Molly Grey Cozy Mystery Collection

by Donna Doyle

  I smiled back at her and nodded. "All right, Miss Molly Gertrude, I'll do my best."

  Yes, this lady was old, and a little stubborn, but I could not deny she had flair and it confirmed my original thoughts of her being like Aunt Abigail.

  She poked around in the salad with her fork, and when she had found what she was looking for, a walnut, she looked up again and said, "Well, Virgil…? Shoot. What do you want to know about the Cozy Bridal Agency?"

  I stared at my computer screen and worked my way through the long list of questions while I recorded the whole conversation. Thus I learned that the Cozy Bridal Agency was almost as old as the hills as it had started right after the Civil War in 1870. It was Molly Gertrude's great-great-great-grandmother, Molly White*, who had been a real pioneer, (her name was whispered in reverence) who had understood the need for a trustworthy wedding agency. The Civil War was just over, and the suffering was intense. Husbands were without wives, wives were without husbands, and scores of children lacked either a mother or a father. Thus, Molly White had begun a dating service, and the business had been passed on from generation to generation. It had moved with the times, and moved across the country a few times, but Cozy Bridal seemingly had a long history!

  But the present-day Molly, the Molly Gertrude I was interviewing had widened the circle of expertise, and now, besides helping people to find their soul mate, she and Dora were very busy as wedding planners.

  And so, both women rambled on and on. It was all very interesting, but I had to confess drowsiness was about to overtake me.

  I could think of a thousand subjects that were more exciting than the detailed explanations of how many layers a decent wedding cake should have, and what were the pitfalls of an outside-wedding in the middle of winter. Thus, I felt my eyelids becoming heavier and heavier. Both women were so full of their subject I did not even need to ask any of my questions. They themselves covered the whole scope, as the information just rolled out, and since I was recording everything, I could afford to doze off.

  "We've worked together for a long time now," I heard Dora pipe up from somewhere far away.

  Come on Virgil. Wake up. I sort of shook my head around to shake off the wave of tiredness that threatened to overcome me. Falling asleep during my first interview… That was not a good career move.

  "Are you all right, Virgil?" Molly Gertrude asked as she chewed on a carrot.

  "Yes… Yes…" I felt my ears getting red. I turned and motioned for Jean Pierre to bring me another coffee. "So… eh…," I mumbled, "… what were you saying?"

  Dora frowned. "I said we've been working together for many years now."

  "My oh my, time sure flies," Molly Gertrude continued again with enthusiasm. Then a wide grin appeared, and she shook her finger in Dora's face. "Remember that wedding we did with Geraldine Butler and Bob Jones?"

  Dora burst out laughing. "Yes, how can I forget? One thing is certain Miss Molly Gertrude, we've made many people happy, and we've seen a lot of satisfied faces."

  My eyelids closed again. If I could just lay my head on my arms for a minute… How good would it feel. Stop it, Virgil. Don't even think about it.

  "Lots of satisfied faces indeed," I heard Molly Gertrude affirm on the fringes of my consciousness, "and a few angry ones, too."

  Angry faces?

  I shook up. "Did you say angry faces?"

  Molly Gertrude cocked her brows. "Yes, Irvin… I did."

  I was no longer tired, just like that. Angry faces... that was the stuff I was looking for as a journalist. In one of my YouTube courses I had learned that a journalist needed to strike the right balance between the good, the bad and the ugly, and to captivate your readers, it was even advisable to mix in a little more of the bad and the ugly than just the good.

  "What do you mean by angry faces?" I asked. "Did you mess up a few times? Were there times when the Country band you hired turned out to be playing Death Metal, or are you referring to a marriage feast, when the wedding cake spoiled and all the guests became sick?"

  I felt two pairs of eyes scrutinizing me, and I realized I should have broached the subject with a little more tact.

  "Sorry," I mumbled, "I meant—"

  "We know what you meant," Molly Gertrude interrupted, "… and don't worry. The answer is simple. We never had such things happening, but yes, some people were not so happy with us."

  "Who…, I mean why?"

  Molly Gertrude gave me a graceful smile. "Because of my other passion."

  "What is your other passion then?" I asked.

