Greenhouse Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1-6

by Wendy Tyson

  Megan’s pulse quickened. This was what she had been hoping to hear. “And?”

  “Does that name ‘Edwin Tyler’ ring any bells?”

  “No. Should it?”

  “How about Ned Buttons?”

  “No, sorry.”

  “Mack McGready? Mitchell Barski? Len Salvo?”

  “No, no, and no. Why?”

  King sighed and reached for another pretzel. “These were names in the file she kept about you. We’re looking into them, but I was hoping you’d know who they were.”

  Megan shook her head slowly back and forth. “Can you give me the names again? I want to write them down.” Megan jotted them as King repeated each one. “Got it, thanks.”

  “Let me know if you figure it out.”

  “I will. Are you still thinking the file Penny kept on me is somehow connected to the motive for Penny’s murder?”

  “I don’t know, but as someone wise taught me, there are generally no such things as coincidences.”

  Megan smiled. “My Aunt Sarah was by, Bobby. She told me Penny reached out to her as well. She said Penny seemed nice enough, but she was asking weird questions about me a few days before she was killed.”

  “She called the station and reported it,” King said. “Didn’t really add anything new.”

  Megan looked at King over the rim of her ale. “She said Penny loved mysteries, was a big fan.” Megan thought about what Evan had said about his big sister. “The impression I’ve gotten of Penny is a woman who cared deeply for her family, often putting them before herself.”

  King nodded. “That’s the impression I get, too. But there can be a fine line between concern and control. Which is why Claire’s disappearance and Penny’s death worry me.”

  “I don’t follow,” Denver said.

  “Megan, you and Merry both described a very distraught Claire the day of the memorial,” King said. “Both Olive and Penny were trying to calm her down, but Claire remained upset. Crying, wailing. Olive has told me that she pushed Claire to stand up for herself. To fight for her portion of the von Tressler fortune.”

  “She told me that, too,” Megan said.

  “Both Melanie and Claire’s brother, Evan James, told me that Claire really loved David.”

  “Same,” Megan said.

  “Still not following, Bobby,” Denver said.

  King drained his stein and pushed it away. He signaled to the waitress for another. “What if Claire had been fixated on David. What if her love turned to obsession?”

  “And Penny, realizing her sister had gone over the edge, had stepped in to stop her.” Megan saw what King was suggesting, and it made sense. “That may even have been the reason Claire disappeared. She needed to get away.”

  King wagged a pretzel at Megan. “Right. Claire overreacts and kills her sister.”

  “The flowers Claire bought were in the makeshift grave with Penny,” Megan said, picturing the lavish bouquet, dry, sullied, and lifeless. “They may have seen each other sometime between the dinner they crashed with me and Denver and the next morning, when Penny was set to return home.”

  King nodded. “If Claire was the one, she may also be the one who threw the rock into Melanie’s window. Her obsession with David could still be alive and well, and now she’s taking aim at Melanie.”

  Megan thought about that. It would explain a lot. Her despair at David’s death, Melanie’s worry about her own safety, and Claire’s continued disappearance.

  “What about the slashed tires? Did you get an answer on whether the sisters’ car tire had been slashed?” Megan asked.

  “Not yet,” King said.

  “How do you explain Duke Masterman’s sudden disappearance? Is that connected?” Megan asked. She told him about her visit to Duke’s house. “His neighbor, Gertrude, hasn’t seen him in weeks. She thought he was shacked up with some woman, as she put it.”

  “Yeah, kind of figured as much. Duke’s never been known for discretion.”

  Megan said, “So you did talk to Gertrude.”

  “The neighbor?”

  “Yes. She said the police talked with her.”

  King looked confused. “No one has filed a missing person on Masterman. Just because he left town without telling anyone doesn’t make him missing, so we’d have no reason to track his whereabouts. We have enough on our plates.”

  “What about the fact that he walked away from the von Tressler job without finishing, effectively stealing the rest of their money?” Megan asked.

  “Neither Melanie nor David filed charges. Not my problem, and right now, I have enough problems.” King glanced at Megan. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I think I may have.” Megan swallowed, hard. “Gertrude said the police questioned her. A young detective. Tiny, brunette. Great cheekbones. Any chance she was one of yours?”

  King’s eyes narrowed to slits. “No, but maybe something happened I wasn’t aware of. Been kind of busy.” He dialed a number on his cell and had a brief conversation with dispatch. “Waiting for a call back,” he said. A few seconds later, the phone rang. King listened, thanked the caller, and hung up.

  “Well?” Denver said.

  “No missing person report, no police inquiry. That wasn’t our detective.”

  “Small. Brunette. Young.” Megan repeated.

  “Like Claire von Tressler,” King said, eyes slowly widening.

  “A ghost indeed,” Denver said. “And Megs, you and I both know where ghosts reside.”

  Twenty-Two

  True to his word, Clay was at the farm and working by five the next morning. Megan had climbed out of bed reluctantly at four thirty, checked on Bibi, who was still sleeping soundly, and tiptoed downstairs with Sadie and Gunther to make coffee and some granola. She found Porter’s dog in the kitchen, snoring softly by the back door, and gave Sarge a rub behind the ears.

