Greenhouse Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1-6

by Wendy Tyson

  For now, she’d take one day at a time.

  Denver called later that evening. “I’ve finished rounds, Megs, and if you can stand the smell of horses on my clothes, we could meet for some dinner and a pint. What do ye think?”

  Denver was originally from Scotland, and while his brogue had diminished over time, it became more pronounced when he was tired or agitated. Today he sounded tired.

  “I think that sounds wonderful.”

  “I hear there’s a beautiful organic café on Canal Street, and it serves amazing food.”

  Megan laughed. She loved her café, Washington Acres Larder & Café, but she liked to sample other restaurants during her down time. “I have a better idea. There’s a new Indian restaurant on Route 611. Saffron Palace. Want to try that? I hear biryani and cold beer go well together.”

  “Give me thirty minutes to scrub my hands and wash my face, and I’ll be there to pick you up.”

  Saffron Palace was aglow with gold-filtered lighting and gold-embroidered tablecloths. Megan and Denver sat across from each other in a corner table by a window that overlooked a small, garden-filled courtyard. The scents of cumin and ginger wafted from the kitchen. Megan ordered vegetable biryani and found it did indeed go well with a cold beer. Denver picked at his chicken jalfrezi, seeming to prefer the brew to the food.

  “You don’t like it?” Megan asked.

  “It’s delicious. Spicy, but delicious.” He glanced toward the entrance where the hostess was seating a party of six. “Just a long day.”

  Megan put her fork down. “Anything in particular?”

  “Normal stuff, plus Mrs. Jaffrey’s pet raccoon ate her wedding ring.” He smiled. “That was fun. Why you should never have a pet raccoon.”

  “I didn’t know Mrs. Jaffrey even had a pet raccoon.”

  “Neither did Mr. Jaffrey. That was the fun part.”

  The waitress came with another round of beers, and Megan took a slow sip. “I had an interesting day, too.” She told Denver about her contractor’s plan. “Thousands more, I’m sure—and additional delays.”

  “Damn the von Tresslers and their expensive construction projects. But it sounds like you would have had this issue eventually. At least the ground isn’t frozen, and Ryan can take care of the problem, so that’s good.”

  “True. Speaking of the von Tresslers, I took a ride up to their house today. Drove Mrs. von Tressler to David’s memorial reception.”

  Denver scooped up some chicken with a piece of roti and shot Megan a questioning look. “Why did you have to drive Melanie to her husband’s memorial?”

  “Not Melanie.” She shared her interaction with the three women. “A woman who introduced herself as ‘Mrs. von Tressler.’ Maybe David’s ex-wife?” Megan flashed a sly smile. “Or perhaps she was his current wife.”

  “Then who is Melanie? His girlfriend?” Denver shook his head. “A little too modern for my taste.”

  Megan laughed. “Same here. I’m starting gossip, though. The truth is, I don’t know which one was David’s wife, if either. Or who is the mother of David’s son.”

  Denver stopped chewing. “David has a son?”

  Megan nodded. “A young guy. Looks just like a younger , shorter version of David. At least I assumed he was their son.”

  “I think ye assumed wrong, Megs. When David took his bonnie little Cavalier to me last month, I asked him about kids and he said he was childless.”

  “Maybe it’s her son. Although she looks way too young to have a young adult son.”

  Denver shrugged. “Maybe, but people have all kinds of work done these days. I was worried about kids in the house because of the dog’s condition, and David very firmly assured me there was no one other than him and Melanie in the house, so I didn’t need to worry.”

  Megan thought about this. She pictured what she’d witnessed between the family members. Melanie with her hand on the younger man’s arm. David, looking far older than Melanie, putting a fatherly arm around the man. The trio had been huddled together, talking quietly amongst themselves on Canal Street, by the path. She’d assumed they were family. It was, of course, possible she’d misinterpreted what she’d seen—projected her expectations onto her neighbors.

