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

by Cassie Page

  “Clipper? You were talking about Clipper in your condition?”

  He admonished Olivia, “Stop worrying. I’m good,” then turned his attention back to making coffee and the rundown on his night with Tuesday.

  “After we ran out of food, we went back to our respective beds and played Words With Friends on our phones. I think she fell asleep first. It was four the last time I looked. I was beating her pretty good. I got a seven-letter word on a triple word score plus the bonus for using all the letters at once. It wiped out her lead.”

  Olivia took the coffee pot out of his hand and led him to the table, insisting he sit down. He seemed to have trouble enunciating because of the swelling in his face. “But how are you feeling? Do you hate Matt? You must hate Matt.”

  He touched his cheek tenderly. “A little sore. Do you think the shiner will help me win over the chicks? You know, make them want to come over and fluff my pillows? Maybe Carrie would. I’ve been thinking about her. What were you saying about me being blind about her?”

  Carrie? Where had his brain gone while he was high on Percodan? “Yeah, she probably would. Now what about Matt?”

  “Matt? I couldn’t hate Matt. He’s my man. He didn’t mean to hit me.”

  While the coffee dripped, Olivia pulled two coffee mugs down from the cupboard and sat across from her beleaguered roommate/assistant/treasured friend. “Well, as you can imagine, he feels terrible. Needless to say, you get the day off with pay.”

  Cody gave a fist pump. “Cool, dude. Knock me down the stairs anytime.”

  “Don’t call me dude,” Olivia said, grinning back at him, almost weak with relief that he seemed like the old Cody.

  Tuesday walked into the kitchen just then, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “It’s the middle of the night. Why is everybody up?”

  “It’s six already.” Olivia’s phone interrupted her. “Time for working girls to get busy.”

  She checked the screen. “And Charles is awake. If anyone is pouring coffee, I’ll have some. I’ll take this in the living room.”

  She plopped into her club chair and tucked her feet under her. “Hi, Charles. What are you doing up this early?”

  “Olivia, I gotta see ya.”

  She sat up, the anguish in his voice putting her on the edge of her seat. “Charles, you sound wretched. What’s wrong?”

  Charles never cried wolf. If he was upset, there was a good reason.

  “Franny left.”

  Her shoulders relaxed. False alarm. “Back to Sacramento so soon? I thought she was staying for the weekend. If you’re batching it, maybe we can have lunch.”

  “Olivia,” Charles sounded near tears. “She LEFT me. For good. It’s over. She gave me the ring back.”

  Olivia flopped back in the chair. “Don’t tell me that. I can’t take one more bit of bad news. Please tell me it’s April Fool’s Day and this is a joke.”

  “I wish, Olivia. What am I gonna do? First I lose Ellie and now Franny? I can’t take this.”

  Olivia was at a loss for words. “You have to tell me what happened.”

  “Olivia, I don’t have much time. I’m checking out a new car for the collection, a 1949 Delahaye 175 Saoutchik Coupe de Ville. It’s a beaut. Supposed to be the most beautiful car ever designed. You know it?”

  “No,” she said. “Can’t say I do.”

  Boys and their toys, she thought. Whatever had happened, it hadn’t taken his mind off his antique cars. “Go on.”

  “We were supposed to go to Granite Bay together for a test ride, Franny and me. I still have to drive up there to talk to the owner at nine. Can you meet me for breakfast in half an hour?”

  Granite Bay was a luxury community on the outskirts of Sacramento, not as posh as Darling Valley, but close.

  Inwardly, Olivia groaned. She could use another hour of sleep, but she said, “Of course I can. Where?”

  “How about that new place, Good Eats? Easy to park at that end of Darling Boulevard.”

  “They don’t open until seven. Make it an hour. And Charles. This will work out. It’s probably just wedding jitters. Very common in brides-to-be.”

  Olivia remembered her own jitters, but that was because her groom-to-be, Brooks Baker, had ditched her hours before the wedding.

  “That’s not what Franny said.”

