighed. These were questions for which I hadn’t any answers. Nor did I know where to find some.

  Duped victim, or murder accomplice? Which role had Candy played, I wondered as I pounded the end of my pencil against my desk.

  ***

  I sat like that, lost in speculation, for I don’t know how long. At some point Dad gave me a big thumbs up for the news story on Candy’s death. Guilt about not telling my father everything I knew about the murdered waitress spoiled my joy at his appreciation for my writing.

  I tossed my battered pencil down my desk and let my gaze flick restlessly about the familiar room. I needed to ferret out fresh information to make up for the important knowledge I was withholding from the police. I owed it to Candy to make an extra effort to get to the bottom of her murder. And I’d decided just where I was going to start.

  Although I dreaded taking such a heartless step, I had to speak frankly with Cordelia. I only prayed my frontal attack wouldn’t shatter her fragile recovery.

  I picked up the phone and called my friend.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “About?”

  “I can’t discuss this over the phone.”

  “My, that sounds ominous.”

  “It is. In fact I’d rather meet with you in a more neutral spot than at your house. How about we take a ride out to the lake? I’ll pick up a couple of sandwiches from the Minute Mart, and we’ll make a picnic of it.” I thought the sight of deep blue water might help relax Cordelia. Plus, the site would shield her tears from prying eyes.

  Some twenty minutes later, as sunshine shimmered off the lake’s restless surface, I pulled my car off the road and onto the soft shoulder. Cordelia and I sat a quiet moment, watching a pair of ducks sport their duckly moves. Bottoms up was apparently one of their favorite tricks. I knew the creatures were engaged in a serious activity, diving for food to keep their bellies filled, but I’d always enjoyed watching them do that particular antic.

  Cordelia sighed. “So why have you dragged me out here, Melanie?”