  Megan took a last bite of biryani, savoring the flavors, appreciating the contrasting textures and bold spices. Everything about David and Melanie had seemed flavorless. From the bland but sprawling estate, to their matching silver BMWs, to the noncommittal way they interacted with the townspeople of Winsome. There was a lack of energy and imagination.

  “I heard David had a heart attack,” Megan asked. “Have you heard the same?”

  “Only gossip. Mr. Jaffrey said David had a heart attack. Your aunt Sarah said natural causes. Millie Dunast said he had a tooth infection that went septic.” Denver shot her that dimpled grin she’d fallen in love with. “And Ben Biggs said David von Tressler is still alive and this is all a big show to collect his insurance money.”

  “Well, Ben Biggs wins for creativity.”

  “Aye, and for not paying his bills on time.”

  They both laughed. The door to the restaurant opened, and out of the corner of her eye, Megan spotted two of the women from Merry’s shop enter. “Don’t look,” she whispered, “but Claire von Tressler’s two friends just arrived.”

  As soon as the women spied Megan, they high-tailed it to her table.

  “Have you seen—” Red said.

  “Where is Claire?” Platinum shouted.

  Megan stood. “Ladies, please, one at a time. What’s wrong?”

  It was Platinum who spoke first. “Claire. Where did you leave her?”

  “At the memorial,” Megan said.

  Red shook her head. “She never arrived.”

  Megan glanced at Denver, who looked as confused as Megan felt. “I dropped her off there myself. Along the circular driveway. I saw her enter the house.”

  “No one has seen her.” Red crossed her arms over her chest. “She’s not answering her phone.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” Megan said. “Maybe she wandered off. She seemed upset. Maybe she couldn’t bring herself to go in and went for a walk instead.”

  Red and Platinum looked at one another. Finally, Red sighed. “Claire’s not in a good space right now. We should have been with her. When we arrived and couldn’t find her, we went back to the flower shop. The woman there gave us your name. Your grandmother told us where you were.”

  Megan’s stomach knotted at the thought of strangers talking to Bibi, at the idea of people tracking her down during her date with Denver. She stared down at her hands and saw they were clenched into fists. Too many bad things had happened in Winsome for Megan to feel otherwise.

  Denver stood. He towered over the women. “We understand you’re worried, but it’s the police you need to be talking with, not Megan. The chief’s name is Robert King. Give the station a call.”

  The blond nodded. The redhead looked about to say something but didn’t. Denver sat back down.

  “I’m sorry,” Red said finally. She directed her words at Megan. “But it seems like you were the last person to see Claire, so we didn’t know where else to go.”

  “The police,” Megan repeated Denver’s words. “I dropped her off at the memorial. Where she went from there, I have no idea.”

  The two women walked toward the restaurant’s exit, their posture lending them a dejected air. Megan saw Platinum glance back, eyes pressed into a ferocious glare.

  “Are ye alright, Megs?” Denver asked.

  Megan took a deep breath, pushing the women out of her mind. She had done nothing to deserve their anger. Nevertheless, she couldn’t shake a strange feeling that she was missing something, that she’d been through this before.

  “I’m fine,” Megan said. “Fine enough to order another beer. And ma
ybe some dessert.”

  “Why did you tell those women where we were?” Megan asked her grandmother later that night. It seemed an odd action for a woman who tended to her privacy with more vigor than she watched over her flower gardens—and those flower gardens were spectacular.

  “The woman who called—I think she said her name was Penny—was so upset, Megan. Crying. And you had told me all about what happened, so I figured it would be fine.” Bibi was sitting in the room she called the parlor, on her couch with knitting on her lap. She looked up and frowned. “Should I not have said anything?”

  “No, no…it’s fine. I was just surprised to see them, that’s all.” Megan sat down on the chair across from her grandmother.

  “Where is she?” Bibi asked.

  “Where is who?”

  “The woman who disappeared.”

