Greenhouse Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1-6

by Wendy Tyson

  Megan pulled off her gloves. She took the coolers back to the barn, used the hose to clean the leaves thoroughly, and packed them in accordance with variety. She’d have Porter, her farm hand, drop them off for Alvaro.

  Megan considered the conversation she’d had with Martine a few days earlier. She hadn’t heard anything more from the woman, or from King for that matter. Things had been eerily quiet. She fished her phone out of the pocket of her jeans. She flipped from CNN to local stations. Nothing new on the murder.

  Finished with this chore, Megan went in search of Porter. She’d take a break for the afternoon. King wanted her help keeping Eloise Kent cooperative. That meant she needed facts. If the reporters were going after Dillon, something must have transpired. She needed to figure out what.

  King was out, and his next in charge wouldn’t tell her anything. Megan left the police station and headed to the Bucks County Inn. Plan B: she’d try to meet with Martine or one of the others. She thought of calling Eloise, but Denver said she hadn’t been answering her phone. She was busy procuring resources for her foster son, he said, and would be hard to reach.

  That also sounded like a bad omen. But Denver didn’t know more.

  The Bucks County Inn was a neat stone Colonial tucked back off the road, a few miles from Winsome proper. Megan had looked at the inn’s website before coming over. The main structure housed half a dozen en suite guest rooms. Two outbuildings—a small cottage and a barn—offered a cozy couple’s retreat and a small apartment, respectively. If Martine had heard Chase and Jatin arguing through the walls, that meant she was in the main house.

  Inside, two matching desks flanked a large center hall entryway. Wide-plank pine floors, a navy area rug in front of the doorway. A white-muzzled Schnauzer with a Scottish plaid collar padded over slowly and greeted her at the door. Soon after, a white-haired older woman in a Scottish plaid skirt, white cardigan, and white sandals joined the dog and welcomed Megan with a warm smile.

  “How can I help you, dear?”

  “I’m looking for Martine Pringle. I understand she’s staying here.”

  “Oh, yes. Poor thing.” The woman walked toward the desk on the left and shuffled through papers. Pulling one from the pile, she glanced up at Megan. “Your name, dear?”

  “Megan Sawyer.”

  The woman smiled again, highlighting warm green eyes and a set of dimples. “The Washington Acres lady! So nice to meet you. I’m the Inn’s owner.” She picked up the phone, dialed, and waited. When no one answered, she put the receiver back in the cradle. “I’m afraid Martine isn’t answering. She must have gone out for a bit.” She frowned. “Come to think of it, I didn’t see her at breakfast this morning either.”

  “Could she still be sleeping?”

  “I guess. I don’t normally keep track of my guests, other than to make sure everything is locked up in the evening once all of the guests are back.” She lowered her voice. “Of course, these aren’t normal times, are they?”

  “No, they’re not.” Megan paused, listening for footsteps and sounds overhead—anything indicating someone else was here. “Martine came home last evening?”

  “Martine never left, to the best of my knowledge. Her Volkswagen is still here. Her friends didn’t mention anything.” Concern flashed across the innkeeper’s pleasant features. “You don’t think she left without paying?”

  “Oh, gosh, no. Given everything, I was afraid—”

  “Oh! Yes, I should have thought of that.” The woman’s face flushed crimson. “Sorry. It’s been a long week. We’ve had the police by almost every day. I can tell you, that’s never good for business.”

  “How about the rest of the group? Barbara and Xavier and Jatin. Are they around?”

  “They left earlier, after asking me to set the apartment aside for their boss. Apparently, she will be flying in from California and staying with us as well.” She picked up the phone again. “Let me try Martine one more time.”

  When again no one answered, the innkeeper used a key on a ring attached to her skirt to open a desk drawer. From inside, she pulled an old-fashioned looking brass key. She held it up. “Let me check on her.”

