The Mystery Sisters series Box Set

by Karen Musser Nortman

  Camille pulled out her phone. “Sure. I’ll check with Patsy Johnson too.”

  “Thanks.” They both moved out of the kitchen to make their calls.

  While Lil, Max, and Melody waited, lightening flashed outside while the rain drummed against the windows. It provided an eerie soundtrack to their dark thoughts.

  Terry and Camille came back to the kitchen. “All keys are accounted for,” he said.

  “You’re right, Terry, about the brutality, “ Max said, “and I keep coming back to why? What’s the point? Is there a message? Because otherwise, why not just murder the poor woman and leave her in the woods. Or along the road. Or in her car—wherever she was killed. I just don’t get it.”

  “It must be a message—what other reason could there be to go to all of that work?” Camille said.

  “But if it’s a message—to who? Or whom. Whichever. Someone opposed to Halloween or haunted houses? Someone who hates the bank? Someone who just wants to scare the crap out of everybody?” Terry’s reverie was interrupted by a pounding on the front door—and then, as if an afterthought, the doorbell.

  He hurried to the entry followed by Rosie. He yelled up the stairs before he opened the door. “Back in bed guys!”

  He came back to the kitchen followed by the police chief.

  “Can I take your raincoat?”

  Melody said to Terry, “The kids are still up?”

  Terry hung the raincoat on a hook by the back door and turned back to the group. “Yeah, they were peeking through the railing trying to see who was at the door.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now, Josh, would you like some coffee?”

  “No, I just have a couple of questions. Did you find out about the keys?”

  “Yes,” Terry said. “Everyone has theirs.”

  “And none of them were at the house today?”

  “No,” Camille said.

  “But the door was unlocked when we got there this afternoon,” Terry said. “I thought maybe I forgot to lock it last night.”

  “Did you lock it?” Mansell asked.

  “I thought I did, but I couldn’t swear to it. We were pretty pumped about how well the tour went when we left last night, so I don’t really know.”

  “The house looks like it was pretty grand in its time,” Lil said.

  “It was, but it’s in terrible shape now. The roof leaks and most of the plumbing doesn’t work. It would cost a fortune to restore and then the utilities would be astronomical. We just did some cosmetic stuff for this project.” Camille shook her head. “Buyers just aren’t interested in a house like that—not in a town this size. The plan now is to turn it over to the fire department for a practice fire after the haunted house is done and then sell the lot.” She paused a moment. “Wouldn’t that be something if the bank robber had been using it as a hideout?”

  Chief Mansell said, “Meanwhile, we haven’t found anything so far that would explain the murder or why the woman was there.”

  Terry nodded. “We were just talking about that—why the murderer went to so much work to display the victim. You don’t think she was killed there, do you?”

  “No, there’s no sign of that. Or, so far, of the manikin that was originally in the chair. We can’t find that either. Well, I’d better get back. I need to check on some things, and then I’m ready to get out of this weather and into my bed.” He got his raincoat and put it back on, still dripping a little on the floor.

  Terry walked him back to the entry and let him out. Back in the kitchen, Camille stood. “I need to get home too. Terry, we’ll meet first thing in the morning and figure out some options for the haunted house project.”

  Shortly, Lil and Max had donned their pajamas and were propped in the twin beds, reading, not yet ready to fall asleep. However, Max couldn’t concentrate on her book. She finally closed it and turned off her small bedside lamp.

  As she lay staring up at the ceiling, she had a thought. “Lil, that woman—Barbara—was looking for someone named Al Carson?”

  Lil stuck her finger in her book to hold her place and looked at her sister over the top of her reading glasses. “Yes. Why?”

  “Al Carson sounds a lot like Art Carnel. Do you suppose he’s the missing Cassanova, and he gave her an alias on the cruise? Lots of people use names with the same initials. Maybe he has monogrammed luggage or handkerchiefs or something.”