  Megan waved her hand. “I’m sure she’s turned up by now.”

  Bibi returned to her knitting. Attention on her work, deep lines around her eyes creased further by worry, she said, “I don’t know. Woman turns up in Winsome, disappears. Now her friends are left searching.” She glanced up but avoided Megan’s steady gaze, staring instead at the darkness outside the parlor window. “The older I get, the less faith I have in humankind. Sometimes there’s simply evil in the night.”

  “You watch too much television,” Megan said, standing up. A chill ran through her. Nerves, she thought. She would finish the evening chores and turn in herself. “Not everything ends in drama.”

  Bibi didn’t respond. Megan left the room with her grandmother still looking out the window. At what, Megan didn’t know. Clouds were blanketing a quarter moon, and night was absolute.

  Three

  “Bobby’s looking for you,” Clover Hand said. “Stopped by about an hour ago. Said he’d head up to the farm.”

  Megan was lugging a case of onions from the farm into the Washington Acres café’s kitchen. She paused to speak to her store manager. Clover was not only sister to Megan’s farm manager, Clay Hand, but live-in girlfriend to the town’s young police chief, Bobby King.

  “Do you know what Bobby wanted?”

  “No idea.” Clover’s long, dark hair had been pulled back into a loose chignon, and she wore a pair of pale linen pants and a clingy navy blue top. Taking the onions from Megan, she nodded toward the café’s dining area and the store beyond. “He seemed agitated, but then again, he left before breakfast this morning.” Clover smiled. “You know how Bobby likes his breakfast.”

  Megan’s mind flitted back to Claire and her friend. “Did he say anything about a missing woman?”

  Clover had already disappeared into the pantry closet with onions. When she returned, she rubbed her hands on a cloth hanging against the wall and shook her head. “Nothing. He woke up, looked at his phone, took a few calls, grunted a good-bye, and left. We have a very romantic relationship, as you can see.”

  Megan laughed, but the sound was forced, even to her own ears. Bobby King was typically the harbinger of bad news, and Winsome had had its share of bad news in the last few years.

  Clover rose on tip toes to look into a large pot on the stove. The café’s chef, Alvaro Hernandez, a man who had been a surrogate father to Clover when she and her brother were growing up in a commune so many years ago, cleared his throat from across the room.

  “I’m not messing with your recipe,” Clover said, grinning. “Just wondering what you’re making.”

  “Spring vegetable stew,” Alvaro said. “And it would be nice if you two could start working and stop chatting.” The cook, always on the salty side, softened his gaze when he looked at Megan. “Bonnie coming?”

  Sometimes Bibi helped out in the kitchen. Alvaro and Bibi liked to pretend they couldn’t stand the sight of one another, but in reality, they lived for their kitchen conflicts—and the chance to cook together.

  “She’ll be here before the lunch rush,” Megan said, loving the fact that they even had a lunch rush. “Be nice to her. She’s been a little melancholy lately.”

  “Alvaro is always nice—right, Alvaro?” Clover said, glaring at the older chef.

  Alvaro let out a harrumph and moved on to the walk-in refrigerator, mumbling the whole way.

  Megan shook her head slightly. “Some things never change.”

  “So…Bobby?” Clover said. “Can you give him a call? Maybe head him off before he goes to the farm?”

  “Doing that now,” Megan said, wondering why the chief hadn’t just called her in the first place.

  Megan reached King on the first try.

  “Are you heading back to the farm?” King asked.

  “Wasn’t planning on it. Brian and Clay have things covered, so I figured I’d get some paperwork done here, at the café.” Megan was in her tiny office, and her gaze fell on a letter that had been sent to the store. An advertisement addressed to Bibi. Absentmindedly, she picked it up. “What’s going on, Bobby? Not like you to be coy.”

  “Oh, man. Hold on.” Megan heard what sounded like a car horn before King returned to the line. “Just stay there. I’ll come to the café.”