  Megan nodded, concerned. Martine had been agitated on Sunday night, but neither Megan nor Denver had talked with her since Martine had met with Chief King. Megan didn’t know what had come of that meeting or whether there had been backlash against Martine. Maybe she was now a pariah from the others from BOLD. Maybe she was missing.

  The innkeeper came down the long staircase, shaking her head slowly back and forth. “I have to admit, I was a little worried.” She strode back to her desk, the Schnauzer leaving her post by the door into the kitchen to join her. “She’s okay. A little out of it, but okay. I told her you were here, and she said to give her ten minutes. She’s going to get dressed and she’ll be down.”

  The innkeeper placed the key back in the desk. She looked out the window before turning her attention to Megan once again. “One thing,” she said. “Martine asked that if the others return, you not mention Sunday. Whatever that means.” The look on her face said she’d love to know what that means.

  Megan nodded, giving her nothing.

  Clearly disappointed, the innkeeper cleared her throat. “Would you like some hot tea while you wait? Some nice orange pekoe? Or maybe English Breakfast?”

  “That would be lovely.”

  “Come with me to the kitchen. I’ll show you around.”

  Megan followed her through a rear doorway and into a large dining room. One large farmhouse table filled the space with twelve matching chairs around it and a matching buffet behind it. A giant flower centerpiece scented the air with the perfume of lilies and hyacinths. The dining room looked out onto a large veranda set with four smaller sets of tables and chairs. From the dining room they opened a door into an annex—the kitchen.

  “I don’t have guests back here. Or the dog. Code violation, you know.” The woman turned on a spigot over the large stainless farmhouse sink and filled a teapot with water. She motioned to the kitchen, which, unlike the rest of the house, was filled with stainless steel and white tile. Modern, clean, and efficient.

  “It’s lovely.”

  “Thank you, dear. I normally serve homemade granola, yogurt, fruit, and sweet breads for breakfast. Sometimes pancakes on the weekends. And once in a while I’ll make a dinner if someone asks. I love to cook.” She smiled shyly. “Can’t compete with your Alvaro, though. He’s gotten himself quite a reputation.”

  “I lucked out when he came to the café.”

  “You did, dear. Hold on to that one.”

  Megan smiled. She was anxious to talk to Martine, but she appreciated the tour of the competition. Their inn, if it ever got off its feet, would have a large commercial kitchen with teaching space. Not as high-end as this, perhaps, but similar.

  The innkeeper placed the teapot on the gas stovetop. She began rummaging through the Sub Zero refrigerator. “These guests—the people from BOLD—they like snacks in the afternoon. I’ve been making them cheese and crackers. Would you like some, dear?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Mind if I put a plate together while we chat?”

  “Not at all.” Although Megan wondered what they would chat about. She didn’t have to wonder long.

  “This group—are they friends of yours?” The woman pulled three plastic-wrapped chunks of cheese from the refrigerator and placed them on the stainless-topped island. She added an unwrapped summer sausage and a bottle of mustard. “They seem very nice.”

  “I don’t really know them. Some of them went to school with my boyfriend.”

  “That nice Dr. Finn?” Then, after a glance at Megan, “Don’t look so surprised, dear. Those of us in the hospitality business keep tabs on the competition. Plus, there was that murder last year. You and Dr. Finn were in the news.”


  “Yeah, it was a rough year.”

  “I’ll say.” She unwrapped a hunk of cheddar and placed it on a serving plate. The teapot whistled, and she paused to fill two mugs with boiling water. “Here you go, dear. Honey or cream?”

  When Megan declined both, the innkeeper returned to her cheese tray and the topic at hand. “They’re an interesting group of people. A few of them really keep to themselves. Martine. That Barbara.”

  “Barbara, really? She seems pretty outgoing.”

  “Has said maybe a dozen words since she arrived. Not like that Xavier. Orders the others around. Always has a complaint.” Her mouth tightened into a small knot in the bottom center of her face. “I don’t mind telling you this,” she whispered, “because you’re in the trade, but some guests make you happy to be in the hospitality field. Others wish you had gone into accounting like your mother suggested.”

