Peril in Paxton Park (A Paxton Park Mystery Book 1)

by J A Whiting

  Peril in Paxton Park

  A Paxton Park Cozy Mystery Book 1

  J. A. Whiting

  Copyright 2017 J.A. Whiting

  Cover copyright 2017 Susan Coils at www.coverkicks.com

  Formatting by Signifer Book Design

  Proofreading by Donna Rich

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, or incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to locales, actual events, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from J. A. Whiting.

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  www.jawhitingbooks.com

  Created with Vellum

  For my family with love

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Thank you for reading!

  Books By J.A. Whiting

  About the Author

  1

  Twenty-eight-year-old Shelly Taylor stood on the deck of the Paxton Park Diner at the base of Park Mountain soaking up the sun’s afternoon rays. She let her eyes wander over the pine forest, the bright blue lake spreading out towards the woods, the people returning from a hike, others launching canoes and kayaks, and a few taking a dip in the chilly water.

  Shelly let out a long, deep, contented breath. She’d only been in Paxton Park for two weeks, but she was beginning to feel settled and comfortable and enjoyed the many outdoor activities available to her in the area.

  A warm breeze caused some strands of her long, light brown hair to flutter over her forehead into her eyes and she pushed them aside as she gazed up at some of the mountain trails. In the winter, the resort burst with skiers and snow boarders, and in spring, summer, and fall, people flocked to the area for white-water rafting, mountain biking, hiking, and swimming.

  At first, Shelly hesitated when she was offered the part-time position of baker for the diner and the on-site bakery, but now that she’d been working for a couple of weeks, she was happy with her decision to make a change and try something new and looked forward to experiencing the different seasons of Paxton Park, Massachusetts.

  A man with salt and pepper hair poked his head out of the diner’s door. “The timer went off in the kitchen, Shelly.”

  “Thanks, Henry.” Shelly headed inside walking across the deck with a slight limp to her right leg. A car accident of six months ago resulted in her leg broken in two places, a punctured lung, four broken ribs, and a fractured collarbone.

  Shelly didn’t remember much about the crash except the terrible, unearthly sound of metal twisting and glass shattering as if the car was trying to slash a hole from this world into another universe. She’d spent a long time in the hospital, in rehab, and in out-patient physical therapy.

  A talented baker, Shelly had been set to buy a small bakery in Boston after scrimping and saving for several years, but lost out on it when she ended up hospitalized for so long. It turned out that having the money in the bank was a stroke of good luck since she needed it to live on after the accident. The orthopedic doctor told her she was lucky to have walked away from the destroyed vehicle, and it was true, the driver and another passenger in the car had died that day, along with part of Shelly’s heart.

  “It sure smells good in here.” The big, meaty man in his late sixties held the door open for the young woman to enter. “Any chance there might be an extra cookie or two in this batch?” Henry rented the diner from the mountain resort’s owner and in addition to running the place, he worked as the cook.

  Shelly grinned. “I think there might be.”

  There was a large, well-equipped kitchen located between the diner and the Mountain Bakery and Shelly worked creating baked goods for both places. There was a huge grill located next to the wall on the diner side. The wall had a cut-out in it so that orders could be passed through the window and plates of food could be set on the shelf for the waitresses to pick up. Henry enjoyed talking to the customers through the window from his position by the grill. The man and his wife, Melody, had been running the diner for over twenty years and for two different owners. Shelly and Henry hit it off right away and chatted and joked with one another as they went about their tasks which made the kitchen a warm, enjoyable place to work.

  Shelly removed the last baking sheet from the oven with Henry practically drooling over her shoulder. “You might want to let these cool before you eat some.”

  “I can’t wait.” Henry took one of the chocolate-caramel cookies and bit into it. Practically moaning with pleasure, the man mumbled, “Heavenly.” After eating a second one, he told Shelly, “You are the best baker I’ve ever met.”

  With a laugh, Shelly said, “The best baker is the one who happens to be in your kitchen.” She made a cup of tea while waiting for the cookies to cool and sat down on a stool next to a stainless steel work table.

  “Did you go to culinary school?” Henry asked as he removed clean dishes from the dishwasher and stacked them on the counter.

  “No, I learned to bake from my grandmother. I majored in business and entrepreneurial studies in college. My Grandma said you can be a great baker, but in order to run a successful bakery, you need to study business.”

  “Good advice.” Henry nodded.

  “She was a smart cookie,” Shelly joked. “How did you learn the business?”

  “Trial and error. I never went to college, got a part-time job as a short-order cook while I was in high school and just kept at it.” Henry carried the stacked plates to the cabinet. “I always wanted my own place, but Melody and I like Paxton Park and decided to stay here working at the resort.” The man smiled. “Twenty years later and we’re still here.”

