Greenhouse Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1-6

by Wendy Tyson

  “Gosh, no. The years she worked for him, and it was years, he bought her jewelry and chocolates, and gave her a credit card to use on her own purchases. We grew up pretty poor. My father was blue collar, and I told you he died young, when Claire was still a kid. My mother tried her best by piecing together sewing jobs and teaching at the local Catholic school, but it never seemed to be enough.” She stared at her glass wistfully. “It was Penny who felt the brunt of it because she was sent to work instead of school.”

  Megan ran a finger around the rim of her glass. A picture was emerging, one of a poor family and girl who would do anything to escape that poverty. “So Claire was ripe for the attention?”

  “Ripe for a lot of things. Tired of the teasing and the games, Martin finally proposed, and she accepted. We had a huge wedding—you’d never know Claire was his fourth wife—and things went south from there.”

  The inn’s proprietor stuck her head outside to see if Megan and Olive wanted anything. Olive held up her glass and asked for another gin and tonic.

  “What was I saying?”

  “Things went south.”

  “Yes! And did they. We watched from afar as Claire screwed everything up. She finally had the nice house and the fancy clothes and the expensive cars and, perhaps most of all, the respect she wanted, but she threw it all in the trash along with her reputation.”

  “David?”

  “He wasn’t the first.”

  Megan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

  “Don’t look so shocked. She may seem like an innocent, all mopey over her lost love, but Claire is more complicated than that.” Olive tilted her head and smiled. “You look shocked again. Is it because I’m bad mouthing the sister I’m desperate to find? You know what true love is, Megan? It’s loving someone despite their faults. I love my sisters—both of them—in spite of the dumb things they’ve done.”

  “Claire had cheated on Martin before David. Did Martin know?”

  “To Claire’s credit, she never really pretended to love Martin. He was in his eighties when he died, she had just turned thirty. It was a summer-winter romance, and like all things in summer, Claire was sowing her oats. Martin’s days of sowing anything without medicinal help were mostly over. He had a litany of health problems. Couldn’t travel, couldn’t tolerate rich foods, didn’t like crowds. The one thing he still liked, though, was Claire.”

  “So she played along.”

  The innkeeper returned with another drink. Olive thanked her, took a sip, and sighed. “No. She never really had to. As long as she kept her boy toys discreet, and as long as she did the things he asked of her, some of which, frankly, were on the kinky side, he was happy. I don’t think Martin was any more capable of love in that relationship than she was.”

  “Control.”

  “Right. When you have a massage, you want the therapist to pay attention to you. You want to feel relaxed and special for that hour. You’re not asking for her to love you, you don’t care that she has other clients, as long as she’s there when you need her.”

  “You want your money’s worth.”

  This time it was Olive who looked surprised. “A very coarse way of saying it, but yes. He wanted his money’s worth.” Another sip, followed by a deep swig. “When she hooked up with David, everything changed.”

  “Too personal?”

  “David was just like his father, except in an improved form. Fitter, sharper, more emotionally available. Not perfect, mind you. Still narcissistic as only the very rich or powerful can be. But he and Claire had something very akin to love.”

  Megan recalled the David she’d met a few times. Slender, elegant. Always dressed in a tailored suit, always smelling of expensive aftershave. Violet eyes, a weak chin saved by facial hair. Not her type, but she could see the attraction. Megan looked up to see Olive staring at her.

  “I don’t see how any of this walk down memory lane is helpful,” Olive said.

  “It is. Please, go on.”

  “There is little else. The affair between my sister and David spanned months, maybe years—who knows. When Melanie found out, she hit the roof. It was she who called Martin. By then, everyone at work knew, and livid Martin stripped David of his role. Gave it to that upstart, Dominick, instead.”

  Questions queued in Megan’s head. She started with, “How could he strip David of his role if David was an owner of the business?”

  “Smart girl. Martin was still head of the non-public company. The board owed him, and each member knew it. His son was promised half of the business, but he never had anything in writing. A generous salary, expensive car, expense account. All the accoutrements of an owner without the actual shares.”