  Olivia didn’t know what to say to comfort him. She hated saying everything will be all right because so often it wasn’t. “We’ll talk. Stay strong.”

  “Bye, everybody,” Olivia called, zipping up her jacket. Cody had retreated to the living room temporarily so she could get dressed, but as she passed through the kitchen to the stairs, she saw him conked out again on the couch. Tuesday was still in the shower, so she snuck downstairs and out the screen door. She hopped into her truck and called Matt.

  It was up to her to reach out first she decided. He probably would stay away and let her cool off after the disaster of last night. But she wanted to know how his hand was, and whether he had any ideas about the Michelangelo-Melissa duo. And, if truth be told, she just wanted to hear his voice. She always wanted to hear his voice, to see him, be near him. Even when she was mad at him.

  Which did not mean that she fell asleep easily last night. She tossed and turned, wondering what would have happened if Cody had not been in the way and Matt continued his ranting at Brooks? She had heard from Matt’s co-workers that he never even raised his voice to the bad guys. Though it happened rarely--Matt took most things in stride--he had his way of showing displeasure. There was no doubt about that. No one wanted to fall under his withering gaze while he waited for you to explain a bonehead move. She’d been told he just stared at you and tapped his pencil on the desk until you slunk out of his office completely demoralized.

  But he had never been caught throwing a book across the room, kicking his wastebasket or slamming his door hard enough for anyone to notice. He wasn’t violent. But he wasn’t perfect. Olivia had no illusions about that. Why couldn’t he make up his mind about the next step in their relationship? She had heard him say four letter words under his breath when something made him really, really upset, but that was about it. Irritation fell away from him as easily as dewdrops from a flower.

  Matt meditated regularly. His Indian roots. He was more likely to give an anger-management course than to need one. So what made him lose it with Brooks? A fleeting thought crossed her mind. Was he jealous and afraid of losing her? Was that what had pushed him to the edge?

  Instead of wasting any more time fretting about Matt’s state of mind, she called him.

  “Olivia?”

  She could hear relief in his voice when he answered, could almost see the smile of pleasure on his face as when he would first catch sight of her at the end of their work day.

  She reined in her own emotions, asking casually, “How’s your hand.”

  Matt was an early riser, so she hadn’t worried about waking him up. Yet he sounded tired. Exhausted, really. “I took your advice and stopped by the Urgicenter on the way home last night. They x-rayed my hand, but no fracture, thankfully. Just a sprain. They wrapped it and gave me some pain pills.”

  “Which you threw away.”

  He chuckled. “That’s bad for the environment. I’ll send them to one of those drug disposal sites.”

  How like him. How well she knew him.

  “How’s Cody?” he asked. “Sticking pins in a doll with my name on it?”

  She twirled figure eights with her keys, noticed the fuchsia and lavender hues the sunrise was painting on the clouds. “You know how Cody is. He doesn’t hold a grudge. You don’t have to be afraid of meeting him in a dark alley.”

  “Well, that’s good to know, but I really was asking about his face.”

  “Oh that.” The morning chill was getting to her. Quietly, she turned on the ignition and the heater kicked in. “He looks pretty scary, but he’s pretty chipper. You know Cody. He was up first thing this morning making coffee, but then he conked out again.
Listen, have you thought about Payne’s daughter and what she’s doing with the gardener?”

  Even though the conversation wasn’t up close and personal, they were sliding back into their ease together, just chatting. No tension.

  Matt was saying, “As a matter of fact, I talked to Johnson about that a few minutes ago.” Johnson was not just an early riser. Matt believed he never slept at all. Olivia believed that accounted for his dour disposition.

  “He checked with the Urgicenter. Melissa Payne did indeed overdose. And get this. They transported her to the same hospital where her father is a patient. Johnson said she’d probably be okay, but he didn’t get any real details, patient confidentiality and all that. But it gives us more to think about. I should say it gives Johnson more to think about.”

  Olivia absorbed this news and checked the time on her phone. “Well, I need to go. I’m meeting Charles for breakfast. Seems Franny has ended things.”

