by Sonia Parin
“Okay, let’s do this.” Eve strode toward the house with purpose. She rang the front doorbell and listened for approaching footsteps. “I think someone’s gone out the back door. I’m sure I heard it shut.” She took off at a trot and headed toward the side of the house.
“Eve, I feel I should warn you.”
“Okay. You’ve done your duty.”
“Do you realize how much trouble you’ll be in when Jack hears about this?”
Eve eased the side gate open and called out a hello.
“Why did you have to announce yourself?” Jill hollered. “You’ve given away your element of surprise.”
“I don’t want to catch anyone skinny dipping. Anyway, I’m sure they heard the doorbell and that’s why they went out the back door. They’re trying to ignore me.” Eve heard Jill grumbling. “Do you have something to say?”
“Maybe just this once you might want to let the police do their thing.”
“By the time they organize themselves, the culprit will have hidden all the proof of wrongdoing.”
“Yes, but Eve,” Jill said, “Mitcham R. Bryson is only suspected of coughing up the blackmail money… or bottles of wine. He hasn’t really done anything wrong.”
“He might be guilty of something else. For all we know, he might have killed Jamie Woodridge as a way to finally put an end to the blackmailing.” Eve came up to another gate and a Cabana house beyond that. “The wine didn’t walk out of Florence’s cellar by itself. Someone took it.”
“Eve, I have a bad feeling about this.”
“What’s wrong with you? You’re not usually so jittery.”
“As I said, I have a bad feeling. I really think you should have waited, or at least, you should have asked David to come along.”
“Someone had to stay behind with Mira and Florence.” Eve tapped her bag. “Besides, I took precautions. I have a pry bar in my bag.”
“In your bag? What good is it doing there? Take it out.”
Eve eased the next gate open and peered around the corner. The coast appeared to be clear. She had no idea what she intended doing. She only knew someone had heard the doorbell and had chosen to ignore it.
“It’s not a Cabana.” She stood on tiptoe and looked through the window. “It looks like a cool room. There are wine racks running along one side of the wall and a table and chairs. I think this is a tasting room.”
“Is anyone inside?” Jill asked.
“I don’t see anyone.” She saw a door at the end of the room. It stood partly open and she thought she could see stairs leading down. “If Mitcham R. Bryson still has his wine, it would have to be here or in the cellar. I think there’s one under the cabana.” Eve positioned the cell phone so that Jill could see.
“Whatever you do, do not go inside. Yes, I am jittery and I’m imagining you being locked up in the cellar by the killer. If you’re right and they have a cellar, they might also have temperature control. What if they turn the temperature down to below freezing?” Jill whispered. “You’ll die.”
“Apparently, that is the least painful death around. You simply go to sleep. Or so I heard.”
“Would you like to test the theory?”
Eve stilled.
She shifted her eyes and tried to catch the reflection on the window. Yes. Someone stood behind her. Someone tall with broad shoulders.
“Put the phone down.”
Eve cranked up her brain. She could do as she’d been told, or she could use the phone as a weapon. If she managed to distract the man standing behind her, she’d be able to get the pry bar out of her bag and at least take a swing at him. That might buy her enough time to take off running.
She felt the barrel of a gun pressing between her shoulder blades.
Okay, that was a game changer.
“Don’t be absurd,” Eve heard herself say. “The moment you pull the trigger, the neighbors will come out.”
The man laughed under his breath. “The houses on either side are vacation homes and sitting empty.”
How would he know that?
“The phone. Now. Drop it and kick it over.”
Eve tried to look at the cell phone screen but he lifted the gun and, pressing it against her head, pushed her face right up against the window.”
“Drop the phone now.” He didn’t wait to see if she’d do it. Instead, he snatched the phone from her hand. In the next instant, Eve heard the screen crack.
Her heart pounded against her chest. Eve took a deep swallow. She knew Jill had heard enough to jump into action. The police would be on their way. She strained to hear the sound of police sirens. “You’re Mitcham R. Bryson’s son.” He had to be.
He didn’t answer.
Eve tried to turn but he pressed the gun harder against her. “You killed Jamie Woodridge. Did your father put you up to it?”
“He doesn’t know anything. Leave him out of it.”
So, he was the son. The heir. The one whose inheritance had been diminished by his father’s blackmailers. “So, it was all your doing.”
“Move. Inside now,” he said through gritted teeth. “I actually like the idea of you freezing to death in the cellar. It’ll be days before anyone thinks to look for you there. If ever.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I told my police boyfriend about coming here. We have an honesty is the best policy type of relationship. Sure, he gave me an earful and told me to stay away, but that only tells me how much he cares. He’s on his way here now and he knows all about my suspicions so he’ll know where to look.”
“Start moving now toward the door.”
“You’ll have to be more specific. Am I moving to the right or the left? I can’t see with my face pressed against the window.”
He eased off the pressure but Eve could feel the gun still pointed at her. “The police have footage of you going into the store to buy the pry bar.” Or at least, she hoped they did. She prayed the detective hadn’t been humoring her when he’d said he would look into it. “I told them you purchased it because you don’t own a car. Is that right?”
“Move,” he barked out through gritted teeth.
