Boxed Set: Darling Valley Cozy Mystery Series featuring amateur female sleuth Olivia M. Granville

by Cassie Page

  More than anyone on this site, Charles understood Victoria’s shock and sorrow.

  Olivia put her hand on her friend’s arm. “It’s so good of you to be concerned about her. The police have contacted someone, a sister or cousin I think, who’s coming to be with her.”

  He was swallowing hard to fight back his emotions. “If she needs anything, you let me know. Anything.”

  Olivia didn’t know what else to say to him. She looked around. The police had cordoned off the site, sent the visitors home and were interviewing the construction crew behind the frippery. She didn’t see Cody come up behind her and she jumped when he put his hand on her shoulder.

  “What’s next, boss lady? I was helping Carrie pack up her paraphernalia and pastries, but Detective Johnson came over and said it was an active crime scene. Everything has to stay in place. Do they think he died of an overdose of cheese Danish?”

  Olivia said, “There’s no point in you sticking around.”

  He asked, “Planning on leaving anytime soon? If you’re not, I’ll see if I can hitch a ride with someone.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Olivia remembered Cody had ridden over in her truck. The plan had been for him to drive it back to the house while Olivia was at lunch. “You need a ride. Just a minute. Let me figure a few things out.”

  Then Carrie came up behind him. “Want to ride with me, Cody?”

  Olivia saw the indecision on his face. “Go on, Cody. I have a few things to finish up here, then I’ll round up Charles and Tuesday.”

  She saw the glee on Carrie’s face. When was Cody going to figure out that she was in love with him?

  They walked off and she said to Charles, “I’m just about done here and you have to leave the cars in place. Governor Logan is on her way back to Sacramento. I’ve called Hugo’s and cancelled the lunch. I didn’t really give a reason. They are not happy. We can at least head over there for a bite ourselves. What do you say? Tuesday will join us. She was coming as my guest anyway.”

  Charles took another look in the direction of Victoria and when he was satisfied that people were around her and helping with the baby, he said. “Sure.”

  Don’t Blame Me

  He didn’t know his own strength. He didn’t think he’d hit him that hard, but what was he doing there, anyway? It was after quitting time. It was his own fault, all his messing around with things that didn’t concern him. He should have just stuck to his job. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about, now this.

  First he had to find a place for the weapon. Not the car. That would be the first place they’d look. He’d have to start thinking like a cop. Where wouldn’t they look? That was the thing.

  Last night he didn’t think he’d have to ditch it. The body wasn’t supposed to show up. He figured he could clean the thing up a bit and just leave it someplace on the site, like normal. It would be under their noses, hidden in plain sight. If all had gone as planned, they might even have figured the guy ditched his wife and kid and pulled a disappearing act. Now? He knew how these things went down. All anybody was going to talk about was the weapon.

  He lifted his ball cap, scratched his head and readjusted it. How did this happen? He put him six feet under. How did he float to the top? He figured he’d have to time to figure out a better hiding place after the ceremony. But all that rain during the week did more damage to the soil than he realized. And there had been another downpour during the night. Practically turned it to soup so the suits could dig it up with no trouble. Now what?

  Of course, he knew what. He had to face the man.

  He checked his phone. No calls. He wished he had the boss’s number to give him his side of the story. The guy sure was happy to talk last night. After he told him what happened, how he’d handled things. But the boss was a private guy. His number was always blocked. So he had to wait to hear from him. Like waiting for the hangman.

  He could call her. She always calmed him down. That’s what he’d do. He had her on speed dial, of course.

  “It’s me. D’ya hear what happened?”

  “Did I hear? Did I bleeping hear? How often do you get to see somebody dig up a dead body on cable TV?”

  He held his phone away from his ear until she calmed down. Except she didn’t calm down. She continued screaming, “OF COURSE I HEARD, YOU BLINKING IDIOT! HOW COULD YOU LET THAT HAPPEN?”

  Her anger took him by surprise. It wasn’t his fault. He’d done everything he was supposed to. He told her that.

