COZY MYSTERY: Wedding Bells & Murder?: A Margie Lauderdale Cozy Mystery (Book 2)

by Liz Turner

  “I could really use your help on this one, Margie.”

  Shaking her head sadly, Margie stood up from her chair. “I need to focus on my apprenticeship. If I don’t impress Mr. Bevins, the last few months of my life and all that money will be wasted.” She pressed her hands against the folding table. “I wish I could help, but work comes first. I’m sorry, Ray.”

  He half-grinned, but the smile didn’t light up his eyes. “You’re right, Margie. I’m sorry.”

  Margie walked out of the community center, feeling empty inside. Why did it feel like she was abandoning her post?

  Chapter 4

  “You did a great job today, Margie.” Mrs. Brightmen said a smile on her face. “You’re a natural at this; a shame it ended the way it did.” She counted Margie’s pay into her hand. “You did great work, and you earned every penny. Leroy was right to recommend you. Do you want to come work for me?”

  Margie smiled gratefully at the woman, then glanced around at the hall. It was still decorated for the wedding, but the pretty white flowers and ribbons looked sad without anyone to fill the place. Ray had sent everyone home, and the police were still there to scour the place for clues, but the center was otherwise pretty empty. “No thank you, Ms. Brightmen. I’m actually apprenticing for Leroy, Mr. Bevins, for my culinary certification,” she said smiling. “But I’m honored you think so highly of my skills. I really do.”

  “Is that where you have been? You were working at the Bonne Table before.” Ms. Brightmen made a face, her mouth twisting almost angrily. “Girls don’t become chefs, girl. You’d be better off sticking to what the world will let you do.”

  Margie narrowed her eyes. “Thank you for the advice, but I’m doing just fine.” She turned away before the old bat could see how upset the comment made her. Margie was hoping that after passing her first semester, she’d gotten past all of this. She’d gotten an apprenticeship and passed school so far. Wasn’t that proof enough for these people?

  But she wouldn’t give up, no matter what they said. She’d finish this, no matter what.

  Margie nodded at Ray as she walked out, grabbing her jacket from the hanger outside of the door. She made her way towards the bench to the bus stop right nearest the community center.

  Ray leaned out of his car, still parked in the lot by the bus stop. “You want a ride home, Margie?”

  “Thanks, Ray,” she said, jogging towards his police car. “I really appreciate it.” Margie opened the door and ducked in, settling into the warm, vinyl seat. The police car wasn’t designed to be super comfortable, but it was certainly nicer than waiting around for the bus. She laid her head back against the passenger’s seat. Ray started the car and pulled out of the parking lot and heading towards Route 15 that would take them back into Bristol city proper.

  “Is something bugging you, Margie?”

  Margie made a face at the ceiling. It was too dark inside the car for Ray to see her, so she stuck her tongue out at the roof like a child, wishing she could have done that right to Ms. Brightmen’s face. “It’s nothing. I’m just trying to keep my head above water. Seems like everyone wants to remind me over and over again that being a chef isn’t proper women’s work.”

  “Right now, it isn’t. But who knows? Things are changing. I’m sure you’re not the first woman to try, and I doubt you’ll be the last.” There was a smile in Ray’s voice as he said: “And you are certainly stubborn enough to see it through no matter what anyone says.”

  Margie watched out the window as the street lights whizzed by, guiding her back to Bristol. “I hope so.” There was silence in the car for all of a minute before her curiosity got the better of her. “So how is the case going?”

  “I thought you weren’t interested in detecting anymore.”

  “I’m not. I’m just asking as a concerned friend.”

  He laughed, a rich, lovely sound. “Well, concerned friend, we’re pretty sure that the culprit wasn’t the bride. She isn’t strong enough to have done it, but that doesn’t exclude the husband. Martha was not a tiny woman so we can rule out anyone that doesn’t have much upper body strength. That rules out about half the women and some of the men.”

  “Unless two people worked together.”

  Ray was silent for a long time. “This is not going to be an easy case, no matter how many people are involved. That community center was a public place, and there are hundreds of different fingerprints all over that dressing room. It’s the only building big enough for large gatherings so it’s used for weddings and all sort of family gatherings. Tthe amount of data to sift through to find what is relevant is staggering.”

  “I’d offer to help, but my schedule is all full,” Margie said, watching as Ray rounded the corner, bringing her apartment building into full view. “I have an early start tomorrow, so I really appreciate you driving me. I might actually get a full night’s sleep.”

  Ray leaned over as Margie stepped out of the car. “Good luck, Margie. If anyone can do this, you can.”

  And with that, Margie walked into her apartment building with a much lighter heart.

  Chapter 5

  Margie stretched, trying to get the feeling back into her arms and legs. She had been sitting for a million years, reading and rereading the notes Mr. Bevins had given her as a weekend assignment. Margie still wasn’t sure if she could stand sitting much longer without going crazy.