  "Mystery, young man. Plain, good old mystery. Dora and I love to do our share of amateur sleuthing."

  Bingo. Finally.

  "Do you want to tell me about it?" I urged them, my sleepiness gone.

  "Sure," she said with a nod. "Together, we have solved several cases here in Calmhaven, Irvin."

  “Virgil, Miss Molly Gertrude. Remember, my name is Virgil."

  "Of course it is," Molly Gertrude answered. "We've been able to hand over quite a few crooks to the police inspector of Calmhaven, the honorable JJ Barnes."

  "And don't forget his deputy, Digby," Dora added. I noticed a small blush appearing on Dora's cheeks.

  "That's right," Molly Gertrude continued. "And I can assure you, that the faces of the crooks we caught were not thrilled when they found themselves in prison."

  Dora's eyes shone. "I remember how you found out what happened to Abe Mortimer," she laughed. ** And I don't think those crooks you exposed that time when Deborah Smythe went missing were too overjoyed either.

  "This is so interesting," I said while I leaned forward. This was the stuff that could put me ahead in my career although I realized all too well I had only 300 words to cover it all.

  "Tell me all about it. How are you going about solving these cases, and how come the police didn't catch the crooks, but you did?"

  Molly Gertrude was just about to open her mouth, when someone let out a blood-curdling scream, so loud and so terrifying, that the happy chatter of the customers stopped and the pleasant atmosphere of the restaurant turned icy cold and ominous.

  All eyes turned to a table on the far end of the room where an older man, dressed in an Armani suit, was clasping his neck with both of his hands while making desperate, raspy and gurgling noises as he was turning blue. He was spitting and spluttering, tottering around until he tumbled to the floor like a great redwood.

  Molly Gertrude was the first to react. Despite her age, she jumped up and waved her cane in the air. "A doctor, " she cried. "Is there a doctor here…? Somebody get a medic." Jean Pierre sprang into action too, and ran to the phone to call for an ambulance, but nobody else dared to even move a muscle.

  At that moment, the man in the Armani suit slid off his chair and landed on the ground. My heart pounded too. I was clueless as to what I could do. I saw how Molly Gertrude, without a smile this time, shuffled over to the unfortunate man on the floor and ordered another waiter to feel the man's pulse. The waiter's face dropped, and he shook his head.

  "The man is dead," I heard Molly Gertrude say, and a wave of consternation washed over the restaurant.

  * Read: Get a free copy of The Bridal Train Murder at PureRead.com/cozy-mystery-club

  ** Read: The Wedding Cake Wipeout

  4

  Miss Molly Gertrude’s hunch

  I jumped up too and walked over to the scene to take a better look at the unfortunate fellow.

  He was the first dead person I had ever seen. His face had a strange contorted grimace and an unnatural greenish shine. And although the sight somewhat repulsed me, and I knew I needed to tread carefully, as to not offend anybody, I could not deny the rush of excitement that coursed through my body. After all, I was a budding journalist, and I was there to report on the man's accidental death.

  Thus I fished my mobile phone out of my pocket and hoping no one would notice, I took a few pictures. I checked the quality. Not great. In fact most of what I saw were the soles
of his shoes and that was not a pretty sight. A fresh sticky glob of red chewing gum, as big as my thumb nail, and several dead leaves were pressed into the rubber, and demanded most of the attention. You could not even properly see the agonized expression on his face. Maybe I could still beef it up in Photoshop. After all, a picture was worth a thousand words, and I only had 300.

  I felt a little guilty for acting so heartless, but I pushed the thought out of my system. Wasn't it Henry Grunwald, the famous editor of Time magazine who had said, "Journalism can never be silent. It is its greatest virtue and its greatest fault. It must speak, while the echoes of wonder, the claims of triumph and the signs of horror are still in the air.”

  "What happened?" I mumbled to Dora Brightside who was now standing next to me.

  She pressed her lips together. "Maybe he choked on a fishbone," she whispered without taking her eyes off the scene. A crowd of customers had now formed around the dead man's body. Jean Pierre was trying to keep us at a distance.

  "Please," he said, "move away. This is not a pleasant sight."