  “What do you mean the rain did it? Don’t give me that. What have I always told you? You’re supposed to prepare for contingencies. For the unexpected. Why didn’t you factor in the rain? You of all people. It’s been all over the news. More rain this week than in the past year. Why WOULDN’T the ground be soggy, make it easy for the guy to float to the top? You couldn’t figure that out?”

  He hated it when she was mad at him. It made him feel so small. Why couldn’t she see his side of it?

  “What was I supposed to do? The guy had to be offed before the ceremony, before he could talk.”

  “Duh. Haven’t you ever heard of weights? You could have put rocks on top of him. You could have found an old engine block somewhere.”

  He got so angry he threw his cap down on the ground. “Engine block? Where am I supposed to find an engine block that time of night? You think this is a wrecking yard?”

  Now she was making him mad. She wasn’t using her head. But she kept after him.

  “Sometimes you can be as dumb as a box of rocks. Why were you putting him there in the first place? Where you knew they would be digging. Front and center. With all the out of the way places on that site and you had to bury him right in front of the cameras?”

  “C’mon. Don’t talk to me like that. You know it makes me feel bad. We hadn’t planned on this. It wasn’t supposed to happen. We’re lucky we found out what he was up to. And don’t forget, that was my doing. I figured that one out.”

  Her voice was screechy she was so angry.

  “Feel bad? You feel bad? That’s going to be the least of your worries when he gets through with you. If the police nail you with this? Say goodbye to our big plans.”

  She paused and he could hear her taking a breath. Then she started up again. “What’s this going to do to me?”

  His phone buzzed. Another call came in. “Listen, I gotta go. He’s calling me on the other line.”

  “Yeah, well you let him know this wasn’t my idea. Botching it like that. You hear me? You tell him. Don’t come to me when he wants answers.”

  He ended the call without saying goodbye and clicked on the other call. “Hello?”

  He listened for a few seconds and broke in. “Listen, I can explain. It wasn’t my fault he popped up like that. Yeah, I know what you told me you’d do to me. But it couldn’t be helped. You have to understand that. . . don’t blame me.”

  Chapter Four: It’s In The Cards, No, The Tea Leaves

  4:1

  The two friends were halfway to the truck before Olivia remembered her tenant. “Tuesday, have you seen Mrs. Harmon?”

  Olivia looked around to see if the elderly woman was still on the site. She hadn’t seen her since the clique around Victoria had broken up and gone home. Mrs. Harmon wouldn’t hear of it, but Olivia worried about her aging tenant. She just wasn’t steady on her feet anymore and the twisted knee from last week made her mobility worse. Please, Olivia whispered to the overcast sky, please tell me she made it home without incident, didn’t get hurt when all the chaos started. She should have paid more attention to her when she was playing with the baby to see if she was okay. If Olivia could get knocked on her hindquarters, no telling what could have happened to frail Mrs. Harmon in that melee.

  “No,” Tuesday said, “I haven’t seen her. Have you seen my hat? I put it on a chair so the baby wouldn’t eat it, and darned if someone didn’t walk off with it.”

  Olivia turned to her. “Is it really a big loss?”

  �
��Girlfriend! How can you dis my favorite Scarlet O’Hara chapeau like that?”

  Olivia shook her head. “What was I thinking? Oh, yeah. Now I remember. I hope Joan Rivers and the fashion police don’t see her in that hat. They’ll put her ego in a sling.”

  Tuesday said, “None so blind. I’m going take one more look around for it. I’ll be right back.”

  Olivia got in the truck and idled the engine while she waited for Tuesday and Charles, who had one last task to finish up before he could leave.

  She texted Cody, but he and Carrie were already on their way back to The Salted Caramel and they hadn’t seen Mrs. Harmon. “Tx, Cdy. Fingers x’ed she’s ok.”

  Oh no, Olivia groaned to her dashboard as she looked in her rear view mirror. Hamish Walsh, the local decorator featured in this month’s Architectural Digest and her client’s new BFF was coming toward her. She rolled down the window and nodded hello. He conspicuously twirled his Mercedes key ring as he nodded back and assessed her ride. “I guess your truck is, well, practical.”