  Matt whistled. “Didn’t see that coming. With all that’s happening, my grandmother would say the gods are agitating the stars.”

  “Well, I wish they’d calm down. Hold a good thought for him. Bye.”

  She backed out of the driveway realizing that they had made no plans for their next contact. How could the stars have agitated their relationship so quickly? Wasn’t it just two days ago that Xavier had teased Matt about buying her a ring?

  Chapter Thirty-One: A Line In The Sand

  Olivia spotted Charles at a table in the midsection of the restaurant. She threaded her way past servers and diners, waving to catch his eye. When he saw Olivia, he got up and kissed her on the cheek. This took Olivia completely by surprise. As deep as their friendship had become, Charles retained a polite formality that did not include touching. If he had gotten any sleep, it wasn’t enough. His eyelids were at half-mast and he looked more drugged than Cody had this morning, without Cody’s pleasurable high.

  There was a quiet buzz around them as people sipped their coffee and studied their menus. It was five after seven, the middle of the day for the tech and finance-obsessed population of Darling Valley keyed into markets around the world.

  Olivia ordered orange juice and oatmeal. She’d had enough coffee at the house. Charles handed the menu back to the server. “Thanks, man, but I’m not hungry. Just coffee.”

  Charles had developed a mild case of consumerism since he came into his wealth. Gone were the discount store khakis, windbreakers and hoodies over rock band tee shirts he’d brought with him from New Jersey. Also gone were the ridiculous ascots and English hunting apparel an early encounter with a pretentious personal shopper had convinced him he needed in his new environment.

  Under Olivia’s tutelage he now owned a nice collection of understated designer sports, business and evening wear. While Charles had never lost his endearing sense of awe about his good fortune--TWO POWERBALL WINS?--the tabloids had blared when they caught wind of his unbelievable luck, these days his style as well as his sculpted cheekbones, cleft chin and piercing blue eyes resembled the Hollywood star a Vanity Fair spread had compared him to. This morning, though, she detected a Grateful Dead logo peeking above his V-necked cashmere pullover. Comfort clothing, she decided.

  For all his good looks, heartache registered in his pained expression and wavering voice. “Olivia, I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. My life is over.”

  He said, ovah, but she didn’t even notice his New Jersey accent anymore.

  She put her hand on his. He jumped and she pulled it back. She’d never seen him like this, so edgy. Not even during those dark days when it looked like the museum might fail.

  “That can’t be true,” she said. “It’s a lover’s spat. Or, wedding jitters. Common as dirt. It happens to Matt and me all the time, these little quarrels, and look at us. Tight as tics.”

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to grab them back. She was lying if she thought they were over their bad patch. Charles called her for advice and comfort. But if she told him the truth, that she and Matt were walking on eggs around one another, he’d never trust her counsel again.

  The order arrived and Charles swallowed half of his coffee before she had sprinkled a packet of brown sugar on her oatmeal.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  He set his cup carefully in its saucer and began. “She made me choose.”

  “Choose what? How hard would it be to give her what she wants?”

  “Her or Maria.”

  “Oh, no.” This was serious. Maria. His housekeeper. His rock.

  Charles studied the ceiling, gathering his thoughts. “I told Franny anything but that. Maria needs the job. She’s got those kids and besides. By now she knows me. What I like. What I don’t like. When I first moved here and didn’t have anyone to talk to, Maria always had a cuppa coffee and a good word for me. She’d make Danish from scratch. No store boughten for Maria.”

  Olivia added, “And pot roast. I know how you love her pot roast.”

  The few times Olivia had joined him in his cavernous dining room, Maria had served his favorite dish. “Like my mother used to make it,” he’d said. The ultimate compliment for any cook.

  “Right. Pot roast. So you get it. Anything I wanted she’d make. Like I was back in Jersey. So spell it out for me. Franny doesn’t have to lift a finger. Maria knows the house inside and out. How to take care of everything. Why does Franny want to cook and clean for me? What’s my money for if I can’t give the woman I love the life a’ Riley?”

  The fog of failed romance started to clear. Olivia knew Franny just well enough to understand the territorial dispute. “What happened between them? Did they have a fight?”