“Youth. They have no manners.” Eve shuffled toward the door. She figured she had a window of opportunity coming right up. When she reached the door, he’d probably expect her to open it. She wouldn’t. She decided to pretend she couldn’t open it. Surely, he’d step forward. When he did, she’d ram her bag against him.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a bicycle. “Hey. You ride a bicycle. That’s how you get around.” All the information she’d been collecting during the last couple of days streamed through her mind. How many times had she driven out and seen a cyclist? “That’s how you kept tabs on me.” Jamie’s neighbor had said he’d seen the perpetrator walking away from Jamie’s house. Eve decided he must have left his bicycle around the corner.
“Open the door.”
She pretended to try to turn the doorknob.
“What are you waiting for?”
Eve bit the edge of her lip. Just how long did it take for the police to respond to an emergency call? She trusted Jill had jumped into action… “My hands are sweaty. It happens when I have a weapon pointed at me. You should rethink it. I might be pushed to do something desperate. Besides, you must know you’ll never get away with this.”
“I already have.”
“Why did you kill Jamie?”
“He got in my way.”
She heard him huff out a hard breath. “You got tired of seeing your inheritance disappearing.” Eve felt him tensing. “I know how you feel. In your place, I would have been annoyed. My parents are successful and I know I’ll stand to inherit a large chunk of money, but I have no control over what they do with it now. What if they pick up a new habit like gambling? I’ll stand to inherit nothing. You spend your life pleasing your folks, for what?” In reality, she’d long ago told her parents to give it all to charity because she could make her own way in the world.
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br /> “Shut up.”
“I don’t know about you, but I’ve had to work hard at making my folks happy. They are high achievers and extremely demanding. Nothing I do is ever good enough for them.” Eve suddenly realized there had to be a reason why he rode a bicycle. He couldn’t afford a car. Did he even work? “When my parents found out I wanted to be a chef instead of a lawyer, they put me in therapy. In their opinion, there had to be something wrong with me.” Eve shifted slightly. “What’s your name? I’d like to know who’ll be responsible for killing me.” He didn’t say anything. Instead, he shoved her against the door. “Bernard? Yes, it’s probably Bernard and your father calls you Bernie. Not that there’s anything wrong with it.”
The growl she heard shook her into action. In the next split second, she swung around just as he reached for the doorknob. Her elbow stuck out and she used her other hand to ram her handbag against him. They both connected. Unfortunately, he was all hard muscle, but that only made Eve more determined.
She threw her entire focus on shoving against him. Mr. tall and lanky lost his balance. Eve expected to hear a gunshot. She even thought she’d end up with a bullet hole somewhere, hopefully nowhere vital.
As he teetered backward, she rammed against him again. This time, she had a good hold of her bag and the pry bar hit him under the chin. She didn’t know where but it made him grunt deeply. Eve suspected she had actually caused some real damage.
He clutched his throat and fell back. Losing her balance, Eve fell right on top of him. As she toppled over, she imagined she heard Jill calling out.
“Eve!”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“How close did you come to spending your last moments in cold storage?” Florence asked.
Eve sat in Florence Buchanan’s front parlor, her arms nursing the tender spot on her hip. She’d somehow managed to land against her bag and the pry bar she’d stowed in there.
“I have no idea and I’d rather not think about it.”
Mira sighed. “Thank goodness for your determination to stay alive.”
Eve raised her glass of champagne. “Thank goodness for Jill.” The police had arrived just in time. Detective Ken McLain had headed the team swarming to her rescue. He’d been holding up his cell phone. The voice she’d heard calling out her name had belonged to Jill who’d insisted the detective take her with him.
Taking a sip of the champagne, she smiled. “This is exceptional. Thank you, Florence.”
“Oh, thank you, sweetie. You deserve the best vintage.”
“Yes,” Mira agreed. “Eve had been right to be suspicious about the man she’d seen at the store.”
“Patrick Bryson,” Eve murmured. “I should be grateful. He didn’t have it in him to really fight for what he wanted. For a moment, I thought if he’d gone to the trouble of killing to safeguard his inheritance, he would not let anything or anyone else stop him.” Eve shrugged. “Well, he tried.”
Jill grinned. “But then he had the misfortune of crossing paths with you.”
Luckily, Mitcham R. Bryson’s son hadn’t been made of the right stuff. His father had overindulged him and he hadn’t worked a day in his life. When he’d learned of his father’s blackmailing, he’d taken matters into his own hands, but he hadn’t had the wits to pull it off.
“David, do you know if they got a full confession out of Patrick Bryson?”
“Sure did. That’s one angry young man. You know the type, always blaming everyone else for their misfortunes. He called his father spineless for giving in to blackmail.”
Eve harrumphed. “If he wanted money why didn’t he go out and work for it? I call that spineless.”
“If you ask me, he had a lot of wasted talent,” David said. “Once he got his father to tell him about Stew Woodridge and Joel Ellison blackmailing him, he discovered Stew had died and had left everything to his grandson, Jamie. So, he started stalking him. That takes wits.”