  Back when Olivia was earning big commissions at one of the top design firms in LA, she had tootled around Beverly Hills in a seven series Beemer. The used truck was part of a belt-tightening measure to help her launch her own shop in Darling Valley. She’d sold the fancy car for startup money. She’d promised herself that when she paid off all of her loans she would treat herself to a new BMW. Two years later she had lost her car envy. She was just happy that the truck started every morning, didn’t use too much gas and she was getting referrals from her clients. She did her best to ignore Hamish’s taunt.

  “I didn’t realize you were here, Hamish. My assistant kept track of the attendees, but I don’t recall your name on the list.”

  Hamish smirked. “I was just driving by and thought you wouldn’t mind if I stood in the back for a few minutes and watched the proceedings. I have to say, you know how to put on a show, Olivia.”

  She bristled at the callous remark. “In case you weren’t paying attention, Hamish, a man just died here. Well, he didn’t just die, but I’d think you’d show more respect.”

  “Oh, I’ll show the proper respect when I give Marguerite the details.”

  Olivia interrupted him. “A friendly tip between professionals. She doesn’t like vendors to call her Marguerite. She prefers Mrs. Fredericks.”

  Hamish chuckled. “She doesn’t like her underlings to be so forward. Friends, of course, are another matter.”

  Olivia looked around. Where was Charles? She had to get away from this dreadful man, but he babbled on.

  “As I was saying, Marguerite couldn’t make it as you know. She asked me to fill her in. I guess she wanted a preview of what to expect at her own unveiling on Friday. I’ll be able to give her an earful, won’t I? I wonder where you’ll hide the dead body on her property? I’d say out by the oleanders. There’s good lighting there next to the deck.”

  The shock of this statement showed on Olivia’s face. “Just be careful what you say, Hamish. You don’t want word to get out that you steal clients, do you? There may be a lot of low hanging fruit here in Darling Valley, but the trees have ethics.”

  “Olivia, surely you know how these fortunes were made. The ethical bar is set pretty low.”

  “That was then, this is now, Hamish. You have to know that once these people make their fortunes, they distance themselves from shady dealings. Doesn’t look good on a philanthropist’s website.”

  He sauntered off waving his Mercedes key goodbye.

  A few moments later, Charles was helping Tuesday squeeze into the front seat. He jammed himself in beside her and slammed the door shut.

  Tuesday looked at Olivia. “Who stole your candy, pretty girl? You look like you are about to tan somebody’s hide.”

  “I’d like to.” Then she brushed her mood away. She had enough to worry about without petty Hamish Walsh. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

  Tuesday turned to Charles. “Nothing? I’ve seen that look before. And it ain’t nothin’.”

  Charles gave up struggling to get the seatbelt across both his chest and Tuesday’s voluminous skirts. “Olivia, you better drive careful cuz this thing isn’t going to hold both of us.”

  “I will,” she answered, releasing the break and heading off to Hugo’s.

  She had expected to arrive at the restaurant in the governor’s limousine with Charles in tow in one of his slick 1930’s rides. She remembered the line, make plans and watch God laugh.

  As they arrived at the restaurant and followed Hugo to the banquet room, Olivia noticed all the ladies who lunched cast discreet glances at handsome Charles Bacon. Once he had seated the party, Hugo began complaining about the trouble he’d gone to for this luncheon and the money he was going to lose. When no one offered him any TLC, he took their orders. Olivia said, “I’ll just have the Caesar and ice tea. Thanks.”

  To Charles, she added, “I can’t eat after all this.”

  But he was ravenous. “Gotta keep your strent up, Olivia. Gimme a burger, rare. Extra onions and pickles. A beer.”

  Tuesday said, “Strent?” then realized he meant strength.

  Olivia advised Charles, “You’re paying for the halibut, why not order that?”

  “Nah. This is a shock to the system, the murder and all. I need real food.”

  Olivia winced. “Oh, let’s hope it’s not murder.”