  Megan laughed. “And Xavier does the latter.”

  She answered with a deeper frown. Megan watched as the woman sliced a large slab of Gouda from a wheel and placed it on the tray. The innkeeper studied the tray, returned to the refrigerator, and came back with a roll of goat cheese and some fig jam. “Xavier likes variety.” Her tone told Megan just what she thought about that.

  Megan laughed. She looked into the hallway to see if Martine was nearby. With no sign of her, Megan stood as close as she could to the innkeeper without seeming odd. “Did you notice any tension between members of the group on Friday night?” she asked.

  Only the woman didn’t look surprised by the question. She put the knife down on the counter and placed her hands on her hips, her expression thoughtful. “Now that you mention it, I had a guest complain about noise.”

  “Noise?”

  “Bickering. Loud bickering. When I asked for the room from which it was coming, they told me room four.”

  “Whose room is that?” Megan asked, suspecting she already knew.

  “That’s Barbara’s room, which is why I was surprised. She’s so quiet. I asked several times to be sure the guest had heard right, but he and his wife were adamant.”

  “A male voice along with Barbara’s?”

  “I didn’t ask, and he didn’t offer.”

  Megan considered that. “It was definitely Friday night?”

  “Yes.” She gave a firm nod. “The couple was celebrating their tenth anniversary. They stopped on their way to New York City. Coming up from Delaware.”

  “Is it possible Barbara had her speaker phone on? That the voice they heard was a caller—not someone in the room with her?”

  The innkeeper tilted her head. “You know, I didn’t ask that, but they seemed quite adamant that there were people in the room.” She paused. “And the woman said someone slammed the door. Hard. It dislodged a vase in their room and it crashed to the floor.”

  “Did you ask Barbara or Martine the next day?”

  The innkeeper nodded. “I brought it up with Barbara because the noise was coming from her room. She flat out denied it. Said someone must have heard wrong. That she went right to bed and slept soundly until morning.”

  Megan was processing this when a small voice said, “Megan?”

  Megan looked over in time to see Martine slipping around the corner. She wore her blonde hair loose around her shoulders. Straight and fine, it lay flat against her face. Dark denim jeans were pressed to a fine crease, and a frilly rose-colored blouse fell at her hips. A floral belt around her narrow waist pulled it all together.

  “How are you, Martine?”

  Martine didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to. Her ivory skin was alpine white. Eyes were red-rimmed, with bruised hollows underneath. She looked as though she’d lost ten pounds off her tiny frame in days. Megan felt a wave of sympathy course through her. Martine looked like she’d been through hell.

  Megan had to wonder whether there had been more between Martine Pringle and Charles Mars than either had let on.

  “Can we talk for a few minutes?” Megan asked.

  “Sure.” To the innkeeper, Martine asked, “May I take an apple?”

  “Of course, dear.” With a knowing glance at Megan, she handed Martine an apple from a basket on the counter. “Your fellow colleagues are expected soon, Martine. You may use the veranda if you’d like. It’s quiet. Or if you want more privacy, there is a guest study on the second floor, past the library table.”

  “That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

  Martine dug into the apple as she led Megan back into the public area of the house and up the grand staircase. Megan admired the chestnut railings, the sheer width of the steps. She looked up. The staircase continued to a third floor, but Martine stopped on the second.

  “This way,” she said. She continued down a wide hallway adorned with eighteenth century artwork and paused at room two. “Hold on for a second, okay? I need to grab my phone.”

  Martine opened the door, and leaving it wide open, ran inside. Megan could make out a neatly made bed covered with a navy blue-patterned quilt, a stately oak dresser, an upholstered chair, also navy, a window seat, and a closet door. The rest of the room was blocked by a wall, behind which Martine disappeared. Megan presumed it was the en suite bath.

  Seconds later, Martine returned with her cell phone and a sweater. “Chilly in here.” She locked the door and continued down the hall, past a narrow secretary that housed stacks of paperbacks and hardcovers—the library table—and rooms three and four.

