MURDER AT THE BIRTHDAY PARTY
The trodden path narrowed, and I fell a step behind Carina. When she abruptly halted, I stumbled into her.
“What is it?” On tiptoes, I peered over her shoulder. Carina stood a head taller than me. Still model material, she’d given up that lifestyle when she decided to have a family.
“Wh-who is that?”
A body lay straight ahead, the upper half of it hidden behind the bushes, the lower half blocking the path. I swallowed the lump of fear that was lodged in my throat. Good grief, one of the guests must have taken a fall, or not. I stepped past Carina and walked toward the extended end of the body.
It was definitely an or not moment.
A knife protruded from Evelyn Montgomery’s chest. She wasn’t asleep, nor was she unconscious.
She was dead....
Books by J.M. Griffin
LEFT FUR DEAD
WHO’S DEAD, DOC?
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Who’s Dead, Doc?
J.M. GRIFFIN
KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
MURDER AT THE BIRTHDAY PARTY
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2020 by J.M. Griffin
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-2058-0
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2061-0 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-2061-X (ebook)
This book is dedicated to bunny lovers everywhere.
CHAPTER ONE
Children scampered across the yard in anticipation of birthday cake and handing their presents to the birthday girl, Adrian Richland. Laughter filled the warm September air that brimmed with excitement. Twelve six-year-old girls surrounded the table set up in the middle of the oval stone patio. I grinned as they anxiously awaited their turn to offer Adrian their gift.
Playtime with my rabbits had ended, as had the puppet show, performed by Bailey Kimball. I was ready to pack up and return to my farm when Carina Richland, Adrian’s mother, stepped next to me and whispered, “I have a request before you leave. Please see me after you’re finished with the bunnies.”
I nodded and set about gathering my furry friends from their folding pen and the run used for events such as these. Children adore petting these social, adorable creatures, which made the extra work worthwhile. Caring for these rabbits at Fur Bridge Farm, where they reside, gives me a sense of great pride. In the past, I’d been invited to take a few to a local nursing home for elderly residents to enjoy. It had been therapeutic for them and seemed enjoyable for the rabbits.
After the rabbits were caged and watered, I left the van doors open for fresh air and returned to the yard. Many of the children were preparing to leave. Some weren’t happy, a few looked tired, others cried while their mothers appeared nervous. Carina’s friend Adelle Philby escorted the guests off the property, commiserating with them as they left.
I wondered what had happened in the short time I had been gone that would so drastically change the atmosphere. Mothers grasped their little darlings by the hand, said a quick good-bye, and left for parts unknown. I watched their hasty retreats and scanned the yard for Bun, my very special pal. Alone in the center of the pen, my black-and-white rabbit huddled, awaiting me.
“It’s about time you got back. Everyone’s upset. The lady of the house looks as if she’s lost her mind.”
I gathered Bun in my arms and studied the yard. Adrian, a shocked expression on her pale face, was visibly shaken and hovered just inside the sliding French doors to the patio. Birthday presents lay strewn over the deck, and the princess birthday cake, perched in the center of the refreshment table, was untouched and still intact. Decorative paper plates with matching cups tumbled across the lawn, pushed by the breeze.
I whispered to Bun, “What the heck happened? I was only gone long enough to tend to the other rabbits.”
“There’s something upsetting, just past the edge of those trees. You and what’s her name should go look.”
“Uh, okay, Bun. First, I’ll put you in the van.”
Seconds later, Bun sat in the shaded van with the other rabbits. All the windows and side doors were open for fresh air to circulate. Returning to the house, I’d climbed the three steps onto the patio when Carina rushed forward and grabbed my arm.
Pale-faced, frantic, and a nervous wreck, she demanded, “Come with me. I can’t face this alone.”
Obviously upset, Carina’s face held a sheen of sweat, and her eyes were filled with fear.
“Sure, lead the way.” I disengaged my arm from her grasp and accompanied her into the shaded woodland.
Ours is a midsize town. Not a metropolitan city, Windermere was growing steadily. On the outskirts of town, housing developments were spread far enough apart to feature wooded landscaping for added privacy for ostentatious homes. I lived a good distance from my hostess, on a unique rabbit farm, in a sweet farmhouse with acreage galore. I wouldn’t live here, but I considered the area interesting.
Bun and I are housemates, we’re very close, and he talks to me. I know, it sounds ludicrous. It’s not as if he opens his mouth and words come out, rather, he uses a sort of telepathy, if you will. There’s no doubt we have a special connection. Due to Bun’s avid nosiness, we had recently landed in a situation I’d rather not have been part of or repeat, for that matter. The one thing I will say is my life isn’t boring.