  Having been a stay-at-home daughter after school helping to raise her parent’s other children for years, then having been a waitress for many more years, Margie wasn’t good at sitting still. Standing, Margie bent forward and touched her toes, reached to the ceiling, then bent backward. All this in an effort to try to get the blood flowing back to all of her limbs. Perhaps a walk would do her some good.

  Camelia was still at work when Margie looked around the apartment; she would probably be back until midnight or so. Much to Margie’s chagrin, she’d only been reading for about an hour or so. The sun was still up, and it wasn’t even dinner time yet.

  For the first time in her life, Margie was exceptionally bored.

  Her family, then her job and then her schooling had taken up so much time. Margie had always worked overtime, saving her money to eventually go to school. It had become a goal of her’s so long ago, she couldn’t remember not wanting to be a chef. But now that she was on break, working part time as an apprenticeship, it left her with a lot of spare time.

  What did people do with spare time? Perhaps Margie needed a hobby. Margie looked down at the street, her heart sinking to her feet. Had she been working so long and so hard that she no longer knew how to have fun?

  Locking the door to the apartment, Margie started to walking toward Fifth Street, thinking she would browse some of the shops with pretty window displays. She didn’t have any extra cash to buy anything but that couldn’t stop her from window shopping.

  The shops were abuzz with people and conversation. Families, couples, and groups shuffled through the streets. Margie didn’t get ten feet without bumping into people she knew, either from the restaurant or through Camelia. The town of Bristol was tiny, and in the seven or so years Margie had lived here, she’d gotten to know quite a few of the local people.

  “Margie! How is culinary school?” A young woman in a polka dot dress smiled at her. Her name was Jessica, and she was a pretty woman, her blonde hair wrapped up in a tight bun behind her head. Her belly was swollen; a sure sign of her fourth child on the way.

  “It’s going well, thank you,” Margie grinned at her. “How are you doing?” She nodded to the baby bump.

  Jessica’s grin grew as she hooked her arm in Margie’s. “I am fine. I’ve had so many, this is all old hat. I heard a crazy rumor about Kitty Justice. Have you heard, darling?”

  “Her wedding? Yes, I was there, working as a server.”

  “My goodness; is it true? Mary Anne Jacobs told me that her mom killed herself before they could even get the procession started.”

  Margie
winced. “Something like that. Poor Kitty.”

  Jessica nodded. “I didn’t like Martha much, but I do feel sorry for her daughter.” They walked together, Margie watching as some small children ran by, holding a kite. They must have been headed for the park; the nice breeze today would give them some good lift. “She was something of a drinker.”

  “So everyone keeps telling me.”

  “Kitty got married yesterday at the courthouse. She's sick at heart, and her family thought it best for them to get married so she would have someone to sleep next to. Apparently she’d had no end of nightmares.”

  Margie made a noise in the back of her throat. Poor Kitty. I don’t think I should ever recover, seeing someone I loved dead like that. She put her head down a little, to look at her shoes and hide the terrible expression that crossed her face. “Good that she’ll have someone close by.”

  “Not like her father has been helping. He’s been out to every bar in town this week, celebrating her death. Lowest of the low, if you ask me. Old man’s completely tactless and doesn’t seem to give a damn about Kitty’s wellbeing.”

  Margie stared at Jessica as she spoke. She tucked that little nugget of information away to tell Ray later.

  Jessica huffed, pressing her hand to her belly. “I ever do something like that, I hope my children all beat some sense back into me.”

  Laughing, Margie patted Jessica’s arm. “No worries on that front; you are a great mother with some of most well-behaved children I’ve ever met. Where are the little darlings?”

  “With their Meemaw today; that’s what they call Charles’ mother. She loves taking the kids for trips to the zoo or the park so I get some alone time to relax,” Jessica said, making a face. “Like I can ever relax. I’ve been working so hard for so long, sitting still drives me batty.”

  Margie laughed again, her head spinning. “Right? I just thought that today. I had a day off for the first time I think ever, and I had no idea what to do with myself.” They turned left on Maple Avenue, heading toward the grocery and deli. “That’s why I’m out right now, trying to get some exercise and sunlight.”

  “Even though you don’t have children, darling, you work more hours than even most of us moms. At least my little devils nap on occasion.” Jessica’s blue eyes lit up like stars every time she mentioned her children, and Margie smiled. It was good she was so happy. Margie loved seeing her friends happy. Charles seemed to be treating her right, and her kids were precious. “Why don’t you go visit Camelia and grab a bite with her?

  Just then, a very familiar vehicle pulled up to the curb beside them, cutting off their conversation. Margie rolled her eyes, her lips spreading into a smile. “Looks like I have something to do after all.”

  Jessica raised her eyebrows. “Why did you never marry Ray, Margie?”

  “We’d kill each other,” she said, irritation rising in her gut. “Besides, I’m not the mothering type.”

  Jessica shook her head like she couldn’t fathom it. “Whatever you say, dear. Good luck with your cooking; we’re all cheering for you.” She waddled away, heading back in the direction they came from. Margie watched her for a moment, rolling her eyes again. Too many people around here were a little too interested in her love life, or lack of one, for her own happiness.