  Things were starting to make sense. “So when he was banished, that was it. He had no leverage when trying to fight his demotion.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Melanie stayed with him anyway.”

  “Obviously. Oh, she was angry. Threatened my sister, threatened to leave David, but in the end, she stayed.”

  “Money talks?”

  Olive shrugged. “I couldn’t begin to guess.”

  “How did Martin die?”

  “He had a stroke in his sleep. Never woke up.”

  “There were issues between David, Melanie, and Claire. Issues related to Martin’s will? You suggested it when we saw each other at the farmers market.”

  Olive didn’t answer at first. Then, “I don’t really know about that.”

  Megan watched as the innkeeper made her way across the patio with an armful of fluffy white towels. The inn had a small pool at the very rear of the property, and the excited cries of children could be heard from across the fence. Olive turned in the direction of the pool and frowned.

  “Happy sounds,” Megan said.

  “Impossible to nap here. Kids playing all day long. You try relaxing with so many kids around.”

  “Try relaxing with goats, chickens, dogs, and a spirited grandmother.”

  Olive cracked a smile. “Touché.”

  They sat quietly for a moment before Olive drained her glass and slapped a hand down on the table. She started to rise. “Speaking of naps, I’m tired.”

  “One more question, Olive.”

  Olive settled back onto the edge of her seat. “What?”

  “Where is Claire living now?”

  “I have no idea,” Olive said. “She’s disappeared on us.”

  “What I mean is, before she disappeared, where was she living. Is she still in the house she shared with Martin?”

  Olive looked as though she’d refuse to answer. Her thin, wide lips set into a frown, and her eyes narrowed. “It’s a big house.”

  “That’s why I’m wondering.”

  “Martin could be vindictive. My sister chose not to stay there. She was staying with my brother, in New Jersey.”

  “Why not with you or Penny?”

  Olive stood up. She drained some liquid that had melted into her glass, picked up three cookies and placed them into a napkin. “Have a good afternoon, Megan. I hope you have some time to enjoy the holiday.”

  Megan had forgotten about the holiday. She had forgotten about the sidewalk sale and the grand opening of the barn. She could only focus on the information Olive had shared, information she wanted to corroborate as soon as possible.

  Megan stood as well. She grabbed her purse and followed Olive back into the main portion of the inn. Once inside, Olive started up the stairs without another word. The innkeeper’s dog rubbed herself against Megan’s leg in greeting.

  When Olive was upstairs and out of earshot, the innkeeper scrunched up her features. “Think that one is dramatic, you should have met the sister.”

  Megan smiled. “Penny? I did meet her.”

  “Not Penny, the other one. Younger, cute, but clearly emotional. I closed o
ut her room when she failed to show for three nights straight. Her sister paid the bill.”

  “That was nice.”

  Another disgusted look. “Nice? I shouldn’t speak ill of my clients, but I’m not sure ‘nice’ is a word I’d use to describe any of them.”

  Sixteen

  It was after five when Megan finally got back to the farm. Bibi was still at the café, and Porter and Clay were in town as well, so she had the place to herself. After greeting Sadie and Gunther—Porter must have taken Sarge—Megan changed from her dress into shorts, a tank top, and sneakers. She made the rounds to check on the animals, Gunther by her side.

  The place seemed empty and still. Even the goats, normally playful this time of day, seemed subdued, and the chickens were mostly sleeping. Gunther curled in the goat pen next to Dimples and gave Megan a look that said he wasn’t leaving—for now at least. She gave him a pat and let him be.

  The Marshall place was empty, too. Ryan had gone, and the house stood dark and quiet.

  Not what I’m used to, Megan thought. She felt like she should work in the fields. There was so much that needed to be done: weeding and watering and planting new seeds in the greenhouse. The problem was, she didn’t want to do any of those things. She wanted to make a sandwich and veg in front of the television. Or read a good book.

  Or maybe a bath and a book.