  Tuesday told Hugo she’d have a burger, too. She explained to Charles that she mostly ate clean but would make an exception today. He was probably right about keeping up her strength. “Stress depletes your iron you know.”

  He gave her a funny look. Olivia took a sip of her water. He said, “Just order what you want. What’s with the excuses?”

  Olivia burst out in a laugh, sending a spray of water across her plate.

  An awkward silence descended over the table after the bus boy had set them up with Hugo’s homemade sour dough bread and a dish of olive oil. Tuesday and Charles hadn’t said more than hello and goodbye when they were introduced on the last day of Tuesday’s previous visit to Darling Valley. Today they were all uneasy after what had happened at the site, but Olivia sensed Charles was avoiding Tuesday. Was he shy? Maybe, she thought. More likely it was her get up, the extravagant dress, authentic looking tattoos and bright blue hair. She doubted his new dresser would approve.

  Tuesday broke the silence by throwing up her hands and announcing, “I gotta tell you. I didn’t see this coming. I read my leaves last night and I didn’t see anything about a murder in my cup. Where did this nightmare come from?”

  Olivia guessed this statement troubled Charles even more than her apparel. Olivia explained. “Tuesday is a tea leaf reader.”

  A look of understanding came over his face. “Oh, that explains it. You’re a gypsy.”

  Tuesday had better manners than to insult Olivia’s friend. So, instead of her usual response that only boneheads think it’s just gypsies that read tea leaves, she leaned over and put her hand on his arm.

  “Charles, can I educate you about the origin of my craft?”

  Before he had a chance to object, she gave him the short version of the roots of reading leaves in the bottom of a cup. The craft went back eight hundred years, she explained, possibly originating in India. She had learned the art in London from a very proper Englishwoman who read for celebrities and a few royal heads, a fact Buckingham Palace managed to keep secret from the tabloids with the help of Scotland Yard and the aristocracy’s personal security forces.

  “You don’t say,” was all he said.

  He looked at Olivia for guidance. She explained that Tuesday was very talented. She had actually been instrumental in solving several crimes, and, as a result, earned her rent reading for the clientele in a very popular restaurant near her home, The Mulberry Café.

  That got his attention. He waved over the bus boy clearing away the unused place settings from the far end of the table. “Bring us a cup of tea,” he called.
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br />   Tuesday’s eyes popped. “You want me to read now?”

  “Sure. What better time? Tell us who did this.”

  Suddenly, Charles had a satisfied look on his face as though he now had the key to solving his problems.

  “But I’m not a psychic,” Tuesday said. “I don’t predict the future. The leaves in your teacup are a snapshot of your inner life. I can help you interpret them, but I can’t tell the future unless it concerns you.”

  He shrugged annoyance. “What do you mean my life? How can a dead body on my property not be about my life? Just the read the leaves and tell us who did it.”

  Tuesday cocked her head at Olivia, hoping for backup, but her friend offered none. So she said, “Sorry, Charles, it doesn’t work that way. I can’t just pour a cup of tea and tap into the wisdom of the universe. I can only take a look at what’s going on in your own life, not that poor man’s. That’s just the way I roll.”

  “Okay. Whatever. Let’s get a cup of tea. But you gotta drink it. I can’t stand that stuff. That’s the way I roll.”

  After a bit more explaining, Tuesday broke open the tea bag that came with a little pot of hot water--Hugo did not stock loose tea—and Charles allowed that if he could sweeten his tea to his liking he could swallow it. While he sipped the hot tea, Tuesday fished her special scarf out of her oversized tote bag. She carried the piece of silk with her at all times and explained that she used it to channel the information.

  Charles followed her instructions to leave a few drops in the bottom of the cup, turned it upside down to scatter the leaves and Tuesday went to work.

  She studied the cup and gave Olivia a troubled look. Charles caught it. “What? What’s with the look?”

  Tuesday explained. “Well, this is actually an ideal cup, some difficult symbols balanced with some positive ones. I like cups with a little of both.”

  Charles showed his impatience. “Yeah, yeah, but what does it say about the murder?”