  “I like the town, too.” Shelly set her teacup down on the table and smiled. “Will I still be here twenty years from now?” She moved the cookies into a large metal container and snapped the lid on.

  “You never know. The place kind of grows on you. Nice people, plenty to do, beautiful scenery, peaceful. You could do worse, that’s for sure.” Henry removed his apron. “Whaddya say? Shall we call it a day and lock up?”

  “Sounds good.”

  The two stepped out onto the sunny deck.

  “You have your bike or do you need a lift into town?” Henry asked.

  “I have my bike, but thanks.” Shelly slung her backpack over her shoulders and headed across the small gravel lot to the bicycle rack. “See you in the morning.”

  Riding away from the resort, Shelly followed the road for two miles to the main street of town which bustled with tourists and townspeople walking along the brick sidewalks. There were gift shops and clothing stores, pubs, restaurants, a small market, library, bookstore, and two inns. Flowers bloomed in pots and spilled over white picket fences. Shelly thought it was just about the prettiest town she’d ever seen.

  T
urning her bike down a side street lined with tall Maple trees and small well-tended cottages each painted a soft pastel color, she pedaled to her rented yellow bungalow with a covered front porch. Shelly walked her bicycle to the rear yard and parked it next to the shed, went inside to change into shorts and a t-shirt, poured a glass of lemonade, and carried it out to the porch. She slid onto one of the white rocking chairs, set her drink down, and rubbed at her aching calf. Her leg sometimes throbbed from standing most of the day and she hoped over time, the pain would lessen. A warm, light breeze fluttered over her skin and the gentle rocking motion of her chair soon had her nodding off and in a few minutes, she slipped into sleep.

  Ever since the accident, Shelly hadn’t been able to sleep more than five hours a night. A doctor at the hospital told her that it wasn’t unusual for different patterns to form after such trauma and that she would eventually get used to the new normal.

  She hadn’t shared with him that the reason for her short periods of slumber wasn’t physical discomfort, it was the dreams. Nightmares plagued her almost every night, and if it wasn’t a nightmare, it was an odd jumble of things that didn’t seem to go together and left her feeling anxious and uneasy.

  Since moving to Paxton Park, a new twist on the dreams had developed. Her twin sister, Lauren, appeared to her every time she slumbered and despite her longing for her sister, seeing Lauren in her nighttime visions left Shelly feeling confused, forlorn, and distressed. She often had the sensation that her sister wanted her to do something important, but she had no idea what it was, and then she’d wake with a start and, unable to fall back to sleep, would have to spend hours pacing around her cottage.

  Naps were no exception and after Shelly drifted off to sleep in her rocking chair, she dreamt of swimming in the clear, blue water of the resort lake. In no time, her peaceful mood and slow, steady strokes gave way to a frantic feeling and her arms moved faster and faster through the water as her heart pounded with fear. Shelly pushed herself out of the lake on the opposite bank, and hearing her sister call for her, she raced through the woods to the trails and followed one of them up the side of the mountain.

  Breathing hard, Shelly ran and ran trying to find Lauren in the forest. Just as she was about to give up and with tears running down her cheeks, she followed the bend in the trail and found her sister.

  Lauren stood on the other side of a small pond. Her facial expression was tight and drawn and her gaze was trained on the edge of the water. When she looked up at Shelly, her sad eyes held her sister’s. Slowly, Lauren lifted her hand and pointed.

  Shelly couldn’t see what her sister had gestured to so she moved her feet slowly over the ground to get closer to the pond. Her heart beat so fast and loud that it pounded in her ears and beads of sweat dribbled down her back.

  A flash of anxiety rushed through Shelly’s veins when she reached the slope of the bank and she stopped short. A body … someone … a young woman, her long black hair floating around her head, lay face up in the reeds.

  The woman was dead.

  Shelly bolted straight up in her rocker, glancing around, disoriented. A dream. That’s all it was. She sucked in deep breaths and rested back in the chair. Her t-shirt stuck to her and she felt cold and clammy. Reaching for her glass of lemonade, she held it to her temple.

  Someone walked up the sidewalk on the other side of the road and Shelly glanced over to look. As her eyes widened in surprise and her hand started to shake, the glass slipped from her grasp and hit the porch floor, the liquid splashing and the ice cubes scurrying over the wood.

  The young woman hurrying to Main Street looked just like the dead girl in Shelly’s dream.

  2

  About to stand up to follow after the dark-haired woman, a voice called to her from the side of the porch causing Shelly to yip in surprise.

  “Oh, sorry.” A smiling young woman with long, wavy, brown hair walked up onto the porch carrying a pie. She looked to be in her late twenties and was slim and fit.

  “I was napping and just woke up.” Shelly rubbed at her forehead trying to clear her head. “I didn’t hear you walk up.” She stood to greet the visitor.

