Amy King Cozy Mysteries- The Complete Series

by N. C. Lewis

  "No, I'd rather stay with you."

  "Amy, I'll be fine. Now go!"

  Amy hesitated for a moment.

  "Anyway," continued Nick, "if the tests come back okay, I'll be home tonight or tomorrow. Now, go!"

  A renewed wave of tiredness washed over Amy. She relented. "Suppose so, darling. But I'll be back late this afternoon."

  She stood, walked to the door and smiled at her husband. He winked.

  ◆◆◆

  The sun shone bright in a blue sky with only a few wisps of high clouds by the time Amy had returned to her Gaston Avenue home shortly before noon. Walking along the pathway to the front door she paused to glance around. The neatly mowed lawn and clumps of lantana with their peach and purple blossoms seemed more vivid than usual. She gazed up at the house; it was like one of those images on a chocolate box—beautiful.

  Amy couldn't help but feel reflective. There had been happy times in this house, sad ones too. They'd raised two beautiful, happy daughters who were now married and making their own way through life. Amy secretly hoped grandchildren were on the horizon, although she didn’t push the idea with her daughters. Perhaps, she thought, she wasn't quite ready to sell the house and downsize. She suspected there were many more happy memories yet to come.

  Exactly at noon, Amy stepped into the shower. She ran it long and hot, washing away the anxiety of the previous evening, soothing her aching body. It did not, however, wash away her fatigue. She slipped into bed intending to finish the movie Laura but instead drifted off into a deep peaceful sleep.

  A shrill buzz echoed through the bedroom. Trapped in that space between dreams and consciousness, Amy thought for a moment she was in a beehive. At the same instant, instinctively, she stretched out an arm to hit snooze on her cell phone.

  The buzzing stopped.

  Amy's eyes snapped open, stared at the cell phone in silence and then she turned over. Her eyelids drooped shut. The cell phone buzzed again, voice mail. This time she picked up. Two messages, one from each of her daughters. They'd already booked flights and would arrive next week.

  "At least some good will come of it all," she said sitting up, now fully alert, and wondering whether Nick could come home this evening. She'd pack some things for him nevertheless.

  In the bedroom walk-in closet Amy found an overnight bag. She was still deciding what to pack for Nick when she flipped on the radio.

  "You are listening to ACFM 95.5 FM. Your source for classical music in the capital city. Now here's the news in five. A homeless man has been released without charges in the slaying of an Austin City bookstore owner. Detective Wilson of the Austin City Police Department confirmed the man was no longer a person of interest, and the police department is following up on other leads…"

  Amy realized at once Detective Wilson had come to a dead end, and that she and Danielle might be able to help with the investigation after all.

  "Unofficial, on the side, without getting in the way," she had explained to Danielle when she called her to give an update on Nick. "I'm sure Nick will be okay with it. Why don't you meet me at the hospital in an hour and we can discuss our next move?"

  ◆◆◆

  Detective Wilson was in Nick's hospital room when Amy arrived. She stood there, her afro swept up into a high bun. "That's the situation," she explained, half turning as Amy entered the room.

  Nick grunted.

  "Hi Amy, I was checking up on Nick. Looks like he is on the mend," Detective Wilson said changing the subject. "Anyway, I'd better be going. Take good care of him, Amy, please."

  Nick's eyes followed Detective Wilson out of the room. Again, he grunted.

  "What was that about?" Amy asked, closing the door.

  "Oh, nothing, just work stuff!"

  "The murder in the bookstore case?"

  "Yep. The chief is pulling resources, has reassigned Detective Wilson and her team to another case." Nick doubled over in a fit of coughing.

  Amy leaned forward to hand him a glass of water and plump up his pillows.

  "So, who is investigating the murder now?"

  "Technically, no one."

  "Surely someone is on the case else the murderer will get away?"

  Nick smiled. "You were never just a pretty face, Amy. Come here, give me a kiss."

  They snuggled for a moment.