  Another man, a young fellow with wavy, blond hair, also dressed in a fine suit, knelt down near the body and again checked the pulse of the unfortunate man again.

  "Who is that?" I asked.

  "That's Alex Pierce," Molly Gertrude's voice informed me. I turned my head. Molly Gertrude now stood next to us. "Most unfortunate," she added while she shook her head in dismay.

  "He's the owner of the Crystal Grill," Dora said. "We know him well, as he and his fiancée, Linda Lane, are about to get married. We are organizing their wedding party." She pulled on my shoulder and nodded toward a pretty, young woman in her early twenties who stood on the side, wringing her hands, a desperate expression on her face. "That's her over there."

  "Sure, very interesting…," I said, not paying much attention to such inconsequential details, "… but, who is the man on the floor?"

  "That's Albert Gravel," Molly Gertrude replied, having overheard my question to Dora.

  Albert Gravel? The tycoon, the wealthy businessman, whose controversial statements and actions often covered the front page of the Calmhaven Sentinel… That was him?

  I knew the businessman wanted to build an enormous water park in Calmhaven, called Water Paradise. One of those gigantic theme parks with slides, rides and all sorts of garish amusements. I had read that Albert Gravel believed his park would draw millions of tourists to Calmhaven. A boost to the economy he called it.

  But not everyone liked Gravel’s ambitions for an uncalm Calmhaven.

  Even my boss, Jack Stapleton, hated the idea.

  "Imagine what would happen to Calmhaven, Virgil?" Stapleton had said. "Right now we have a wonderful town, with a population of 10,000, and we don't need all that busy confusion from the big cities. As our name suggests, we are a haven of rest, and we want to keep it that way. We have our fair share of tourists already, and they don’t come for cheap fairground thrills." He swung his finger in front of my nose, as if I were to blame, and as he spoke I could see the little veins in his neck swelling and becoming rather big. He noticed my concern, as he sneered, "Yes, Virgil, that's right, I am angry. We get enough stressed-out city slickers here already, seeking refuge from their busy lives in our peaceful surroundings. The banks of the Snowy River are among the most beautiful in the country, our pineapple tarts are famous… there's no need for an oversized water park, that will not only boost the economy, but will also steal away our identity. With it will come a wave of crime and confusion. I tell you, the whole idea stinks."

  But Albert Gravel didn't care. He was a bully with money, lots of lawyers, and friends in high places, so he had begun to buy up the land…

  Molly Gertrude's voice besides me broke through my musings. "For what is your life, it is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then it vanishes away." *

  "Excuse me?" I turned and faced Miss Molly Gertrude, who stared at the scene with drooping shoulders. "What did you say?"

  "I quoted from the Good Book, Virgil," she said. "There's another fitting story in there, about a rich man whose only goal it was to build bigger storehouses for his wealth, but he died like everybody else, only to find out he had not stored up any riches in heaven." She shook her head in dismay. "Sad, isn't it?"

  I nodded, although I wasn't sure what she was talking about. At least she had gotten my name right. I cleared my throat and hoping to say something meaningful, I mumbled. "Very sad. Imagine that, choking to death on a fishbone?"

  Molly Gertrude tilted her head and raised her brows. "He didn't choke because of a bone. That wasn't the cause of his death."

  "It wasn't?"

  Molly Gertrude shook her head. "Look, he had finished his dessert already. He even finished his Devil's Food Cake. There're no fishbones in a piece of fluffy pastry. If he had choked on a fishbone it would have happened much earlier. Nope. Mr. Gravel had completed his meal, and the empty expresso cup indicates that he had finished his meal with a shot of Clamhaven’s famous coffee. This was no fish bone, child.”

  This lady sure notices small details, but maybe her itchy suspicion bone wane was a little overactive.

  I frowned. "What if a fishbone had gotten stuck in between his molars and had worked its way free…"

  Molly Gertrude gave me a weak smile. "That's not likely, Virgil. You may be a talented journalist, but—"

  At that instant the front door opened and a massive police officer appeared.

  "Meet JJ Barnes," Dora whispered.