  “Well, of course we hardly know him, but would he risk what he has going with Camille to have a fling with someone else? I mean, Camille is rich and attractive and fun…”

  Max interrupted and raised herself up on one elbow. “That’s just it. I know that he would. Saturday at the apple festival, when you and Camille were in the quilt shop, I saw him watching the juggler. He had a clingy redhead hanging on his arm, giving him a nuzzle every once in a while. I don’t think she was a sister or a cousin.”

  “You never mentioned it.”

  “I didn’t want to in front of Camille, and later I forgot about it.”

  Lil sat up straight in the bed. Her book slid off her lap and onto the floor. “You mean, you think he’s the murderer? That’s why he hasn’t been around?”

  Max shrugged, lay back, and continued looking at the ceiling, as if the answer was there somewhere. “It’s possible. Maybe he didn’t want Barbara to mess up his thing with Camille.” She sighed. “He doesn’t even seem like that great of a catch.”

  Lil picked her book up and put it on the nightstand. She turned off her own light. “He was personable when we had lunch with him but, I agree—it’s hard to imagine women fighting over him. It shouldn’t be too hard to find out if he’s been on a cruise lately. Or any kind of vacation. Do we know when Barbara was?”

  “That Mary Carmody who we spoke to tonight knew about the cruise. Maybe Barbara mentioned to her when it was. We need to talk to those people again tomorrow.”

  “We could call and offer them a ride to the quilt shop! But, we have to be very subtle about this so we don’t get Terry in trouble. Maybe he can find out if Art has done a cruise, though.”

  “You know me,” Max smiled in the dark. “The model of discretion.”

  Lil snorted. “Good night.”

  Chapter Eight

  Max

  The next morning, the mood on the Garrett porch was a little lighter, partly because the storm seemed to have worn itself out, leaving only dripping trees and mud puddles. Ren couldn’t resist jumping in a few when she and Max took Rosie for her morning walk. Rosie thought it was a wonderful idea, and managed to soak both herself and Ren.

  When they returned to the house, Melody turned from the sink and covered her mouth at the sight. Terry looked to see what her alarm was about. Ren stood there with muddy drips running down her face, some of her red curls dangling limp with more brown tones than usual, and a smear across the arm of her yellow windbreaker.

  Ren saw her mother’s face. “It was Rosie’s fault. She’s such a mess, she had to stay in the garage!”

  Melody held back a smile with effort and put her hands on her hips. “Rosie doesn’t have to go to school in twenty minutes. Another shower for you.” She pointed to the stairs.

  “Aw, Mommy,” Ren began, but then caught sight of her father coming around the island. “Nooo!” she screeched and raced up the stairs giggling, with Terry right behind her.

  Mel shook her head and leaned on the island. “I don’t like gender stereotyping, but I don’t think little boys scream so shrilly and enjoy it so much.”

  Rival looked up from his bowl of cereal. “That’s for sure.”

  “Oh hush, Mr. Big Ears,” his mother said.

  Lil nodded. “You’re right. Little girls have weaponized screaming. Terry’s sister could almost break glass. But I’m sure Max and I were never like that.” She grinned.

  Shortly after, Terry returned downstairs with a scrubbed Ren in tow. Melody loaded the kids in her car for the ride to school, while Terry refreshed his coffee and sat down at the counter.

&nbs
p; “I’m not looking forward to meeting with Camille this morning. We need to make a decision about whether to open the haunted house again. If we don’t, it’s going to put a big hole in the auditorium budget. If we do, some people will think it’s disrespectful to the dead, and we might not take in much money anyway.”

  Max nodded. “It’s a shame on so many levels. Your mom and I were talking last night about the elusive Art Carnel.”

  “Camille said she finally heard from him.”

  “Yes. We know. But Art Carnel sounds a lot like Al Carson—the man Barbara was looking for. She said she met him on a cruise and he lived in Burnsville. Yet none of you have ever heard of him. Is Art the type of guy who might give a woman a fake name on a cruise? And do you know if he’s been on a cruise recently?”

  “Oh, come on.” Terry added a packet of sweetener to his coffee and stirred it. “Art’s a nice guy. A little pushy about his investment business, perhaps, but he worships Camille. He wouldn’t do anything to upset her.”