The trodden path narrowed, and I fell a step behind Carina. When she abruptly halted, I stumbled into her. The electrical tension in her body pulsed as she stood in front of me staring at the ground ahead. That’s when she started to tremble more uncontrollably than before.
“What is it?” On tiptoes, I peered over her shoulder. Carina stood a head taller than me. Still model material, she’d given up that lifestyle when she decided to have a family.
“Wh-who is that?”
A body lay straight ahead, the upper half of
it hidden behind the bushes, the lower half blocking the path. I swallowed the lump of fear that was lodged in my throat. Good grief, one of the guests must have taken a fall, or not. I stepped past Carina and walked toward the extended end of the body. It was definitely an or not moment.
A knife protruded from Evelyn Montgomery’s chest. She wasn’t asleep, nor was she unconscious, she was dead. There was no mistaking the fact that Evelyn had left the planet. I could tell by the blue tinge of her lips, the paleness of her skin, and the fact that there was no rise and fall of her chest. Evelyn wasn’t breathing.
Letting out a pent-up breath, I returned to Carina and grabbed her arm, muttering that she shouldn’t get any closer. I dragged her away from the woman I’d had words with just over an hour ago. “We have to report this to the police now, right now.”
Her legs stiff as broomsticks, it was difficult to get Carina back to the house. It took some doing, but once we were inside, I reached for the phone. The call went through in seconds. I was told police and rescue personnel were being dispatched. Instructed to stay put and wait for them to arrive, I agreed and remained on the line with the dispatcher while rummaging through Carina’s liquor cabinet looking for whiskey.
She downed the shot in one mouthful, then hauled in a ragged breath and coughed. Carina’s eyes filled with tears and she started to bawl. Not just cry, mind you, but howl. I thought the neighbors could probably hear her.
“Get a hold of yourself,” I demanded sharply, my hand over the phone for fear the dispatcher would hear me. It worked, because Carina quieted to a sniffling state.
Her bright blue eyes were now surrounded with dark smudges of mascara that had puddled and sent rivulets down her cheeks. Her perfect makeup job was no longer, and Carina’s long dark hair was also disheveled. How the hair thing had happened was anyone’s guess. I patted her shoulder and told the dispatcher that the police had arrived. I set the phone down and hurried to the front door.
Sheriff Jack Carver and a few other police officers shuffled into the house, followed by the all-too-familiar rescue personnel. After greeting them, I explained to Carver what we’d found on the wooded path. The tribe of people followed me to the scene where the dead woman lay. In seconds, I was barraged with questions I couldn’t answer.
“Do you know this woman?” Carver asked while the rescue team checked out Evelyn’s stab wound, and policemen cordoned off the area with yellow tape.
“Her name is Evelyn Montgomery. She was a guest at the birthday party.”
“Were you friends?”
“Hardly, I’ve seen her around town once or twice, and then here this afternoon.”
Scribbling in his little notebook, Carver nodded and asked, “Whose birthday?”
“Adrian Richland. She turned six today.”
He cocked a brow at me and asked, “What’s your relationship with the Richlands?”
“None, really. Carina called and arranged to have the rabbits at the party. Bailey Kimball entertained with her puppets, but she left before we found Evelyn.”
The sheriff turned away and spoke with the rescuers. Another officer stepped over to me.
“I recognize you. You’re the rabbit lady, right?”
“Jules Bridge, I own Fur Bridge Farm on Westcott Road.”
“I heard you went to the assisted living home where my grandmother has taken residence. She raves about your rabbits. Nice to meet you.” The officer glanced up, nodded when Sheriff Carver summoned him, and walked away. The sheriff murmured something to him before he returned to me.
Carver, brought up to speed by the lead member of the rescue team, released them from the scene while officers waited for the coroner’s van to arrive.
Rather than look at the dead woman, I kept my eyes on Carver. Not that I’m squeamish, I simply have an aversion to dead people. You can’t be squeamish when raising or caring for animals.
“What can you tell me about Mrs. Richland?”
My internal antennae went nuts, the hairs on the back of my neck sprung to attention, and I studied my fingernails.
“I don’t know anything that might be helpful to you. Mrs. Richland and I have a business relationship, nothing more. Like I said before, I only saw Evelyn Montgomery once or twice before today. I saw her around town, is all.” Not in a million years would I admit I’d had a disagreement with the woman, nor would I tell Carver of Evelyn and Carina’s heated argument in the garage before the guests arrived.
