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

by Cassie Page

Chapter Twenty-Three: Follow That Car

  Olivia rammed her truck into reverse and was backing out of the parking space while Tuesday was still closing her door and fastening her seat belt. “Whoa, cowgirl,” she said, alarmed. “Are you going to head him off at the pass?”

  “Something like that.”

  Olivia whipped the truck around and followed the white pickup in front of her. She spotted the driver drumming on the steering wheel while bobbing his head, obviously listening to music. He casually checked out the sights on the Boulevard as he maneuvered slowly north, apparently in no particular hurry. They were coming to a stoplight and Olivia changed lanes, easing her 4x4 to the left so she could pull up next to his driver side.

  “Tuesday don’t let him see you staring, but get the company name on the side of the truck and a phone number or website address if there is one. And sit in front of the window so he can’t see me in case he’d recognize me from Greg’s.”

  Tuesday protested. “This is dangerous and foolhardy, girlfriend. If he is really a killer, he’ll figure out you’re on to him and you could be next. And then he’ll probably come after me as your accomplice.”

  “Not if he doesn’t see me.” Olivia glared at her to drive home her point. “Girlfriend!”

  Tuesday whispered, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” then twisted around to position herself in the passenger window. She pretended to look for a street sign as Olivia slowed down at the light.

  “Got it?”

  “Got it,” whispered Tuesday, her voice breathy and tense.

  “Don’t move, yet. This must be the longest light in the western world.” Olivia leaned back to be sure she was out of Michelangelo’s line of sight.

  “You won’t believe his name, Ollie girl. Michelangelo Landscaping. And he does indeed look like a Greek god.”

  Olivia said hurriedly, “Michelangelo was a sculptor, not a Greek god.”

  “I know that. But he sculpted them and man, I have a feeling this guy is really chiseled.”

  “Tuesday! Stop ogling a murderer.”

  “Innocent until proven guilty.”

  “How can you think about other men when you know Clipper adores you?”

  “Maybe he should stick around to remind me.”

  “That’s all show, Tues. You’d never cheat on him any more than I would on Matt.”

  “I know,” she said, nodding towards the gardener’s truck. “Can’t blame me for looking, though.”

  The driver apparently heard them and turned his head to check out Olivia’s truck. The light changed and Olivia took off before he could see her, then hooked a left down a side street as Michelangelo proceeded north on Darling Boulevard. She pulled over to the curb and dug into her purse for her phone. Hurriedly, she searched Michelangelo Landscaping and found ML Darling Valley, Antonio Michelangelo, Prop. Jocelyn’s love interest smiled out of a lush, colorful garden. Underneath he promised, These beautiful flowers can be yours. Call me.

  She shoved her purse and phone onto Tuesday’s lap. “Not a very artful website but he gets his point across. But most important? I know where he lives.”

  Tuesday corrected her. “You mean where he works.”

  “Did you notice the trailer in the back of the garden in that photo? I could see a cereal box in the window. That’s where he lives.”

  She gave Michelangelo’s address to the voice assistant on her phone.”

  “Fasten your seatbelt, Tues.” And she peeled off.

  With Tuesday continually urging her to turn back, Olivia followed the GPS directions out to the harbor. Many large, pristine yachts and sailboats lay at anchor near the entrance to the Darling Valley Yacht Club on the north end of Darling Lake. Few of the vessels were ocean going, but there was enough wind coming off the Pacific for a brisk afternoon’s sail, yet the lake was calm enough for powerboats to tow water skiers.

  However, at the south end of the lake a ragtag trailer camp met a meth park in a rural wonderland of tents and sheds. Sleeping bags airing in the sun shared clothesline space with tattletale gray undershirts, bras and panties that had seen better days and frayed jeans. Outside several of the trailers, most of them hooked on to pickup trucks, sat improvised kitchens made up of hibachis or barbecues with sacks of briquettes leaning up against the tires and Styrofoam coolers for refrigeration.

  What the encampment didn’t have was Michelangelo’s truck in the parking area.

  Tuesday said the obvious. “He’s on a job.”

