Advance Notice (A River Valley Mystery, book 2)

by Cynthia Hickey

  “What if Mom’s name turns up in the paper?” I kicked at a dead leaf near my foot. “Or mine?”

  His shoulders slumped. “I almost lost you, Marsha. That crazy woman did poison you.”

  “And you.”

  “We’re not talking about me!” Raking his hands through his hair, he shook his head. “I couldn’t live if something happened to you. Why can’t you stay out of these things?”

  Why couldn’t I? Was it the thrill of outsmarting a killer? Of rubbing into Bruce’s face that I could solve something he couldn’t? Was I so desperate for better self-esteem that I had to put myself in harm’s way in order to feel like somebody? I stared into Duane’s eyes. They darkened in the gathering dusk: Eyes so full of pain and love that stabbed at my heart.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. “It’s like the mystery cries out to me. I don’t go looking for them, you know that. Yet, here I am, thrust into another one.”

  “Is that why you haven’t set a wedding date?” He put his hands on my shoulders. “Because, as your husband, I would have the power to tell you no?”

  Power? I frowned. “You can tell me no, now. I’ll try to honor your wishes, but no man will ever have power over me, Duane. Your brother tried, and failed.” That was it.

  The reason I balked at setting a date. I was afraid one Steele brother was the same as the other. It had crushed me when Duane ran off after graduating “to find himself”. While my first husband, Robert, loved me, of that I had no doubt, he’d never let go of the fact that I’d loved his brother first. To compensate, he’d tried to rule over me.

  “I love you, Marsha, but I can’t talk about this right now.” He whirled and stormed around the corner of the house, leaving me as alone as Robert had at his death.

  Tears welled in my eyes and ran down my cheeks. Not able to face the rest of my family, I turned and entered the guesthouse. The two-bedroom, cottage-style house had always been a sanctuary to me, even before I’d cleaned and renovated it. Now, looking around at the comfy furnishings, they brought me no pleasure.

  Had I run Duane off for good this time? Would he smarten up and break off our engagement? I plopped on the sofa and hugged a pillow to my aching chest. I’d tell him right now that I wouldn’t work on the mystery. I’d beg him to forgive me.

  After digging my cell phone out of the bib pocket of my overalls, I punched in his number. “I’m sorry,” I said before he could say a word. “I won’t work on this mystery. Go to Bruce, tell him our concerns. Don’t be mad at me. Don’t…break up with me.”

  “Sweetheart.” A shadow filled my doorway, and there he stood.

  With a sob, I threw myself into his arms. “Forgive me for being so stupid?”

  He gathered my face in his hands and kissed me. “Always. I’ll respect your wishes, Marsha, but you have to respect mine, too. If you want to dabble in another mystery, can you at least promise me that you’ll let me know where you are at all times? That you’ll tell me when you go somewhere and when you return? I’ll be out of my mind with worry.” He leaned his forehead against mine.

  “I can promise that, Duane. Easily.” I laid my face on his chest. “And I won’t do anything unless Bruce refuses to listen to you. And I won’t go anywhere without Mom.”

  He chuckled. “I’m not sure you being with Gertie is much of a relief, but I’ll take what I can get.”

  “I think all the victims have been a part of that quilting group that will be meeting at our store.” I tightened my hold around his waist. “I can ask questions and never leave work.”

  “You have a one-track mind, Marsha Steele.” He pulled free and laid his arm around my shoulder. “Your Mom made a chocolate cake for dessert. Interested?”

  Grinning, I nodded. “You bet.”

  “Then come, my little gumshoe. You can’t solve a mystery without chocolate fortification.”

  “I love you.” The man made me so happy, I couldn’t think straight. Knowing he believed me about the deaths, and was willing to talk Bruce into taking things seriously, warmed me better than any chocolate ever could.

  Now, knowing that he supported me, I could call the newspaper tomorrow and find out exactly how someone can put an obit into the paper without checking out the facts.

  Chapter Six

  “Yes, I’d like to find out how to put an obituary into the paper.” My hand sweated around the phone receiver. Silly, really, since the conversation was over the phone.