  “I’m Juliet Landers. I live next door.” Juliet pointed to the pale blue cottage and then extended her hand to shake with Shelly. “I was away until yesterday. I saw that you’d moved in so I baked you a pie. I hope you like apple.”

  Shelly accepted the pie from her neighbor with a smile. “I love apple. That was really nice of you. Thanks so much. Why don’t you stay for tea and we can have a slice of the pie?”

  Shelly made tea and she and her neighbor settled at the small, circular, metal table on the porch. “Are you working at the resort?” Juliet asked.

  “I’m a baker.” Shelly poured the tea into delicate porcelain cups. “I’m baking for the diner and the bakery.”

  “Oh, no,” Juliet frowned. “You’re a baker? You’ll hate my pie. I’m not exactly a good cook.”

  Shelly chuckled. “No worries. I’m sure it’s delicious.” She cut two slices and placed them on small, white plates and after taking a bite, she smiled. “It is delicious.”

  “You’re being nice,” Juliet said. “I have a very small repertoire of things I can make. They’re edible and they won’t poison you, at least.”

  The word poison made Shelly shiver for a second. “Do you work at the resort, too?”

  Juliet nodded and wiped her lips with a napkin. “I’ve worked there for six years in different jobs. I started as a ticket seller, moved to kids’ ski instructor, now in the winters, I teach adults snowboarding and skiing and I’m on the ski patrol. In the other seasons, I do canoe and kayak tours, take people on the white water rafting expeditions, and do bike trail tours around the area.”

  Shelly’s eyes widened. “No wonder you’re so fit.”

  “I love to be outside.” Juliet shrugged.

  The two chatted about where they grew up, what they studied in school, and how they ended up in Paxton Park. Juliet said, “My family lives in Boston so this location was perfect for me. I can take the train into the city and it only takes about two and half hours to get there.”

  Shelly said, “I wanted a change from living in the city and someone I used to work with knew about the opening at the resort and suggested I apply.” She sipped her tea. “I liked that the job was only four days a week to start.” She mentioned the car accident and how she still needed to recover some physical skills, but glossed over the details of the incident. “So far, so good. I’m glad the job worked out. I like to hike, bike, and swim so this place is ideal.”

  “I should take you on a tour of the trails on the weekend,” Juliet said. “There’s this really interesting part of the woods. It’s called the Crooked Tree Forest. Have you heard about it?”

  “No,” Shelly shook her head. “What is it?”

  “It’s a good-sized grove of trees on the south side of the mountain,” Juliet said. “The pine trees have all grown in a weird shape. The trunks come out of the ground and then they bend, a lot of them at ninety degree angles, then they shoot out between four to nine feet parallel to the ground, and then grow upright again. Like I said, it’s weird. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Goosebumps formed over Shelly’s arms. “What caused them to grow like that?”

  “There are a number of theories. A genetic mutation, weather caused it, people who lived in the area purposely bent the trees to use the wood for canoes, nothing’s been proved though.” Juliet leaned forward, the corners of her mouth turning up. “Then there are the other theories, like pagan rituals caused them to bend, fairies did it, witches or elves bent the trees, aliens did it.”

  Shelly chuckled. “I vote for aliens being responsible.”

  “Me, too.” Juliet laughed. “Anyway, the place is popular with the tourists and the townspeople are very protective of the trees.”

  The young women made plans to hike some trails on Saturday morning and make a visit to the Crooked
Tree Forest.

  “Any other strange things about the town?” Shelly kidded.

  “The usual assortment of people, some grumps, some full of themselves, lots of fun, nice people.” Juliet lifted the last piece of pie to her mouth. “And then, of course, there’s that murder.”

  Shelly’s eyes bugged and she almost dropped her fork. “What murder?”

  Juliet eyed Shelly. “You didn’t hear about it?”

  “No.” Shelly sat straight. “When did it happen? No one mentioned it to me.”

  Juliet’s face was serious. “It happened two months ago. A woman was found dead, not too far from the crooked tree grove. She’d been strangled.”

  Shelly’s heart pounded as she recalled hearing something about a murder in the western part of the state. She wondered if she’d seen a news report with a picture of the woman and that was the reason she dreamt of a dead girl in the woods. “Who was she?”

  “She’d only lived here for about two months. She worked in town, at Chet’s specialty market. Her name was Meg Stores.”

  “How old was she?

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “Are there suspects?”

  “Not to anyone’s knowledge.” Juliet gave a shrug. “The story has fallen out of the news. The police have come up dry.” Narrowing her eyes, she looked at Shelly. “The town manager and the town selectmen would prefer the story take a low profile. They don’t want the murder to scare off the tourists.”

  Shelly groaned.

  “My sister, Jay, is on the police force.” Juliet added, “She keeps me up to date on things.” Pointing at an angle to a cottage on the opposite side of the street located four houses down, Juliet said, “Meg lived in that pale pink house.”