  Olivia nodded grimly. “You’re right. Let’s go see if they let him take calls at work.”

  “Whatever you say, girlfriend. Do you happen to know his employer?”

  “I know one of them. Even though the lady of the house is permanently indisposed, the grass still needs cutting.”

  Twenty minutes later she was driving up into the hills dotted with the lush mansions for which Darling Valley had become famous. Past Tudors, Mediterranean villas, and modern glass and steel castles that took advantage of the views of the bay and San Francisco beyond. She slowed down at a gated palace that had taken its inspiration from ancient Rome, all pastel plaster, fluted columns and arched windows.

  Olivia parked across the street and set the brake before reaching for her purse. “Home sweet home,” she said and hopped out.

  Tuesday had trouble closing her mouth. “How many people live here?”

  “Only one now, but two and a live-in staff of six when Jocelyn was alive. Your basic starter bungalow. You know, where the owner starts small with maybe a ten thousand square foot fixer upper, builds some equity and sells at a profit so they can find something really roomy.”

  Tuesday was still gaping at the mansion. “You mean next time they’ll go for Versailles.”

  “Oh, trust me. Versailles would be moving down in the world compared to these digs.”

  Olivia heard a text come in on her phone. She read it with fire in her eyes. “He didn’t!”

  She leaned against the truck fender to collect herself. Dumbstruck, she held the phone up to show Tuesday the news flash from the local paper.

  It showed a still photo of Brooks Baker with his hand on the shoulder of Arthur Payne’s son in front of the hospital with the accompanying brief text.

  Former boyfriend of suspected murderer in the Jocelyn Payne case says about Granville, “She’s capable of it.”

  “That creep!” Tuesday flailed her arms and kept calling Brooks names. “How could he do that to you? What is he talking about, you’re capable of murder?”

  Olivia stared at Tuesday, stunned. “Am I on some crazy train, Tuesday? Everything in my life is topsy-turvy. I’m accused of murder, Matt won’t speak to me, my neighbors sneer when they see me and Brooks does this?”

  Her phone rang again and she glared at it as though she were about to attack it. Then Cody’s name popped up and her shoulders relaxed. He’d gotten the text, too, he said. He described what he and his friends were going to do to Brooks.

  “No, no, no, Cody,” she said, worried. “You have to step back. All I need is to have my assistant hauled up on assault charges. When this all calms down I’ll buy you a plane ticket to LA and you can meet him in a dark alley for all I care, but right now we need to stay cool.”

  The talk with Cody calmed her down, which in turn made her feel that she was in the driver’s seat again. She told him they would all meet for Victor’s pizza back at the house later and strategize, but right now she had work to do and said goodbye.

  Somehow, she stuffed down her anger at Brooks and got back to work.

  “Come on, Tuesday, we’ve got to track down the real killer and not let that jerk distract us. Follow me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Breaking And Entering

  They walked like cartoons of Sherlock Holmes and Watson, minus the magnifying glass. Olivia first, hunched over behind the hedge, leading Tuesday, both of them stalking a side gate that Olivia used when she worked on Jocelyn’s closet project. Jocelyn’s husband didn’t like ugly s
ervice vehicles in the driveway. So Jocelyn gave her the entry code one day so she could shield her truck behind some bushes near the gate when she had to unload materials. Olivia had to promise Jocelyn she would never let Art Payne know she had access to the property. She’d kept this secret from Detective Johnson, as well.

  Olivia crossed her fingers and punched in the code. As expected, the lock clicked open. Jocelyn was supposed to change the code weekly, but Olivia had learned that housekeeping details were not her client’s strong point. Olivia’s phone rang again. When she saw Brooks’s name on the screen, she showed it to Tuesday. “He’s got some nerve, calling me,” she said, striding forward and ignoring the call.

  Tuesday stopped her. “Whoa, baby girl. I don’t think Brooks is the only nervy critter on the ranch. Where are we going? I didn’t sign up for breaking and entering. When you find the gardener are you going to make a citizen’s arrest and hope that the photograph of him snogging the mistress of the house holds up as concrete evidence he committed murder and mayhem on her person?”