  Once everyone was fed, she and the dogs met Clay and Porter at the barn. They had orders from three prominent Philadelphia restaurants to fill, and butter lettuce, Romaine, scallions, and arugula had to be carefully washed and packaged. One stray grasshopper, one ladybug, and even their organic practices wouldn’t save them. No one wanted a bug in their salad.

  Clay washed and Megan and Porter inspected and packaged. They worked quietly while Gunther and Sarge slept outside in the shade. Sadie had disappeared inside with the goats where it was cool.

  It was nearly eight when they placed the last of the packages in separately marked coolers. “Load them in the truck,” Megan said, “and I’ll be off.”

  “I told you I’d do it,” Clay said. “I really am sorry about yesterday. Accusing you and all.”

  “I’m not upset, Clay. The truth is, I have an ulterior motive for heading into the city.”

  “Let me at least go with you.”

  Megan refused. “You and Porter can start getting ready for the farmers market. Figure out how much we can bring, what will be ready to harvest. Plus, the rear bed is in desperate need of weeding, and the compost needs some attention.”

  Clay didn’t argue. He helped to load the coolers in the truck before heading out to the back beds. Megan figured he’d do the most labor-intensive work while the morning was still relatively cool. She ran to the house to change into something more professional.

  When she came back out, Porter was standing by the truck. “You look awful dressed up to deliver lettuce.”

  “I have something I need to attend to while I’m in the city.”

  Porter frowned. “I wish you’d let all of this go. Let King handle it.”

  Megan searched Porter’s eyes. “Why? What has you worried?”

  Brian looked out at the fields. His gaze landed on Sarge and he whistled for the dog.

  “Brian?” Megan said again.

  “I
thought I heard something last night. I left the barn to investigate, and by the time I got outside the noises had stopped.”

  “What kind of noises?”

  “Thumping. I don’t know, could have been a woodpecker or an owl or a branch hitting a window.”

  Only there are no branches near the windows, Megan thought. “But you think someone was out there.”

  “I do.” Porter hung his head. “You and Bibi and Denver and Clay…I don’t have family. You’re it. Let King handle this.”

  Megan lifted Porter’s chin with two fingers. “We love you, too.”

  Porter laughed, eyes downcast. “Megan.”

  “Look, I promise to be careful, okay?”

  Porter’s lips pressed together. “Okay.”

  Megan was about to drive away when something occurred to her. “Brian, you and Duke Masterman, you hung out with some of the same people.”

  “In my party days, yeah. Why?”

  “He the kind of guy who would up and disappear for weeks on end?”

  Porter snorted. “Yeah, definitely. I liked to party, Duke loves to party.”

  “Anyone in his life tying him down? Family, a girlfriend?”

  Porter’s eyes narrowed, his forehead creased in concentration. “Hmmm…back then, no. Now, who knows.”

  “Any reason you can think of why he’d dump his current projects and run?”

  “Absolutely. Dude’s a hard worker, I’ll give him that, but he’s always working to feed the beast.”

  The beast? “Drugs and alcohol?”

  “Nah. Lady Chance.” Porter slapped the hood of Megan’s truck. “Blackjack, roulette, slots, races, you name it. Duke is a gambling addict. At least he was back then.”

  On her way into the city, Megan called Roger’s house. His wife Anita answered.

  “Megan, I’m so happy to hear from you. How are you and that wonderful grandmother of yours?”

  “We’re well, Anita. Any chance Jenny is home?” Megan explained that she wanted to talk to Roger’s niece.

  “No, I’m sorry. She picked up a job at a local retirement community, Serenity Manor over in Chalfont. She’ll be there until tonight.”

  “Do you know if she gets a break?”

  “I don’t, but you can ask her. I’ll give you her phone number.”

  Megan pulled the truck over and copied the digits. After thanking Anita, she texted Jenny a request to meet with her later that day.

  Back on the road, she ran through things she wanted to do. Drop off the vegetables. Talk to Dominick. And check on the von Tressler property one more time.

  We know where ghosts reside, Denver had said. Megan suspected the light she’d seen was no apparition. Claire may very well have found her way home.

  It was after eleven that morning when Megan finally dropped off the last produce order. She checked her phone before heading toward Center City and von Tressler Investments. Jenny had gotten back to her. She was booked up today, but she suggested coffee at the retirement community mid-morning tomorrow. She had a break then and could spend some time chatting.

  Megan accepted.

  Parking downtown was hard to come by, so Megan paid for an hour in a guarded lot and walked the two blocks to Arch Street. Von Tressler Investments was located in a high-rise building. Two guards greeted Megan in the lobby.

  “I’m here to see Dominick von Tressler,” Megan told the older of the guards. She removed her driver’s license from her wallet and slid it across the counter. “Here you go.”

  “Is he expecting you?”

  “Yes.” Megan figured that wasn’t a total lie. She had told him she’d stop by in person in her voicemail message.

  The guard studied her license without a trace of emotion. He dialed an extension and then announced Megan’s presence to whomever answered. “I’m sorry,” the guard said, not sounding a bit sorry, “The receptionist says you’re not on Mr. von Tressler’s calendar.”