  Brushing it off, Margie walked up to the police car, leaning on the side of the car as Ray stepped out and walked around, leaning next to her. He handed her a cup of coffee. “No sugar, lots of creamer,” he said without preamble.

  “You remembered.”

  “Of course, I did. Don’t I always?”

  Margie grinned and sipped; it was good coffee, probably from the diner. She made an appreciative noise in the back of her throat before taking a bigger sip. “What’s going on?”

  “Still working on the Martha Justice case. We discovered something strange.”

  Margie frowned. “I told you I can’t help with the case, Ray.”

  “I know that. I’m just making conversation. I don’t have much else going on right now, so I’m out of other things to talk about.”

  Snorting, Margie sipped at her coffee. He was smiling, and it was driving her crazy. “Okay, fine Ray. What did you find?”

  “Not important; I won’t burden you with details. It’s just turning out to be interesting, that’s all.”

  Margie knew he was trying to bait her into helping, trying to pique her interest and get her involved. Unfortunately for her, it was working. Curiosity burned underneath her skin like fire, and it took every ounce of self-control she had not to ask again. “Just talked to Jessica McCoy.”

  Ray raised his eyebrows at the abrupt change of subject. “And how is Jessica doing?”

  “Just fine. She says that Kitty’s father has been seen around town, celebrating his wife’s death, though. Just a free tidbit from me to you.”

  Ray’s eyes narrowed. “Who did she hear that from?”

  Margie shrugged. She continued to lean on Ray’s cop car; the door was warm against her skin. Staring down Maple Avenue, they were silent for a long time. “It would be a shame if Kitty’s father did it. Poor girl would lose both her parents,” Margie managed, finally.

  Ray nodded, continuing to sip his coffee. He was thinking about something deeply, his brows furrowed and his eyes haunted.

  Her curiosity was eating away at her. “Okay, Ray, you got me. What is the strange thing you discovered?”

  “You sure?”

  Margie just glared at him.

  “Okay, okay. It looks like Martha was dressed by whoever killed her.” Ray was looking at her, hope stirring in the bottoms of his eyes. A hope that she would come back to help with this case. “From the crime scene photos, you can tell that her clothes were all on awkwardly. We originally thought it was the struggle, but the more we looked, the stranger it got.”

  Margie’s mind spun over the possibilities. “For modesty or to cover up the fact she was having an affair?”

  Ray shook his head. “We’re not sure yet; I’m still waiting on the coronor's report.”

  “What’s the next step then? I’m free for the rest of the day.”

  Ray narrowed his eyes. “I’m supposed to be telling you to get back to your studies, aren’t I?”

  Margie shrugged. “Most likely.”

  Laughing, Ray opened the passenger side door. “Come on; let’s go have a chat with Mr. Justice.”

  Chapter 6

  When they pulled up to the bar on Grace and Willington, Margie wrinkled her nose. Who would travel all the way from the city for his daughter's wedding only to come drinking at a place like this? The neon signs promised live music and ladies’ night, but most of the lights were out or flickering.

  They crossed the parking lot, Ray’s hands deep in his pockets. There was a worry line in the middle of his forehead that wasn’t there before; his expression was so serious, Margie wondered what it was that plagued him. It wasn’t her place to ask, but the same burning curiosity that brought her out to this God-forsaken place applied to everything and everyone around her.

  The door looked like it had been kicked in and repaired more times than anyone could remember. There was broken glass everywhere.

  “Don’t give up on me now,” Ray said when Margie didn’t move to open the door.

  Margie continued to make a face. “This is not what I had in mind for my weekend, Ray. I don’t think I’m dressed right for this.” She looked down sadly at her pretty white pumps; they’d be disgusting by the time they got out of this mud pit someone had the nerve to call a bar.

  “I’ll buy you a new pair of shoes. Come on, Margie, we’ll be out in a minute.” So she took a deep breath and opened the door, her nostrils assaulted by the stench. She made a face but said nothing.

  Ray held open the door for her, and she walked in, momentarily stunned by the wall of cigarette smoke and stale beer that attacked her senses. She was desperately happy she didn’t have to spend too much time here; her clothes and hair were
already going to reek after just a few moments.

  She stepped over the threshold and into the bar itself. There were only a few patrons here this early in the day, and Margie didn’t recognize anyone. A gruff old man sat at the bar, nursing a cup of something deep brown and clear. Probably some sort of liquor, but Margie couldn’t tell which. He sipped at it, his eyes glazed from what had to be quite the bender.

  “Mr. Carlton Justice?” Ray asked, flashing his badge. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

  The old man looked up at them with slitted blue eyes; the eyes of his daughter. His salt and pepper mustache wiggled back and forth as he wrinkled his nose. “I figured you’d be by.”

  Margie made a face as Ray sat down on the dirty, ripped barstool next to Carlton. She elected to stand and stay out of the way. Instead, she studied him; her eyes roving over his collared shirt, khakis and boat shoes. He looked angry and too old for his chronological age. There was something deeply sad about him; the heaviness of his shoulders pulling him forward.