  Or a sandwich, a bath, and a book.

  And Denver.

  Megan dialed his cell phone number. He picked up immediately, but he sounded out of breath.

  “I have a rare evening alone at the farm,” Megan said. “Thought maybe you’d like to come over for dinner, but it sounds like you’re in the middle of something.”

  “Birthing a foal, Megs. Well, the horse is, not me. The lassie is having a tough time of it. Not sure when I’ll be done.”

  “No worries. Call me later.” Megan hung up, disappointed. While they always had Denver’s house, which he shared with five rescue dogs, she liked having him here, in her home. But she understood. A bath, then, she thought.

  She made herself two tomato and mayonnaise sandwiches on Bibi’s honey wheat bread, poured an iced tea, and went upstairs, Sadie in tow. While the old clawfoot tub filled, she ate the sandwiches and watched the news. Nothing about the von Tresslers. No word on Penny’s death other than a blurb in the local papers a few days ago. For that matter, very little about David’s heart attack, either.

  Megan looked up Dominick von Tressler. He was listed as the President and CEO of von Tressler Investments. She found his LinkedIn page and stared at the photo. This picture was recent, and showed a dark-haired man with closely-cropped hair and a suggestion of sideburns. Handsome in a nondescript way, his smile was perfunctory and bland. Despite the professional photo, Megan was sure it was the young man she’d seen with Melanie and David in town. The guy she thought had been David’s son. He looked a lot like his uncle.

  She scanned the LinkedIn profile. Drexel undergraduate, Wharton MBA. Worked for the von Tressler companies as an intern—and then for his entire adult life thereafter. Based on his graduation date from college, assuming he was about twenty-two when he left his undergraduate program, he was only about twenty-nine now. Young to be a CEO of such a large company, begging the question: Was Dominick a business genius/protégé, or was his appointment indicative of just how angry Martin von Tressler had been over his son’s betrayal?

  She needed to talk with Dominick.

  Megan gave the last of her bread to Sadie, crumpled her napkin, grabbed the thriller she was reading, and walked into her bathroom to turn off the spigot. The tub was nearly full of steamy water, and she glanced at it longingly. Her back ached from lifting bins of vegetables and bales of hay, something that happened more and more frequently. I need a vacation, she thought. She stripped out of her clothes and sank into the tub.

  Three pages into the chapter, she put the book down. She couldn’t concentrate.

  Megan went back over her conversation with Olive. She had painted Claire as an opportunist, someone who married for money without regard to feelings or true emotional connections. Yet the Claire Megan had driven to the memorial seemed genuinely devastated by David’s death. Had the affair between the two been over? Was it possible she had still been seeing David behind Melanie’s back?

  Megan’s mind flitted to her conversation with Melanie. The way Melanie recounted David’s affair with Claire and the subsequent reversal of his fortune. Melanie had painted Claire in a different light—as a naïve young woman obsessed with a man who didn’t love her back. Truth? Or what she wanted to believe?

  And after the affair and Martin’s subsequent death, had David inherited Martin’s portion of the company? Or did that go to Claire? Or maybe everything went to Dominick.

  All roads led to Dominick. Dominick, who seemed chummy with Melanie and her husband. Dominick, who by a twist of fate ended up as the head of a prominent Philadelphia company in his twenties. Why had Dominick been in Winsome? Just family time? Somehow Megan doubted that. Had David been planning to return to von Tressler Investments and they were negotiating terms?

  Megan closed her eyes and let the warmth run over her. Start at the beginning. In this case, the beginning was the memorial service. Claire had been there—at least she’d arrived at the reception. Melanie had been there. Penny and Olive had arrived eventually. Had Dominick been there? Seems likely.

  She couldn’t talk to Claire or Penny. She had already spoken with Melanie and Olive. Who else did she know? Surely, some folks from Winsome had been employed at the von Tressler house that day. Maybe she could find out who they were.

  And Merry. She had been there too. No one liked to share as much as Merry.