  “My condolences.” A nasally voice on the other end sounded anything but compassionate. More like bored. “Our obits are done online and pulled from there before the paper is printed. Would you like the link?”

  “No one verifies that the person really died?”

  The woman paused. “Why? It isn’t like people go around pulling pranks by putting someone’s name in the obits while that person is still alive.”

  “Excuse me, but don’t you read the paper you work for? That’s exactly what is happening.”

  “Did someone put your name in the obits?”

  “Well, no, but...”

  A heavy sigh vibrated against my ear. “Is there anything else I can help you with? We’re understaffed, and I have a lot of work to do. So, unless you want a job, I must let you go.”

  “No, thank you. That’s all.” I hung up and stared out the kitchen window, pleased that I’d discovered something about the case, but discouraged that I had no suspects. Online obituaries? Anyone could list anyone that way. I chewed the inside of my lip. How in the world were we supposed to find out who was behind the deaths of the three elderly ladies?

  “Good morning.” Mom bustled into the kitchen and headed straight for the coffeepot. “Lindsey gone already?”

  “Yes, about fifteen minutes ago.” My A-personality type daughter couldn’t stand being late for anything, even school. “Mom, did you know all you have to do to get an obit in the paper is to fill out a form online?”

  She turned from the coffeepot. “That makes everything a bit too easy, doesn’t it?”

  “Too easy.” I got up and fetched my notebook from the drawer beside the refrigerator. Written in red ink across the top page was “Be Careful”. That Duane. He was something else. With a smile on my face, I grabbed an ink pen and sat back down. “Okay. What do the three victims have in common other than being members of the quilting club?”

  “They were all elderly. At least sixty.” Mom poured us both a cup of coffee and brought them to the table. “And, they lived alone.”

  Who in the world would have a grudge against a bunch of elderly quilters? “How much longer until we can start hosting that group in our shop?”

  “Immediately, if we give up the back room until Leroy’s done building the addition. Why?”

  “Because those silver-haired ladies are our only suspects.” I supposed we could give up the room. We laughingly called it the break room, but when you owned your own business, breaks were few and far between. When I did have the pleasure of a down moment, I usually headed across the street to the coffee shop.

  “Right.” Mom nodded, her lips set in a thin line. “I’ll call the leader, Betty Larson, the minute we get to work. She’ll be pleased.”

  “I think I’ll visit the newspaper. See what’s really going on down there. Have you heard the paper is in trouble?”

  She shook her head. “No, but it doesn’t surprise me. That Frank Powell is a sour-faced man with a personality to match.”

  While Mom headed to Country Gifts from Heaven, I perused my scanty wardrobe. Since I’d chosen to stop wearing my overalls, except for yard work, I badly needed to go shopping. Nothing in my closet seemed fit to wear to the newspaper office. I pulled out an ankle-length dress from two decades ago and tossed it on the bed, then knelt to dig through my collection of flip-flops, finally choosing an orange pair that matched the flowers in the dress’s fabric. Oh, who was I kidding? That dress would age me by thirty years.

  I fell onto the bed alongside the outdated clothes. Capr
is and blouse it would have to be, no matter how chilly the autumn day. If I wore them to church, they should be all right for a small town newspaper. Maybe if I put a cardigan over the blouse, it would look more businesslike. Wasn’t layering in style?

  By the time I was dressed and slapped on a touch of makeup, Mom had already had the store open for an hour. She’d have my hide when I finally showed up. Grabbing my car keys off a small table by the front door, I dashed outside and tried to ignore all the dings in my car’s hood. Maybe I could get Duane to call the insurance company for me. I tended to cave when faced with conflict. What if they didn’t want to cover damage by murder?

  Fifteen minutes later, I parked in front of the small red brick building that housed the River Valley News. Only two other cars sat out front, telling me that business was indeed slow for the local paper.