  I realized I had seen him before. Jack Stapleton had done a TV interview with him once, except I had not been paying much attention to the broadcast, seeing I had to do all the dishes in the office. Thus, I had only followed the broadcast with half an eye. His square shoulders and the muscled arms that stuck out of his short-sleeved uniform gave the impression that he was a seasoned prize-fighter. His square face with the chiseled jawbones, the bristly moustache, and the peering eyes matched the picture.

  "He's not as fierce as he looks," Dora whispered again. "If you understand him, and you don't cross him too much, he can be quite a likeable fellow."

  When I heard Sheriff Barnes bark out a few orders to a younger deputy with blond curly hair and a boyish face, I wasn't so sure I liked him.

  "That's Digby," Dora sang, as she pointed to the young man.

  I turned and whispered back, "You mean the deputy?"

  Dora nodded and a gentle smile flashed over her face. "Yes," she stated. "That's Digby."

  JJ Barnes walked over to the body of Albert Gravel and stared at it for a moment. He shook his head in disgust and then asked in a loud, booming voice, "What has happened here?"

  The man in the suit, Alex Pierce, the owner of the restaurant, stepped forward while wringing his hands. "Most unfortunate, Sir," he said in a drooping voice. "He must have had a heart attack."

  "Hmm," JJ Barnes grunted and eyed him with suspicion. "And you are…?"

  "Alex Pierce, Sir," he said. "I own this place." He raked with his hand through his black hair and wailed, "A heart attack… That's so bad."

  "Heart attack?" countered JJ Barnes. "We must let the coroner be the judge of that." He scanned the area and noticed Miss Molly Gertrude and Dora, and his face dropped. "What are you two ladies doing here?" he said. "There's no need for you two to be sleuthing around. As usual, the Calmhaven police force is more than able to handle such unfortunate incidents."

  "Good day to you too, Mr. Barnes," Molly Gertrude said in her gentle, crackling voice. "But we were just here. Just a coincidence as we are doing an interview with a reporter from the Calmhaven Sentinel." She pointed to me, something I would have preferred she had not done.

  "A journalist?" JJ Barnes licked his lips and smoothed out several wrinkles in his short-sleeved shirt. "Glad to meet you," he said as he stepped forward and grabbed my hand.

  Standing eye to eye with the broad-shouldered man made me feel uncomfortable, but I shook his hand with fervor in the hope he would no
t notice my insecurity.

  "Your boss, Jack Stapleton, is a good friend of mine," Barnes continued, still shaking my hand. "Tell him I said hello."

  "I will," I mumbled, hoping the man would let go of me.

  At last he did, and turned to the crowd who was still standing around, somewhat in shock. In the distance I could hear a siren, and I figured the ambulance and the coroner were coming.

  "All right, everybody," JJ Barnes almost shouted it out. "Everyone to their tables. There's no need to be alarmed. We'll take it from here."

  But the happy meal was spoiled for everybody. Nobody felt much like going back to their tables, business as usual. Thus, people called for the waiters so they could pay their bill, and the place quickly emptied out before the coroner even arrived.

  What was supposed to have been a lovely afternoon in the Crystal Grill had turned into a macabre, unpleasant happening. Magnificent fodder for sensational reporting!

  "Shall we still finish the interview?" Dora asked me while she pointed back to the table where my laptop was still recording.

  I pressed my lips together and shook my head. "We've covered a lot of ground and I think I've got more than enough material." I turned to Molly Gertrude and wanted to thank her for her time, but she appeared to be in deep thought. At last, I heard her mumble to herself, "What if this was not a heart attack, but murder."

  I gasped. "A murder? What makes you say that?"

  "Shhhh! Keep your voice down," Molly Gertrude urged me. "You don't want to get people all upset. I am not sure, but I have this hunch that things are not as they seem."

  "A hunch?" I wrinkled my nose. "That's all?"

  "She's usually right," Dora Brightside butted in. "That's what makes us successful in our sleuthing."

  "Did you see those thugs outside?" Molly Gertrude asked me in a whisper.

  I did not understand what she was talking about. "What thugs?"

  "Three of them, armed with clubs," she explained. "While you were staring at the body, I saw them through the window. Scary looking fellows, but then, when they saw JJ Barnes' squad car, they stopped right in their tracks, turned around and disappeared from the scene, as if some man-eating wolf was on their trail."