Silver Lake Cozy Mystery Bundle

by Hugo James King

  My eyes locked onto a bouquet in Paul’s hands, pulled from behind his back. “I came to see Jon.”

  “Afternoon, Paul,” Jonathan said. “Those look a little wilted. Didn’t you use a nice bright window like I said?”

  He shook his head. “No, no,” he said. “I’m here to ask if you have any record of a delivery to Doreen Maidstone.”

  He laughed. “Definitely not.”

  Max handed the card back to his father. “I’m gonna go serve some customers.”

  Jonathan handed the card back to me. A puzzled look came across Paul’s face.

  “Eve, tell me that isn’t—”

  “What?”

  His head came closer, closing the gap. “Is that from Doreen’s?” he whispered.

  It was. I handed it over. “Found it on the ground.”

  “You’re going to ruin an investigation,” his voice grew louder. “You’re not someone who can go around playing police officer.”

  “I’m intruding,” Jonathan said with a slight chuckle. “Everything okay?”

  Paul’s voice now turning heads. “A woman is dead, and I don’t know what you’re doing, but you’re acting suspicious.”

  “Who?” Jonathan said. “Who’s dead?”

  And the entire shop quelled. Not a single peep.

  This was on Paul. I hadn’t mentioned a dead woman to anyone.

  NINE

  The news of Doreen’s death was new to everyone. Jonathan’s shoulders slouched and his head dropped, lowered to his chest. He looked from Paul to me.

  “What?” his soft voice muttered.

  “She’s dead,” Paul said. “I’m sorry to have to tell you like this. I didn’t know you were close.”

  “We had coffee every week,” he said. “She was a supplier.” He choked from the back of his throat.

  Everyone watched.

  Max came back, grabbing his father at the waist. “It’s okay, dad,” he said. “You should go into your office. I don’t want people to see you upset.”

  Jonathan sighed, turning and sniffling a hand against his sleeve. He walked back to the doorway he’d come from earlier. Back to his office.

  “Do you know who delivered these flowers to Doreen?” Paul asked Max once his father was away.

  Max nodded. “Yes.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  He pointed to himself. “I delivered them yesterday.”

  Charlie pawed my pant leg. He wanted me to carry him again, and I didn’t blame him, there was too much inside the flower shop to occupy his mind. “Were you here when the order was placed?” I asked, dipping to pick Charlie. I swung my handbag back on my shoulder, redistributing my weight once again.

  Max shrugged. “An older man,” he said. “Paid in cash, asked for them to be delivered. If that’s the note from what I saw, his name starts with a P. But—but he didn’t give his full name or anything.”

  “An older man,” I repeated under my breath. It couldn’t have been Mortimer, unless Mortimer went by another name, perhaps a middle name. But I couldn’t vision them together, at least not with the rising tensions I’d been witness to earlier.

  “Would you know him if you saw him again?”

  Max nodded, sighing deeply. “Sure. I just—I just—do you think this man had something to do with her death?”

  The first time the death was being questioned publicly. It meant Paul thought this was as suspicious as I did. My gut wasn’t wrong, there was definitely more to it than Paul would ever let on.

  “Well, we’re trying to see who had a personal relationship with Doreen to inform them,” Paul said, knocking back my theory, but he was clever, he wouldn’t come out and say she was murdered.

  “I can’t believe this,” he said, puffing out his cheeks. A hand massaged at the temple of his forehead. “She was talking to my dad about him buying her land. You know, the roses.”

  “She was?” I asked. Recalling Mortimer’s fury at the land debate. “Why would she sell the land?”

  “Eve,” Paul snapped, quickly pulled back as Max’s back straightened. “Sorry,” he muttered back. “I didn’t know she was selling the land.”

  “Almost a done deal,” Max continued. “She was already selling us flowers; it was weird we’d be asked to deliver flowers to her.” A smile broke from his lips. “Because you know, she sells them to us.”