  Olivia brushed her off. “I don’t know what we’re doing here. But this is the best lead we’ve had since Awful Arlo all but accused me of murder. I just want to have a peek around and see what we can see. There’s got to be a connection here to those photos of Jocelyn with Matt. Now be quiet and follow me.”

  They were in a side garden laid out in geometric plots of flowers and herbs. A border of high bushes and flowering trees conveniently camouflaged them from the brilliant green lawn sloping up to the house.

  “All quiet on the western front,” whispered Tuesday.

  Olivia nodded. “I’m assuming the kiddies are staying here for their stepmother’s funeral.”

  “Kiddies?”

  “Didn’t you hear JR mention his younger sister on the news?”

  They were far enough from the house that they didn’t need to whisper, yet Tuesday said in a low voice, “Perhaps they are all at the hospital keeping vigil by their father’s side. No cars around.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” explained Olivia. “You’d never see their cars out front, even if they were all home. They are always either in use or garaged and out of sight.”

  “Oh, right. Remind me to send a memo to my chauffeur,” Tuesday answered in a nasally lady of the manor accent.

  Tuesday lived on the upper floor of a two-story apartment complex in Los Angeles. She parked her well-aged Honda Civic on the street and prayed for a parking space closer than three blocks from her front door each time she came home with six bags of groceries and consignment finds.

  “It’s for security, Tuesday. Keeps crooks off kilter so they can’t tell whether anyone is home. Plus, it looks tacky to have service vehicles in front of your mansion.”

  Olivia waved her forward. They crept along a high brick wall draped with colorful bougainvillea that Olivia had always envied when she came to the work site. It was her favorite garden look, but each time she tried planting the vines the chill winds coming off the Pacific made a beeline for her back yard and, one by one, the Beautiful B’s, as she called them, shriveled up.

  They’d crept along until they were almost at the back of the house. They could see the enormous, manicured garden and pool area that disappeared into a grove of trees in the distance. Olivia pointed to the lush blanketing of bougainvillea blossoms hanging over the wall next to them. She mouthed, “Careful. Thorns.”

  It was too late. The voluminous folds of Tuesday’s dress of many colors had caught on the vine, impaled on the thorns.

  Tuesday swore and Olivia shushed her, feeling very exposed now. Olivia tried to unhook the fabric without sticking herself and bleeding on the dress. They couldn’t move until she freed Tuesday. So far, her efforts were only tearing the dress. As she pulled and tugged, the thin fabric floated around them, snagging itself on more thorns.

  Then voices started to float around them, as well, a man and a woman. Olivia put her finger to her lips. “Someone’s back there. Duck.”

  She continued tugging on the dress, then hissed, “Tuesday, I can’t get this free. You’re going to have to take off the dress. It’s caught on too many thorns.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  Olivia clamped her hand over her friend’s mouth. “Do you want them to hear us?” Then she whispered urgently. “TAKE YOUR DRESS OFF! QUIETLY!”

  They froze when they heard a man say, “Watch what you’re saying. Whose side are you on?”

  Tuesday insisted in a low voice, “I’m NOT taking my fudging dress off.”

  Olivia cocked her head to see if she could identify the voice while she struggled to get Tuesday out of her tent.

  A youthful female insisted, “If she’s guilty why isn’t she under arrest? That’s what I’d like to know.”

  Olivia and Tuesday stared at each other over the billowing stripes. Olivia pantomimed, “They’re talking about me!”

  The man said, “Oh don’t be such an idiot.”

  Olivia recognized the voice from cable news. The son, JR Payne.

  When he said, “She didn’t do it, Melissa. Daddy did!” Olivia and Tuesday fist pumped.

  Then they heard Melissa sob, “Don’t say that. Daddy couldn’t have.”

  “Melissa, you don’t know him as well as I do.”

  Olivia yanked Tuesday’s dress over her head. Tuesday, all but naked except for her unmentionables, quickly crossed her arms over her front and crouched behind Olivia in an attempt to cover herself. “I can’t believe you did that! Give me my dress back.”