  Max raised her eyebrows at Lil, who nodded. “I’m not sure that’s true.” She told him about seeing Art and the redhead in Harvest.

  Terry wiped his hand across his face. “Wow. I never would have thought that. Harvest isn’t that far away. You would think he would be more careful.”

  “Terrance Garrett!” Lil said. “Are you saying his sneaking around on Camille is okay if he doesn’t get caught?”

  Terry held his hands up. “No, no, Mom. You raised me better than that.” He laughed and tweaked her cheek. “I just meant that if he bothered to give a fake name out in the middle of the ocean, you would think he’d be more cautious around here. But I still can’t believe it. Are you saying you think he’s the murderer?”

  “I don’t know,” Max shrugged. “It’s just odd, that’s all. Do you know, or can you find out, if he’s been on a cruise and when?”

  “Probably. Do you know when Barbara’s cruise was?”

  “No.” Lil winked at Max. “But we know a couple of ladies on the tour who need a ride out to a quilt shop that’s in an old barn. If you tell us where it is.”

  “Quilt shop? Actually, I don’t hang out in those much. When Mel comes back, she can probably give you directions.”

  “Do you have a local phone book, Terry? I’ll call the Inn and make arrangements with Mary Carmody and her friend,” Max said.

  Terry obliged and when Melody returned, Lil wrote down directions to the quilt shop.

  “I would love to go with you, but today is my day to help with Meals on Wheels,” Melody said. “I want to learn to quilt.”

  Max laughed. “You’ll have to talk to your mother-in-law about that. My sewing expertise is limited to replacing buttons.”

  “And that’s iffy,” Lil said. “I will be glad to teach you quilting, but we have an ulterior motive here. The women we are taking knew Barbara, the victim, and we want to pick their brains.”

  Melody grinned. “Here I thought you were just being nice. Have a good day anyway.”

  By the time they stopped at the Hilltop Inn, all signs of the previous day’s storms had disappeared and ‘October’s bright blue weather’ had burst forth in all of its glory. Mary Carmody waited on the porch with the Ohio sweatshirt woman, who Mary introduced as Cathy Messer. Today Cathy wore a sweatshirt that said ‘Ask me about my grandchildren.’

  Max opened the door to the Studebaker and said, “I will warn you that my Irish Setter, Rosie, usually rides in the back, and her main talent is shedding. I tried to clean it up this morning, but I might have missed some.”

  Mary waved her hand in dismissal. “I have cats at home. I’m used to it. This car is so cool!”

  “Oh, it is!” Cathy snapped a selfie with her phone. “My husband is going to be so jealous.”

  Once on the road, Cathy was full of questions about the car—how long Max had owned it, what she had done to it, and where she got it. By the time Cathy sat back in the seat out of breath, Lil said, “I think this is our turnoff coming up on the right.”

  They made the turn. Max said to her guests, “So how well did you know Barbara? And by the way, what was her last name? I never heard.”

  Mary said, “Her last name was Gunter. Of course, we just met her at the beginning of the trip so we didn’t know her well.”

  Max debated how to diplomatically bring up Barbara’s love life and the cruise, when Lil said, “So what do you think about this guy she met on a cruise? Was he just stringing her along?”

  “Welll,” Cathy looked sideways at Mary, “We talked about that, Mary and me. There’s lots of guys on those cruises looking to separate a widow from her money.”

  “She was a widow?” Max asked.

  “Yes. I think she said her husband died about two years ago,” Mary said.

  “This must be it!” Lil pointed at a large dark red barn trimmed in crisp white with a gravel parking lot in front of it. A sign in the peak bore a painted ‘Flying Geese’ patchwork design and the name ‘Quilt Barn’ in block letters.

  Discussion of Barbara Gunter ceased as the women got out of the car and headed in a screen door.

  “Good Morning!” A short woman with blonde, frizzy hair looked up from behind a wide wooden counter at the back. She was cutting squares of a variety of orange print fabrics. “Is this your first time at the Quilt Barn?”