  In the silence of Paul not continuing on. I had another question. I had another thought. “Was there anyone else who wanted to buy the land from Doreen?” Maybe the business partner idea Diane had spoken of was something to follow. But I was hoping to elicit a response with Mortimer’s name. He couldn’t have done it, being old and visibly frail, but he was vehemently vexed by the entire land ordeal.

  “From what I know,” he said, adjusting the cap on his head. “Which isn’t a lot. But she was going to list the land, I think. Ask anyone in the industry, and they would’ve wanted what Doreen had in those greenhouses.”

  True. And the continued press from the magazine only pushed her success further. The thought crossed my mind about Diane and her husband, Patrick, they could’ve been silent partners in her business—they had deep pockets.

  “Think I could speak with your dad about this?” Paul asked.

  Max turned to the closed office door. “He was close to Doreen. I can ask him to give you a call when he’s up to talking.”

  “Please,” Paul said. He dipped a hand into the inside of his coat pocket. “Take my card.” He handed over a white card with his title and telephone number.

  I should’ve got some of those made out, perhaps that would’ve annoyed Paul just a little touch more than I was already doing.

  “Anything else?” Max asked, glancing back at the growing queue. “I should get back there.”

  “That’s everything,” he said. “And if you remember anything else, about the man who asked you to deliver the flowers, or when your dad’s feeling up to it. Give me a call.”

  I pressed my lips into a sympathetic smile. “You can call me as well, if you need to talk to anyone about anything. I was an agony aunt for many years, you know.”

  Max smiled, blowing out a chuckle through his nose. “Sure.”

  He left and the blow of a deep breath came down my neck. “What do you think you’re doing?” Paul asked.

  “Due diligence,” I said, turning and swinging my handbag around. “Now that Doreen’s basically out of business, we need a florist feature for the magazine.” A quick-wit response, and a complete lie.

  “Then why were you talking about the card you found?” he asked, his eyes pressed into squinting slits. “And if you lie, I’ll know.”

  Hardly. “I asked if the card was from here. He told me it was.”

  He turned and walked out, holding the door open for me to follow him.

  I had no choice; I couldn’t stay behind. Jonathan had sequestered himself into his office, and I wasn’t in the mood to buy flowers.

  “Stay out of this one,” he said as I passed him at the doorway. “I mean it, Eve.”

  “Paul,” I said, my eyes wider now. “I’m not doing anything, but something must’ve happened to poor Doreen, or you wouldn’t be trying this hard to keep me away.”

  “Yeah,” he scoffed. “She’s dead. And the fewer people who know the details, the faster we’ll find out what exactly happened.”

  I scoffed louder; it became a competition of who could act the most offended. “You’re the one who announced it to the entire shop, people are going to have their own questions now. And before you know it—” I rolled my eyes and suppressed a smile. “Before you know it, you’ll be hounded by Francesca and Nancy. Maybe not you, but certainly Penny.”

  “I don’t tell Penny about active investigations.”

  “I guess that’s not a hard feat, Paul,” I grumbled. “You don’t seem to have had many of them.” Delivering my final verbal blow, I hurried out from under the awning of the shop, back into the drizzle of rain.

  A mom
ent of hurrying meant I hadn’t given myself time to think of an escape route. I just headed forward down the road. I was either going to get into my car and head home—not a pleasing thought, given where I’d spent my morning; Mortimer’s hoarding paradise.

  I noticed the sign in the window for the café across the road, Briars, my usual haunt. At least there I could get some notes written without the distraction of the mess cluttering my countertops and flooring.

  Standing at the traffic lights, a short woman held her umbrella over me and Charlie.

  “Afternoon,” she said, smiling to reveal a little maroon lipstick on her teeth. “Forget your umbrella?”

  “Ah, yes, I did.”

  Her face was familiar, but unplaced. “You headed to the café?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “See you there a lot,” she said.

  I noticed the name tag. She worked there. “It’s where I go to do most of my thinking.”

  “I always love reading your articles.”

  She was a fan as well.

  My smile widened. “Thank you, so much.”