  “Can you call him directly.”

  “I’m sorry. You need an appointment, or Mr. von Tressler has to give permission to let you up.”

  “Right, so please call him.”

  “I’m sorry. You don’t have an appointment.” He slid her license back across the counter.

  It’s like a damn Kafka novel, Megan thought. Behind Megan, people in business suits and business casual twin sets came in and out of the building, and a line was forming behind her. The elevator banks were behind the guards. Megan considered running for the elevators but decided against it. She’d call Dominick again. Or maybe she would wait outside the building, like a stalker. She headed back to her truck.

  The ride from Center City to Chestnut Hill took longer than Megan anticipated. Route 76 was backed up, so Megan took Kelly Drive. It wasn’t much better. A curvy twenty-minute drive took nearly forty. The von Tressler street was blissfully devoid of traffic, and Megan climbed out of the truck, grateful for the sudden calm.

  The house looked different in daylight. So ominous-looking at night, now it seemed stately and handsome and majorly in need of repair. The bushes and flower beds were overgrown, sure, but under the glare of the midday sun, they appeared unkempt and forlorn, not malevolent.

  Megan knocked on the door, rang the bell, and waited. No response.

  She stepped back to look up at the upper floors when she heard the sound of a truck behind her. She turned to see a landscape crew arrive at the house. One man pulled a mower off the trailer while another revved up a weedwhacker.

  “Excuse me,” Megan said to the man with the mower, “have you seen the woman who lives here?”

  He shook his head. “No women.” His accent was heavy and hard to decipher.

  “Do you know who is paying for the service?”

  The man shrugged.

  The other man turned off the weedwhacker and joined them by the entryway. “Is there a problem?”

  “No, not at all. I’m trying to locate the woman who lives here.”

  “No one lives here. Not as long as we’ve been coming.”

  “Do you know who is paying for the service?”

  The landscaper shook his head. “Whoever it is, they keep paying the bills. Wish they’d pay for us to do the back, too. It sure is a mess. Makes us look like we’re unprofessional and do a half-ass job.”

  He started up the weedwhacker again. Conversation over.

  Megan glanced around the street. She spied a Rolls Royce in the driveway of the home next to this one and thought she’d try knocking on the door. This wasn’t the kind of neighborhood where someone came knocking, so she doubted the reception would be a welcome one. She was halfway to the neighbor’s yard when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She spun around to see the two landscapers standing on the curb behind her, looking mildly curious.

  “He says it’s a man who owns the house,” the weedwhacker said, pointing to the mower.

  Megan nodded. “A man used to own it, but he passed away.”

  The man with the mower shook his head, his frustration obvious. He said something in a language that sounded eastern European.

  “My cousin says it’s not Mr. von Tressler.”

  “Can he describe the man?”

  Megan waited while the two men conversed in a foreign tongue.

  “Not really. Big muscles. Bald head.”

  Megan’s eyes widened. “A ‘Mother’ tattoo on his bicep?”

  Another quick sidebar conversation, and the landscaper with the weedwhacker said, “Maybe. He just remembers big muscles and a bald head. Shaved, you know. On purpose.” The man ran a hand through his own head of thick hair. “He was walking around the property. My cousin said he acted as though he owned it.”

  Megan thanked the men. They stood there expectantly, and she handed each a ten-dollar bill. As she buckled back into her truck, she thou
ght about what they’d told her. Bald and muscular? Duke Masterman at the von Tressler estate?

  Meanwhile, Gertie had described someone who could have been Claire asking about Duke. Were they working together? If so, what were the two of them cooking up?

  Megan called King, but he didn’t answer. She left him a voicemail asking him to call her back.

  As Megan pulled back onto the highway, her phone rang. Assuming it was King, she answered immediately with, “What’s up?”

  “I received your messages,” said an unfamiliar voice. “Dominick von Tressler. The guards told me you came by today.”

  “Yes, yes. I was hoping we could talk.”

  “About my uncle?”

  “About your uncle and your grandfather.”

  Silence on the other end. Megan thought he’d hung up, and she was about to do the same, when he said, “Can you be here soon?”

  Megan glanced at the truck’s dashboard clock. “Thirty minutes?”

  “Meet me at Starbucks on Sixteenth Street.”

  Twenty-Three

  Megan recognized Dominick right away. Even in a suit, he looked to her like a teenaged David playing dress-up. He’d found a table in the very rear of the store, next to a woman wearing headphones who was staring at an iPad and nursing a cup of coffee.

  Megan shook Dominick’s hand and took the seat across from him. “Thanks for seeing me.” The Starbucks was crowded, and their voices were drowned out by the chatter of other customers. “I won’t take up a lot of your time.”

  “I’ve seen you in Winsome,” Dominick said, flashing a boyish smile. “And please, call me Dom.” He picked up his coffee cup. “Want something?”

  “I’m good.”

  “So what’s your interest in my family?”

  Megan explained her interaction with Claire, the fact that Penny’s body had been planted on her property. She left out the details, painting enough of a picture to—she hoped—justify her nosiness.

  “So you’re helping the police.”