I had parked my van in the shade, next to the three-car garage. The closest garage door was open, and Carina had been inside with Evelyn. I’d only heard bits of the conversation, and wouldn’t repeat it due to the possibility it might be taken out of context. The chances of Carina not knowing I’d heard the exchange between her and Evelyn were slim. I’d had to make my presence known in order to set the rabbits up for the day.
“You aren’t friends with either woman, then?”
Hadn’t I made that clear? “That’s correct.”
“You can go. If there are any other questions, I’ll give you a call.”
Carver turned toward the body.
I left in a hurry. The rabbits needed care. They’d been sitting in the van longer than I’d anticipated, and Bun was probably upset over what was taking so long. The other rabbits could care less, they’re a friendly, happy group who have the run of my farm.
I’m pretty lenient when it comes to their exercise and living quarters. There’s no crushing them in cages. It’s important for these creatures to have freedom for a great quality of life, and living at Fur Bridge Farm, that’s what they get. Instead, each cage was built with a wooden hutch attached. They were large homes for the bunnies, with ample room for them to move about and play.
Carina lingered on the patio and called to me as I left the footpath. She handed me payment for my services. I wanted to say that I hadn’t said a word about her and Evelyn, instead I said good-bye.
Closing the rear doors of the van, I promised the rabbits we’d be home soon. I know it seems silly, but rabbits like interaction and enjoy conversation. I climbed into the driver’s seat, put the windows all the way up, set the air-conditioning on low, and headed for home. At the end of the driveway, I waited for a break in traffic. In the rearview mirror, I noticed Carver crossing the lawn toward the house. Not willing to hang around, I’d made my escape just in time.
On our way to the farm, I breathed a sigh of relief and told the rabbits we would arrive soon.
“How did it go in the woods?”
I should have known Bun would be curious. “It went fine, the police took over, and I’m sure you saw the rescue team leave,” I mumbled.
“The kids were quite active and noisy while I watched all that went on.”
“What went on?” I knew this was a gambit to see if we could look into Evelyn’s death.
“I might have seen who went in there after that woman.”
“Might have? Can you be clear on who you saw?”
“I don’t know the names of the guests, Jules. After all, I’m not human, I’m a rabbit. Nobody introduces us to people.”
In silence, I slowed the van and turned into the driveway leading to the farm.
Jessica Plain, the vet who had opened a clinic in one section of the barn, strode forward to assist with my passengers and equipment.
I shut off the motor as Jess swung the rear doors open and helped me haul out the rabbits, their run, and the pen. We set the pen and run on a flatbed rolling cart, similar to a platform truck but smaller, and loaded a second one with cages of rabbits. I rolled the first cart into the barn as Jessica began caring for the rabbits. With the rabbits settled in their individual homes, I thanked Jess and took Bun from his cage and set him on the floor.
With Bun hopping alongside me, we entered the house. “I suppose we’re going to look into this?”
I paused to listen for a moment, making sure we were alone, and whispered, “We most certainly are not.”
Bun’
s nose twitched, his tiny nostrils flared, and his lips drew back a tad showing his two front teeth. I considered it his way of showing disdain over my decision.
“You always say that.”
He hopped toward his own room just off the kitchen, then sprawled catlike on his bunny bed and heaved a deep breath. “Kids tucker me out.”
I nodded in agreement as the phone rang. Carina was on the line. I was about to say hello, when Carina blurted, “What did you tell the sheriff?”
“Nothing important, why?”
“I know you overheard Evelyn arguing with me today. Please don’t tell Sheriff Carver, it might have a negative effect on Adrian and me. We’re extremely upset by what’s happened.”
Aware that Carver would be persistent in questioning Carina concerning the two women’s disagreement, I took a deep breath and hoped to allay her fear. “I have no intention of revealing what took place between you. I only heard snippets that didn’t make any sense to me. I’m sure Carver wouldn’t make much of it, either.”
Her sigh was audible and the knot in my stomach relaxed.
“Then I have a favor to ask of you.”
Hesitant, I said, “Okay.” I waited for the one question I wanted to avoid at all costs.
“Would you investigate Evelyn’s death for me? I can pay you for your time. Please say you will. Sheriff Carver has implied I was involved in her death, you know. I read in the newspaper that not long ago it was you who figured out the who and why of what was happening at your farm. I’m confident you could find whoever is responsible for this.”
“Sometimes the sheriff is absurd. You couldn’t have killed her, you had a crowd of mothers and scads of children running rampant around the yard. There was no possible way you could have committed that crime.”
Who's Dead, Doc? Page 1