  “No need,” she chuckled, combing her hand flat across the top of her brunette hair. It was all slicked back and pulled into a tight ponytail.

  As the lights turned red, we walked across the road.

  “Can’t believe you were almost killed as well,” she said, puffing her cheeks. “People coming to Briarbury and trying to give us a bad name.”

  Not quite. “Awful, isn’t it.”

  “You’re one brave woman,” she continued until we reached the café. “Well, I’ll let you sit. My shift doesn’t start for another ten minutes.”

  She wasn’t a server. I would’ve recognised her a lot faster. She must’ve been a barista, or a manager, someone behind the counter.

  TEN

  Ruth met me at the café on her lunch break. I was deep in thought, glancing over the notes I’d scribbled in my pad of lined paper. Nobody bothered me while I sat in a booth at the back, mostly hidden from prying eyes, especially away from Paul.

  Charlie noticed Ruth first, picking his head up from the seat and peering over the table.

  She stood at the counter, talking to a server. I stuck a finger in the air, signalling to her where I was sat. I was after all, in a different place.

  Usually, we’d occupy seats close to the window, a nice place to get a full view over all the town as people passed by. Instead, I opted for a place which removed me the most from distractions, and at the very moment, I was focused on getting work done.

  “Told Frank everything you said,” Ruth spoke, unwinding her scarf from around her neck. She huffed and heaved, plodding herself into the seat at the booth opposite. “This weather is getting ridiculous too. Didn’t rain much over December, but as soon as we’re approaching the spring, the flood gates open don’t they.” She scoffed from the back of her throat and rolled her eyes. Her eyes settled on the paper. “Oh, busy, busy.”

  Finally, in the time she took a breath, I smiled at her. “I saw Paul again.”

  “Oh, is that the news?” she asked, referring to the text message I’d sent referring to having a gossip over lunch. “Where? In here?”

  I laid the pen on the table and moved my hand to stroke Charlie by the collar. “No, no, no,” I said, shimmying my back against the chair, cushioned by the jacket I’d taken off. “It was public as well, in the florists. He made a scene.”

  “I can probably have something prescribed for him to deal with that,” she chuckled. “He’s probably stressed. I mean, this is the second big case he’s having to deal with.”

  He was stressed having to deal with this, well, I was stressed for having been in the area—finding the bodies, twice. “Did you order a drink?” I asked in a bid to move from sympathising with Paul.

  She nodded. “And a sandwich.”

  I hadn’t wanted to eat. Not with the events swilling in my head and battling in the back of my throat. The coffee was sustenance enough. “What did Frank say?” I asked, pulling the large cappuccino cup into my hands.

  “Not much,” she replied. “I mean, he asked how it happened. Of course, because he might’ve been able to figure out if it was possible or not.” A smile graced her face. “I told him she bled to death, probably. Shears sharp enough might’ve gone deep enough.”

  The knot which warned me against eating was a wise one. I hadn’t thought about how long it might’ve taken her to die. It wasn’t an instant death; I knew this now. “How long would it—would it have taken?”

  “Would have to see the scar tissue, the size, the depth, whether it punctured any organs.” She shrugged. If I was eating, I definitely couldn’t have been talking about this. Ruth reached a hand across the table to my notes. “These the people?”

  I nodded. “I spoke with Jonathan McDermott. The owner of the flower shop. He didn’t know anything until Paul burst in acting all high and mighty.”

  Ruth sighed, shaking her head.

  “Jon was all choked up when he found out.”

  “Bless. So, why’s he on the list?” she asked, dotting his name with her finger.

  “Because he was in talks with Doreen about buying the land.”

  She oohed at the idea. “Interesting.” She dotted her finger against the other names. “Mortimer, the daughter, and mysterious P.”

  “Yep. Didn’t find out his name.”

  “Well, what would his motive be?”

  The very thought I was wracking my brain about. Jon’s motive was the land, as was Mortimer’s. And if the daughter was there, most probably a motive of anger, or the money tied up in the house and land. “She had money,” I said. “It could’ve been a robbery.”