  Megan pulled herself up and out of the tub. She toweled herself off quickly and threw on jeans and a long-sleeved light linen shirt. A glance out the window told her the evening was still clear and breezy. A perfect night to be outside.

  Megan knew exactly where to find Merry later this evening. Seems like maybe she’d see the fireworks after all.

  The best laid plans, Megan thought. As she sat in her truck, ready to pull out of the driveway, another car pulled in. She recognized her Aunt Sarah’s vehicle, and as it moved closer, she saw Bibi in the passenger seat. Sarah and Bibi were chatting happily, so Megan wasn’t worried—but she was curious as to why Bibi hadn’t taken her own car home.

  “Megan! You look wonderful.” Sarah kissed Megan through the truck’s window. “Are you leaving? I was hoping we could chat.”

  “I figured my grandmother was staying in town for the fireworks, so I thought I’d head to Canal Street. She opted not to go?”

  “I’ll let her tell you,” Aunt Sarah said. More quietly, she whispered, “I think she’s tired.”

  Megan’s Aunt Sarah was her late grandfather’s younger sister. The relationship between Bibi and Sarah had been strained for many years, but recently they’d gotten over old resentments enough to forge a new, tepid relationship. Tepid was better than tumultuous. Megan was surprised to see them together.

  Sarah lived in a restored cottage on the outskirts of town. A famous mystery author who wrote under several pen names, Sarah Birch could be as elusive and reserved as some of her main characters. Megan had her own baggage when it came to her Aunt Sarah, and like most times when they were together, seeing her brought with it an onrush of feelings—not all of them pleasant.

  Bibi unlocked the porch door that led into the kitchen, flipped on the light, and said “hello” to Sadie. From her vantage point in the driveway, Megan could see her grandmother shuffling around the kitchen, making herbal tea.

  “Tired, huh?” Megan said. “Well, she worked on her feet all day. That would make anyone tired.”

  “Don’t you think it’s too much for her?” Aunt Sarah pursed her lips into a frown and flipped her ropey gray hair over her shoulder. A handsome w
oman, she carried herself with confidence and more than a hint of bravado. She was Bibi’s junior by about fifteen years, but it always seemed like Bibi and Aunt Sarah had been raised in different worlds and different eras.

  “The café? She loves it.”

  “Which is the reason she won’t quit until someone makes her.”

  Megan refused to have this conversation with Sarah. She knew Bibi would resent her talking behind her back, and after Bibi’s plea that Megan not treat her differently, Megan had resolved to be more open.

  “I’ll talk with her, Aunt Sarah, but it’s her decision.”

  “But—”

  Megan shook her head. “Is that the only reason why you wanted to talk with me?”

  “No, actually.” Aunt Sarah glanced toward the house. “It looks like Bonnie is making tea. Why don’t we go inside and have some? We can talk there.” Seeming to remember that Megan was on her way out, she said quickly, “I mean if you don’t mind staying a little longer.”

  “I had been hoping to catch Merry in town. Did you see her?”

  “She was there. She had a table at the sidewalk sale and was unhappy with sales. You’re better off not seeing her tonight. Gripe, gripe, gripe.”

  Megan smiled. Sounded like Merry. She reached back into her bag for her truck keys. Griping or no griping, she would go to the fireworks and look for Merry. Whatever Aunt Sarah wanted to discuss could wait.

  “There was someone asking about you, and I wanted to let you know in person.” Aunt Sarah eyed the keys Megan was now holding. “Fifteen minutes?”

  She had Megan’s attention. “Fifteen minutes.”

  Inside, Bibi was already sitting at the kitchen table, mug of tea in front of her alongside a plate of banana bread slices. She was digging into a slice of banana bread and had a second piece on her plate.

  “Aren’t you supposed to watch your sugar?” Aunt Sarah asked.

  “Aren’t you supposed to mind your business?” Bibi flashed a half smile, but her back off message was clear.

  Megan poured Aunt Sarah and herself tea and joined them at the table.