  Max walked toward her. “Yes it is. Two of these ladies are on a bus tour, and my sister and I are visiting her son.” She turned to indicate the others and found no one behind her. All three still stood near the door, their mouths open, as they slowly took in the kaleidoscope of colors. Fabric bolts marched around the structure five shelves high. Multicolored quilts hung above the shelves on the walls and from the center beams. Max hadn’t even noticed.

  She turned back to the woman and grinned. “I guess they like it.”

  The woman smiled back and placed another bolt on top of the stack on the counter. “I take it that you’re not a quilter?”

  “No, I’m not. I just appreciate others’ work.”

  The woman spoke over Max’s shoulder to Lil, Mary, and Cathy. “We have a twenty percent off sale today on fall fabrics—everything on that east wall. There’s hot cider and gingersnaps on that table in the corner. Let me know if I can help you with anything.”

  “I think we’re all just browsing, but this will be hard to resist,” Lil said.

  Max followed Mary Carmody around a display of flannels. “Do you make a lot of quilts?”

  “Mostly small wall hangings. I’m looking for something for my niece’s nursery—she’s expecting a little boy in about six weeks.”

  “How nice. Getting back to Barbara a minute, did she ever say when she went on that cruise?”

  “I don’t remember for sure, but she talked about it a lot. She—oh, look at this print with Scotty dogs and the companion pieces! My niece and her husband plan to name their baby Scott. Maybe I should do a crib quilt instead of a hanging. I can’t believe how cute this is, and the colors are perfect.” She pulled three bolts in blues and greens out of the display. “Would you bring that solid blue and the one with the green and black stripes?” Mary marched back toward the counter, bearing the bolts in her arms.

  Max tugged at the bolt of blue fabric and managed to work it loose, but the striped bolt was wedged in tighter on another shelf, and the texture of the flannel created more friction. Frustrated, she gave it an extra jerk, and the whole row of bolts tumbled to the floor.

  Lil rushed over and started picking them up. “What were you doing?”

  “Mary asked me to bring two of the bolts that she couldn’t carry. But one was stuck.” Max felt like a whiney little kid making excuses—which made her mad. She had tried to help.

  Lil stood the bolts on end that she had picked up, but when she leaned over to get more, they fell over again.

  Cathy motioned the clerk over.

  “Oh, my!” She clapped both hands to her face. Then she giggled. “No harm. I’ll get it later
. They need to be in order by color and shade.”

  Lil said, “We can at least pick them up off the floor and stack them where you can get to them.” She laid two bolts on a side table.

  “I’m so sorry,” Max said.

  The clerk waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Fortunately fabric doesn’t break. Which are the other ones that your friend wanted, do you know?”

  Max grabbed the blue and the striped fabric. “I’ll bring them up.” Lil and Cathy went to work stacking the wayward bolts.

  The clerk asked Mary about the niece’s baby, her plans for the fabric, and other similar projects she had done. She measured off batting and added several spools of thread to the stack.

  Lil and Cathy picked up all of the bolts off the floor, and brought their own choices of fabric to the counter. They chattered excitedly between bites of cookie and sips of cider. Max drummed her fingers on the counter, absently thumbed through a rack of instruction books, and checked her watch. Finally the purchases were done and bagged.

  They returned to the car and Max opened the trunk to stow the bags. “Thank you so much for bringing us out here,” Mary gushed.

  “No problem,” Max said. “I hope somebody remembers the way back to town.”

  “Got it,” Lil said, holding up her phone. Once in the car, she gave directions over the voices of the two women in the back seat, who discussed their projects and any other possibilities in the barn that they had passed up.

  “I’m thinking I need to bring my quilt group over here for just a day trip,” Cathy said. “It really isn’t that far.”

  “Great idea,” Mary agreed.

  “Turn right up here,” Lil told Max, and pointed ahead to a tee intersection. “Then there’s just that short curvy stretch back to the blacktop. Easy-peasy after that.”

  Max made the turn and they started down a winding road. The trees overhanging the road were aflame with color, with a backdrop of cobalt blue sky. The little Studebaker took the curves handily. Max relaxed into the drive and waited for a break in the chatter to ask more about Barbara Gunter.