  “Bobby—”

  “Trust me. I’ll be there in twenty minutes, thirty tops.” Then, more quietly, “Please.”

  Before King arrived, Megan had another visitor.

  Clover popped her head into the office. “Can Merry come in? She says she needs to talk to you.”

  “I’m waiting for Bobby and trying to get this month’s payroll squared away.”

  “She says it’s important.”

  “Fine.” With Merry Chance, it was always important. “Tell her I’ll come out there. I could use some coffee.”

  Megan found Merry at a corner table in the café. She had a cup of tea in front of her and a Day Planner by her left elbow. Merry was one of those women whose age was impossible to discern. She could have been forty, she could have been sixty. Her closely-cropped hair—a new style for her—was bleached blond, and today the baby pink frames of the readers hanging at her throat matched the soft pink of her cardigan. She frowned when she saw Megan.

  “I would have come to you,” Merry said.

  Megan placed a Washington Acres coffee mug on the table and slid onto the seat across from Merry. “I was tired of crunching numbers anyway. What’s up?”

  Merry glanced around before speaking. “Those women at my store yesterday. The three histrionic ones? One of them is missing.”

  “Still?”

  Merry looked crestfallen. “So you knew already? They got a hold of you, then? They asked me your name.”

  “Yeah, I know. They came looking for me at the restaurant where Denver and I were having dinner last night.” Megan took a sip of hot coffee, thinking. “So she’s really still missing?” Which, Megan thought, is no doubt why Bobby King was headed over, too.

  “You were the last to have seen her.”

  “I firmly doubt that. There were many people at the service.”

  Merry flashed a sly smile. “She never went inside. Melanie says she didn’t show up.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Merry. I dropped her off. I left. That was it. She was clearly upset—you witnessed that at the nursery. Maybe she ran off. Maybe she couldn’t face Melanie, for whatever reason. I have enough going on without getting involved with their drama.”

  Merry’s head swiveled, her attention on something across the room. “Looks like you’re already caught up in it.”

  Megan turned around. Bobby King was in the store, standing by the counter, talking with Clover. He was looking at Megan, though.

  “What did you want, Merry? Do you need help with something for the store?”

  Merry shook her head. “I wanted to give you this.” She pushed a piece of folded paper across the counter.

  Megan picked it up, confused.

  “You m
ust have dropped it in the store. I saw…well, I thought perhaps it was important to you.”

  “Right. Thanks, Merry.”

  Merry reached out a hand and covered Megan’s. She gave Megan an empathetic smile before vacating her seat for Bobby King, who was now hovering over the table.

  “I’ll be going now.” Merry gave Megan’s hand one last squeeze before leaving the café.

  “What was that all about?” King asked, eyeing the paper in Megan’s hand.

  “Nothing. I was at Merry’s store yesterday…anyway, want some coffee? Tea? A slice of Alvaro’s strawberry rhubarb pie?”

  “Can we go to your office?”

  “My office over food? This must be serious.”

  “I’m in a rush.”

  “Okay, then,” Megan said, noting King’s uncharacteristic surliness. “I need the bathroom first, though.”

  While King headed for her office, Megan went into the staff bathroom, off the kitchen. She locked the door, leaned against the frame, and opened the papers Merry had given her. Two half sheets had been stapled together. The top one was a print-out from White Pages, with every Sawyer in Eastern Pennsylvania listed. The paper underneath was a printout of Megan’s profile from a lawyer database. The name of her prior law firm was highlighted, and the number “three” had been printed underneath in heavy red pen.

  Megan took a deep breath. These weren’t papers that had fallen from her purse or pocket. Someone had looked her up. Someone had researched her legal background and her address.

  The question was why?

  “You look pale. Maybe you need some pie, Megan.” King sat back in his chair and watched as Megan took a seat at the desk. He seemed to have some of his good humor back. “Feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine. What’s up that you couldn’t discuss over the phone?”