  Charles shook his head, his expression a picture of pain and puzzlement. “Beats me. Maria was just doing her thing when Franny would come over. You know cooking and the like. But if Franny went into the kitchen to make a sandwich or something (he pronounced it sangwich.), it’d be like World War III broke out. Maria wouldn’t talk to me, slamming the doors, giving Franny the evil eye. So I talked to her. She axed me, ‘Is it my kitchen or her kitchen?’ I said, ‘What? Maria. It’s your kitchen.’ I thought that took care of it, but last night Franny says Maria has to go.”

  He wiped his eyes with the heel of his hands to compose himself. “What am I supposed to do? Maria hasn’t done anything wrong. I didn’t give Franny an answer soon enough and she took off. No. She gave me back the ring and then she took off. That ring hasn’t been off her finger since I gave it to her. If she’s out in the field at work? She wraps a bandage around it so it won’t catch on leaves or get scratched in the dirt.”

  Olivia said, “I don’t think dirt would scratch that diamond, but I get the picture. Have you tried to call her?”

  “Of course. Every half hour. But she won’t pick up. Blocked my number, unfriended me on Facebook. I’m dead to her. I went through this once when I lost my Ellie. But again? I can’t take it, Olivia.”

  Olivia pushed her cereal bowl aside and stroked his hand. This time he let her.

  “Charles, look at it from Franny’s point of view. She’s never had the kind of wealth that you are offering her. She doesn’t know what to do with servants. Look at how independent she is. Working her way through school all the way up to a Ph.D. Fighting all those big money boys and bozos in the government who want to run rampant over the environment she cares so passionately about. Then she goes to her new home and a woman tells her she can’t make a sandwich in her own kitchen? Is she going to be teed off? If it were me, I’d love it. But Franny is a different animal. She had to draw a line in the sand. You have to respect that.”

  Charles closed his eyes in quiet frustration. “So what am I going to do about Maria? Toss her out on the street? She’s younger than me, but she’s like a mother.”

  Olivia leaned in to speak in earnest when they heard, “Hey, Chuck!”

  Only one person called him Chuck, but this wasn’t Franny’s voice.

  The man slapped Charles o
n the shoulder. “What are you doing here at this hour of the morning? You’re not a working stiff anymore. The only reason for you be out at seven a.m. is for an early tee time.”

  Olivia looked up and caught the man’s eye, both startled for a moment. Then they smiled in recognition.

  “Olivia!”

  “Tobey,” she said, “what a surprise to see you two days in a row.”

  Tobey, the boy billionaire Tuesday had brought home. The final name on her murder suspect list.

  Charles shook hands with him, invited him to sit down. Tobey pulled out a chair next to Olivia. “Thanks. I just have a minute, though. I’m meeting some buddies here for breakfast.”

  He pointed from Charles to Olivia. “You two, like close? I just met Olivia.”

  With forced levity, Charles said, “Olivia’s my number one. You know, on the museum.”

  Tobey dipped his head toward her. “Oh, yeah, I saw the architect’s sign on your house. Very nice. Chuck, how’s Franny? She’s a great gal. You’re a lucky guy.”

  To pull the plug on that line of chat, Olivia butted in and asked, “How do you two know each other?”

  Tobey filled her in. “We both invested in the same startup and hit it off.”

  Olivia couldn’t believe it. After all the trouble Tuesday went to finagling a cycling accident to snag an introduction to Tobey and Olivia could have just asked Charles? She had underestimated his growing circle of friends, his reach into the community. Tobey must know him pretty well to call him Chuck. Franny was the only person who used that nickname, which meant the threesome had been spending time together. Tobey had picked it up from her.

  Charles filled in some detail. “Tobey here’s been over to the house for dinner a couple a times.”

  Tobey patted his stomach. “Runs the best restaurant in town, that Maria. Her home made dinner rolls? Pizzas like I’ve never tasted. Pistachio Ice Cream. I swear, it’s better than The Salted Caramel and that place is smoking hot.”