  I took a deep breath and entered the building. A frazzled woman, pencil stuck behind her ear, answered the phone with the same nasally tone I’d heard earlier. She rolled her office chair back and forth between the phone and her computer. Somebody ought to bottle the woman’s energy. I never would have known from the flighty way she moved around, that this woman was the same one with so little emotion in her voice.

  “Excuse me.” I stepped up to the Formica counter.

  “Hold on.” She twirled in my direction. “Yeah?”

  “I’d like to see Frank Powell, please.” I shoved my hands into my pockets, then realizing the action probably strained the fabric of my pants across my plump rear end, removed them.

  “Do you have an appointment?” She typed something on her keyboard.

  “No, but I—”

  “Doesn’t matter.” She waved a red-taloned hand in the air. “He ain’t busy anyway. Nobody works around here but me.”

  I wandered in the general direction of her hand, down a hall, stopping in front of a door with clouded glass and a nameplate stating Frank Powell. I knocked, and entered when commanded to. A thick smog of cigarette smoke explained the clouded glass.

  Frank Powell, a short man whose stomach strained the buttons of his faded yellow shirt, tried in vain to wave the smoke out an open window. “Right with you.”

  I held my breath and waited.

  “Here for a job? Which one?” Mr. Powell rifled through a stack of papers on his desk. “I’ve five.”

  “But, I—”

  “You look perfect for our woman’s advice column. No? How about local gossip? Advertising? Well, speak up! I haven’t all day.”

  “I, well…” What in the world? Since when was I ever at a loss for words? “Local gossip?” Oh, Mom was going to kill me! “Is it an anonymous post?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Of course. What bozo wants to write about other people’s dirty laundry and then have them know who they are? That’s suicide. You can work from home. Pay is five hundred a month, take it or leave it, and you have to come in for two hours once a week. You submit your column to me online, then come in on Friday mornings for me to tell you whether I like it or not.

  “And while you’re out gallivanting around, see if you can scare up any advertising. Here’s the price list. You get fifteen percent of every ad you sell.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “There. I managed to palm off two jobs.” He grinned, revealing tobacco-stained teeth, and rubbed his hands together.

  Guess I now had another job. Oh, well. I could use the money for wedding expenses. First ad I’d sell would be from Country Gifts. I thrust my hand out for a shake. “It’s a deal.”

  “Give the woman at the front desk your information. She’ll take it from there.”

  Dismissed, I headed back out to Miss Personality. “I’ve just been hired.”

  “Oh, goody for you.” She pulled several sheets of paper from a drawer. “Fill these out and return them to me ASAP. If you want to get paid, that is.”

  “I’m Marsha Steele.” I held out my hand again.

  She stared at it for a moment before returning my handshake. “Darla Quincy, Jill of all trades.”

  “Have you been here long?” I thought I knew everyone in River Valley, but I’d never seen her before.

  “About a month. Frank hired me on the spot, much to my demise, but a gal’s got to work.” She narrowed her eyes into a piercing stare.

  I could take a hint. I moved to a round table and got to work filling out the employment forms. When was I going to have time to write a gossip column? I’d barely passed high school English. Maybe Lindsey could help.

  By the time I finished filling out the forms, my stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten breakfast. With a bounce in my step, I handed the papers to Darla.

  She raised penciled on eyebrows. “Let’s see how chipper you are after a few weeks.”

  “I’ve never had a job before, other than working for my mother. This is exciting.” I still didn’t know how I would accomplish everything, but somehow, with God’s help, I’d manage.

  “Frank must be desperate.” She tossed the papers in a wire basket on her desk. “See you Friday morning.”

  I refused to let her bad nature spoil my good mood. Mom would do that once I got to work. Instead, I drove to the alley behind the shop, parked, then snuck around the corner so Mom wouldn’t see me going into the coffee shop.

  Focused on the barista, who smiled a greeting, I almost missed Duane and Stacy cozied up in the corner. “The usual,” I called to the barista before making my way over to my fiancé and the woman out to snatch him with her ruby red claws.