  Ruth grabbed my pen. “Maybe.” She scribbled, ‘robbery’ on the paper. “Robbery gone wrong.”

  A server arrived with a white plate and a cup balanced precariously on a tray. “One BLT sandwich and a latte.” She smiled. “Anything else I can get for you?”

  I shook my head, sipping from the rim of my cup.

  She left seconds later with an optimistic skip in her step.

  “They’re so—so—you know, the opposite of jaded,” I mumbled.

  “Happy?” Ruth asked, sliding the paper and pen back over. “Everyone should be, but life is life, and we all deal with it differently.”

  Right. I was happy but jaded by recent events. I didn’t want to think bad about the people around me, but everyone was a suspect in my current frame of mind. “No, I know.”

  As Ruth took a bite from her sandwich, I exhaled a deep breath. “I’ve also decided to sort the mess out in the kitchen.”

  She somewhat choked, pressing a hand to the base of her neck. She dropped the sandwich back on the plate. A hard thud as she swallowed. “Really? What? Where’s this coming from?”

  “I’ve come to the decision, it’s what has to be done.”

  “Is this your mother?” she rolled her eyes. “I swear, that woman will harp on at you for anything. Is she coming back?” Her head rolled on her neck, pressing her chin to her chest. “She’s just left.”

  I smiled, spread from cheek-to-cheek. “No, she’s not coming back, at least not any time soon.” I combed a hand back through my hair, brushing it out through the middle. “When I was in Mortimer’s house, I realised how much it reminded me of what my hoarder’s paradise was becoming. I didn’t feel settled, and I guessed that it must be what people thought of me.”

  “Well, we all deal with grief differently, Eve.”

  “But it’s been five years.”

  “And if it takes you another five years, I’m here for you.”

  “You’re an enabler.”

  We chuckled.

  “I don’t want you to get all in your head about this,” she said. “But if you need help, I can come over after work and we can dive into it.”

  It wasn’t something I needed help with. “Probably best I deal with it on my own.”

  “As you wish,” she said. “I hope this i
sn’t procrastination.”

  “From what?”

  “This.” She pointed to the new mess; the papers on the table. Papers I’d torn from my notepad, and paper I’d ripped in halves and quarters, attempting to piece them together like some conspiracy theorist. “It’s a little—um—a little messy.”

  “Maybe a little procrastination is good, helps clear out the mental pipes.”

  She wasn’t wrong. It was definitely something I was doing out of procrastination. And I had many notes and ideas mentally noted already, but they didn’t have a place on paper or a place at the table or inside my pad of paper. These were all stored in my mind. I couldn’t blame her for thinking I was doing this to avoid everything else—that’s the reason I often worked hard, to avoid home.

  “Plus,” I continued. “I want to get to the bottom of this.” A finger stubbing the table with a thud. “Not only was Doreen adored by everyone, but Paul’s told me several times not to intervene.”

  “Ouch!” she said, hunching her shoulder as if to cower from the tirade I could feel myself spiralling into.

  “It’s only ignited my curiosity further.”

  “Harry would probably encourage it,” she said.

  They were the words I wanted to hear. The words I needed. “I think he would’ve theorised his own brother was insecure.”

  “Completely!”

  “And every good researcher knows—”

  “Investigator,” Ruth came back quickly, nodding her head to correct me. “You’re becoming an investigator.”

  I smiled. If Diane heard Ruth, she’d be signing the papers and setting me up with her husband’s newspaper by the morning. “Fine,” I said. “Every good investigator knows you can’t let emotions get in the way.”

  “Unless it’s your gut.”

  “I think Harry is controlling my gut.”

  Harry would always support me, everything I did, he was the voice behind me; cheering me on. He’d tell me I could do it, tell me I had it in me to get the work done. He was rarely wrong.

  ELEVEN

  After Ruth left, I had one final coffee in an attempt to wait out the rain. The skies were growing darker, and I wanted to get home before it was completely black. Given the weather, I wasn’t tempting the slippery roads.