He had followed Jamie Woodridge into Yesterday’s Trash. There had been a scuffle and, in a moment of rage, he’d picked up a paperweight and had hit him over the head. Realizing what he’d done, he’d grabbed the paperweight with his fingerprints on it and had snatched the keys from Jamie’s pocket.
Eve looked up at David. “Wasted talent? I hope you’re not suggesting he might have joined the police force. Clearly, he has issues. Now his father will have to use the proceeds from the sale of the wine to cover his legal costs.” Eve looked down at her cell phone. “Everyone, please thank Jill for getting the police to come to my rescue. I cannot thank her enough.”
They all raised their glasses and cheered.
Eve smiled at Florence. “You must be relieved to know your Bertie was an innocent bystander.” But not Stew Woodridge. He had teamed up with Joel Ellison to mastermind the whole operation. Eve had been right about him dying suddenly without making provisions to pass on the incriminating photograph to Joel Ellison.
Florence shrugged. “I think it would have been more fun if he’d turned out to be the ringleader. I would have had more stories to tell.”
Instead, he too had succumbed to blackmail. The police had been busy. After securing a warrant to search Joel Ellison’s premises, they’d discovered a photograph hidden behind the photos on his desk.
“How do you feel about Bertie’s affair?” Mira asked.
Florence threw her head back and laughed. “The fact he went to so much trouble to hide it tells me how much he regretted it and how much he loved me.”
For years, Bertie had been afraid Florence would find out about his indiscretion early on in their marriage. Fear had driven him to agree to Joel Ellison’s plan to set people up for blackmail. Joel Ellison had been cunning enough to avoid extorting money. Instead, he’d acquired expensive wines, new cars, holidays abroad…
“The criminal mind works in mysterious ways,” Eve mused. She looked at Mira and smiled. “I’ve had a rethink about writing murder mysteries. I don’t think I have the cunningness for it.”
“What? No. No. No. Don’t be a spoilsport,” Jill bellowed. “I’ve been looking forward to our new venture.”
“Our new venture?” Eve asked.
“Yes, I thought we might co-write mystery books. Or… or I could be your muse.”
Mira laughed. “There’s no such thing as a muse, dear. It’s all hard work.”
Eve drained her glass and was about to set it down again when Florence topped it up.
“Drink up, honey. You deserve it.”
Eve looked at David. “When am I getting my cameras back?”
David sighed. “I’m afraid this time you’ll have to wait.”
“I can’t believe someone stole my cameras. I was so sure the theft had been connected, but it was nothing but a random act of theft, after all.” The expensive wine, however, had been recovered. After a search through Mitcham R. Bryson’s cellar, they’d found all the bottles Patrick Bryson had stolen from Florence’s cellar.
Mira patted her hand. “Eve, you can’t always be right.” Her aunt turned toward Florence. “So, what will you do now, Florence?”
Florence sat back and crossed her legs. “I’ve come to my senses and given up on trying to reignite the wild child inside me.” She shrugged. “I might have managed to create new memories but I guess I’ve become used to my creature comforts. I might do a bit of traveling, but I like the idea of having a home to come back to. I might even keep the business running. It gets me out of the house and I do enjoy meeting new people.”
The front doorbell rang, followed by an insistent rapping of knuckles against the window pane.
David went to answer the door and moments later, Jack strode in.
“Ah, my police escort. Here to make sure I don’t get into more trouble.”
Nodding hello, Jack stood at attention. “Eve. It’s time to go home.”
* * *
Dying Trade
A Deadline Cozy Mystery - Book 9
About this book
Ev
e Lloyd’s a la carte catering: Horde d’oeuvres, canapés, murder and mayhem.
Eve has set her heart on opening a new business in the heart of Rock-Maine Island. Her young friend and employee, Jill Saunders, thinks this is a bad move because she is bound to set something into motion. And, she does…
First, the most unexpected visitors land on her doorstep and send both Eve and her aunt, Mira, into a state of frenzied panic. Then, before the sun sets on Eve’s otherwise uneventful life, she makes a horrible discovery. It seems her store has been marred by a horrendous crime. On the bright side, it pre-dates her arrival on the island. For once, no one can point the finger of suspicion at her. But she’s not exactly out of the woods. Someone is trying to kill her. Worse, the mob is after Eve Lloyd and they won’t stop until they get what they want from her.
Clean cozy mystery with dry humor, fun and laughter.
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Chapter One
“This is it.” Eve’s eyes brightened. “I love it. It’s perfect. And, it’s been waiting for me.”
“How so?” Jill asked.
“It’s been vacant for over a year.”
“Don’t you wonder why it’s been sitting vacant?”
“You just wait and see. In no time, this place will be buzzing with foot traffic.”
The row of stores sat at the quiet end of the main street but her new business would surely reinvigorate the area. Not that she’d given it much thought. Eve only knew she wanted to focus on something new. She didn’t need a business plan to know her new venture would succeed. She didn’t even need to close her eyes to picture the sign reading Eve Lloyd’s a la Carte Catering in elegant script. Eve brimmed with joy. “I love it.”
“Yes, I can tell you love it. You’re not even blinking. Tell me again why you want to open up a business in town,” Jill said. “The inn keeps you on your toes.”