  Olivia whispered, “Oh for god’s sake, Tues, nobody can see you,” her ear cocked trying to hear what the siblings were saying. Now that she had access to the fabric, she began unhooking it from the thorns. It wasn’t giving up without a fight.

  JR was saying, “You’re still a baby. Our father hasn’t shown you his true colors yet. He wants you to see him as some Master of the Universe. How do you think he became who he is? Where do you think the money came from? Thinking kind thoughts? Try crossing him and you’ll find out what he’s really like.”

  Melissa whimpered, “But how do you know he did it? Do you have proof?”

  JR snarled, “Who else would have done it? You know what she was like. She was only after his money. Our money. Who’d blame him? I can’t think of anyone else with such a powerful a motive.”

  “What motive, JR? He adored her.” The sister was pleading for her father’s innocence in a little girl’s voice.

  Olivia was wishing for x-ray vision to peer through the corner of the house. She imagined them on the deck overlooking the pool that Jocelyn had loved.

  JR scoffed at his sister’s naïveté. “He didn’t adore the fact that she was playing around with any male within kissing distance. Like that detective.”

  Olivia and Tuesday stared at each other with saucer eyes. Olivia said, “Detective? No.”

  The son added a postscript to his indictment of his father. “I believe he’s capable of anything.”

  Olivia let the fabric fall from her hands as she listened. The sun was moving across the sky throwing shadows in the back garden but illuminating the spot where she stood. Deathly still, she waited for the voices to continue.

  The girl spoke next. “So why are you saying the Olivia person did it?”

  “Those photos and texts, remember. When they showed up I realized she’s a perfect target.”

  “But you don’t really think she did it?”

  “Oh, I guess there’s an outside chance. But I think they were just being catty with each other. But better her in prison than our father, right?”

  Olivia sputtered to Tuesday, “He’s the one who’s framing me.”

  Suddenly a male voice boomed from behind them. “Hey there, it’s me. Anybody home? Are you in the garden?”

  Olivia and Tuesday peeked from behind a tree to see a familiar jaunty figure strolling down the walk. JR came from around the back of the house to greet him, a pretty dark girl next to him that Oli
via assumed was his sister. She had not expected to see the figure loping behind her. Awful Arlo.

  Tuesday lost control first. Outraged, she pointed at the new visitor, exposing her Betty Boop thong with matching push up bra. “What are you doing here?”

  The foursome turned as one to stare open-mouthed at half-naked Tuesday and Olivia gaping in shock over an armful of cheap, multi-colored nylon.

  The girl spoke first. “Who are you?” she demanded. “What are you doing on our property?”

  Olivia ignored her, seething at the visitor. “Brooks Baker. Why are you mixed up in this?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five: A Room Full of Roses

  “Murder isn’t enough? Olivia Granville has to torment the grieving family with breaking and entering?”

  Olivia read Awful Arlo’s latest blog post to Cody. It showing a series of Instagrams of half-naked Tuesday trying to hide behind Olivia, screaming in pain as she backed into the wall of thorns, the striped tent billowing around them.

  “What was Arlo doing there? Has he moved in with the family?” Cody had just arrived home early for the promised pizza and strategy session.

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” said Olivia.

  She set her computer aside. The three conspirators sat around the kitchen table trying to absorb what had happened at the Payne estate. Tuesday looked at the photos again and sulked. “I hope my friends don’t read this? My hair looks weird in that light.”

  Cody said, “Maybe it’s not the light?” then turned his attention back to Olivia. “So fill me in. What happened after the cops showed up?”

  Olivia described the blistering smack down Detective Johnson delivered when he answered the 911 call from JR Payne.

  “If it isn’t Miss Granville and her sidekick,” he’d sneered, his earlier camaraderie when he was asking about Xavier nowhere to be seen.

  Fortunately, one of DVPD’s female officers had also answered the call and helped Tuesday get back into her torn and bloodied dress without mishap. She escorted Tuesday away from the bougainvillea, with the suspect yelling fruitlessly, “Take your hands off me.”