  “More interviews?” I bent and gave Duane a lingering kiss. One glance out the side of my eye at Stacy’s peacock blue suit, and I vowed to go shopping for clothes after work.

  “Should be our last one,” Duane reassured me. “Join us? I have another ten minutes before I head back to the school.”

  “I’m not sure if it will be the last interview.” Stacy gave me a simpering smile. “I want this article on the football team to be front page. I’m sure I’ll have more questions.”

  “I’m sure you will.” I waved for my drink and pulled out a seat. Being a regular customer, the barista wouldn’t mind too much that I asked her to deliver my drink. I also didn’t intend for Stacy to have any time alone with Duane than was absolutely necessary.

  “Seems we’ll be working together off and on.” I chose not to tell her I was the new gossip columnist. That was supposed to be a secret, right? “I’m gathering advertising for the newspaper.”

  “Really?” Stacy shrugged one thin shoulder. “Well, not exactly the same as reporting news, but it’s a start.”

  “Just some pocket money to help pay for the wedding.” There. Top that, you man-stealer.

  “But, I thought—”

  I kicked Duane under the table, keeping a smile on my face, to stop him from blurting out that we’d agreed to stay inexpensive and split the costs. Regardless of what we’d discussed, I now discovered I wanted a wedding dress that would wow the guests. I grabbed my coffee with my ring hand, making sure the diamonds faced Stacy. “We’re going to have a wedding like no one has ever seen in River Valley.” Which considering it was me getting married was most likely very true. I was known to stray off the beaten path.

  Now, all I needed to do was set a date.

  Chapter Seven

  “You’re late.” Mom slammed the cash register drawer. “The shop has been extremely busy, and the customer with the placemats called to see how long until they’re finished. Her wedding is less than a month away.”

  “I got a job.” I slurped my coffee. “The placemats should be finished by the end of the day.”

  “Yes, that’s my point. You have a job. Every time you get involved in a mystery, your work suffers.” Mom shook her head and tossed me one of the ruffled aprons we’d chosen as our uniform. “What’s wrong with you?”

  I set my drink on the counter and donned the apron. What had her knickers in a wad? Mom was always just as thrilled to have a new puzzle to solve as I was. “I mean
, I have a real job. I now get advertising for the paper, and,” I leaned closer to her. “Gather local gossip for a column.”

  “When on God’s green earth are you supposed to find time to do all that? Sometimes, I wonder if God gave you the sense He gave a goose. And that ain’t saying much.” She shoved the basket of placemats into my hands.

  “The quilting circle will give me plenty of fodder for my column.” Seriously, couldn’t she give me a little credit? “I went in there to see if I could find out something about the obit column and ended up having a job thrown at me.”

  “Learn to say no.”

  “I found I didn’t want to.” Concentrating on threading the needle spared me from seeing my mother’s irritated gaze. But I caught the vibe out of the corner of my eye. “This is the first job I’ve ever had, other than working here. Before Robert died, I stayed home and cared for Lindsey.”

  “But how will you have time?” The hurt in Mom’s voice caused me to lift my head.

  “Are you afraid I’ll leave you? Mom, I’m getting married again.” Someday. “No one knows whether I’ll stay in River Valley forever.” Very true, since Duane saw fit to leave town once before. Except this time, should he choose to leave, I’d be able to go with him.

  “This is our business, Marsha.” Mom sniffed and wiped her eyes on the hem of her apron. “Someday, it’ll be yours and Lindsey’s.”

  “It’s a part-time job taken on the spur of the moment to help prevent Dottie from becoming another victim.” I set the mats in their basket and went to put my arms around Mom. “It’s something that will only take a couple of hours a week. Besides, who’s better at gathering gossip than you?” I grinned. “You can tell me what to write.”

  “You made Cs in English.” Mom gave me a wobbly smile. “I might as well write the column, too.”

  “Whatever makes you happy.” After giving her another squeeze, I returned to work. “Did you contact Betty Larson?”

  “Yes, they want to start on Thursday.”

  Day after tomorrow? That didn’t give us much time. “How are we supposed to get the room ready?”