  “Which was Chase’s room?”

  “Room one,” Martine said. She pointed down the hall. “The police have been through it. Room’s empty now.”

  “I’m surprised you all stayed here.”

  Martine opened the door to a small room. Inside sat a cheery Queen Ann style desk, matching wooden chair, and two plaid upholstered wing chairs that shared a coffee table. More eighteenth century artwork on the walls. A navy-blue area rug. The faint scent of musky male aftershave lingered in the air, mixing with cigar smoke and the faintest hint of lemon cleaner. These were old smells, as worn into the woodwork as the oils used to dust and polish.

  “I don’t think this room gets much use,” Martine said. She sat on one of the upholstered chairs. Megan chose the wooden desk chair, but she turned it around, so it was facing Martine.

  “I wanted to check on you. See how things went with King.”

  “They went as well as could be expected. I talked, he listened. I asked him if his people already knew about the argument, he was noncommittal.” She shrugged. “Traitor to friendship, but civil duty done.”

  Megan smiled. “I’m sure Chief King followed up with Jatin.”

  “I have no idea. Jatin doesn’t seem to be speaking to me. Or any of us, for that matter.”

  “Did he go with the others to get Barbara’s boss, Harriet?”

  “I have no idea. Barbara texted me and said they were heading out, did I want to come. I stayed behind. Worked for a while on some damage control. Contacted the social worker in charge of Dillon’s case to see how he’s doing, handled some media requests. Took some happy pills and went to sleep.”

  “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about: Dillon.”

  “What about him?”

  “The news crews are in town. Many are hanging out at my café, so I know they’re all over this story. It feels like maybe something broke, but nothing’s been said. I saw the chopper headed toward the hospital where Dillon’s been admitted. I thought, maybe—”

  “If you’re wondering if I spilled his name to the media, the answer is no. He’s a minor.”

  “That’s not what I was going to ask.”

  “What then?” Martine crossed her arms over her chest, looking suddenly defensive.

  “I thought maybe the police found some new clue, something to point to a killer.”

  “Oh.” Martine took
an audible breath. “What I know about Dillon, I’m afraid it’s not much. The social worker was not very forthcoming. Said Dillon is under a doctor’s care, and that all inquiries should be directed to the police or the hospital staff.” She sighed. “That’s about when I took my happy pill.”

  Megan could understand the social worker’s position. The agency that placed him wouldn’t disclose information, and neither would the police or the hospital. Not to Martine, at least. Megan had been hoping there’d been a break in the case. One that didn’t involve Dillon.

  Didn’t sound like it, though.

  “Tell me, what does ‘damage control’ look like in a situation like this?”

  Martine let out a strained laugh. “I can honestly tell you I’ve never been through this before, so it’s hard for me to know. Rather than publishing photographs of the happy campers and doing all of the media and social media outreach I would normally do, I’m left on the defensive. Fending off inquiries, making brief statements. Talking with our lawyers.”

  “Your lawyers?”

  “The company organized this event. Those kids suffered trauma. Not our fault, certainly, but the second guessers are already out there. Were our employees vetted? Did we have adequate staff on site? Did we knowingly allow kids with mental health problems to participate, putting themselves and others in danger?” She frowned. “We’re preparing for the worst.”

  Megan’s mind was stuck on the words “with mental health problems.” Didn’t all of these kids have problems of some sort? Wasn’t that why they were in the school in the first place?

  “I sound cold,” Martine said. “I’ve been stuck here for days with nothing but this situation to dwell on. I don’t know who to trust, and no one is telling us anything. I can’t get away from them.” She motioned toward the hall and, presumably, her coworkers. “It’s enough to drive anyone crazy.”

  Megan heard a car pull into the driveway outside. She walked to the window and peeked outside. A black Tahoe was parking next to her truck. After a few moments, Barbara climbed out of the driver’s side. Xavier and a tall woman Megan didn’t recognize joined her.