  Amy understood all too well how the warped politics between town hall and the police department played out. "So, tell me, who has the case now?"

  "Me."

  "You?"

  "Yes."

  "But you're in the hospital!"

  Nick merely nodded, then explained, "that's why I said technically. You know how it goes Amy. The chief needs to look as if he has someone on the case. But department resources are stretched; he wants Detective Wilson to work other higher profile cases. So, the chief assigns me to the case, and on paper, everything looks good. He can tell town hall his department is still working the case… If we had the resources, we could do so more actively."

  Amy felt suddenly confident. "So, I'm free to keep digging?"

  "Keep out of harm's way and turn anything you find over to Detective Wilson."

  "I thought she wasn't working the case now."

  "She isn't but knowing her she'll work it on the side. If there is a breakthrough in the case, she deserves the credit."

  Danielle appeared in the doorway a moment later, waving at Nick, giggling like a school girl.

  "Hello Detective Nick," she said in a girly voice. "How are you this sunny day?"

  Amy gave her a friendly slap, then explained the situation with a slight smile of triumph on her face.

  Nick listened, eyes closed. He let out a low murmur when Amy had finished. Perhaps he remembered his wife's tenacity from some earlier difficulty or knew from her voice she'd put up a good fight.

  Danielle tugged at her ear. "Nick, where would you start if you were working the case?"

  Nick shrugged. "With the wife. Sara Earl."

  "Where does she live?"

  "Google her."

  Danielle picked up her cell phone. "Found her," she said. "House on Scenic Drive!"

  "Let's go," said Amy leaning forward to kiss Nick on his forehead and picking up her handbag.

  "Be careful," he called after them.

  Chapter 24

  Within minutes they had left the clinical corridors and pale walls of the hospital and were outside in the bright afternoon sunlight. "Let's take your car," Danielle said as they walked across the hospital visitor parking lot. "You can drop me back here later." She fiddled with her cell phone checking the map function was working and looking for delays on the route. "Traffic's pretty clear this afternoon."

  "Good," replied Amy, driving out of the hospital campus and following the directions from Danielle's phone. "I've thought of a few questions to ask Mrs. Sara Earl. We might as well discuss them now."

  For several minutes they talked about what they'd like to know, batting ideas around until at last they were satisfied. "In the end," said Amy reflectively, "I'd like to know if Mrs. Earl was involved in Mr. Earl's death."

  They drove to the west side of the city and along Scenic Drive, a winding tree-lined avenue that snaked along the banks of the Colorado River. "Lots of money in this part of town," commented Danielle, peering out of the window at the large custom brick-and-stone homes. "Those houses on the banks of the river must be worth millions!"

  They found the address they wanted and drove slowly by. "It's not as fancy as the others and not bankside," said Danielle.

  "Yeah, but I love the clay-tiled roof and hand-troweled stucco finish. That'll cost more than a detective's pay," Amy replied, turning the car around.

  As they drove by the second time, a middle-aged man in a business suit with a waxed handlebar mustache was just leaving the front door. He carried a tan leather briefcase with an easy swing as he strolled along the pathway to a late-model Mercedes-Benz. He stopped curbside by his car, tweaking his mustache and watc
hing the friends as they drove slowly by.

  "Looks like a lawyer," Amy said.

  "Or a preacher."

  "Not with that car."

  "I wonder why all lawyers dress the same?"

  "Don't know, probably in their DNA," suggested Amy.

  They waited five minutes after the Mercedes-Benz pulled away, then parked on the roadside in front of the house and walked up the pathway leading to the front door.

  Before Amy could ring the bell, a plump woman with a mass of untidy white hair opened the door. She was in her seventies with deep wrinkles etched into her face like ancient parchment.

  Danielle gasped.

  Amy fell back two paces.

  It was the woman they'd seen at Hansel's House.

  Chapter 25

  For several long moments the two friends stood on the doorstep staring at the woman. There could be no doubt about it whatsoever. This was the woman they had seen with Sage Oats, the woman who had mysteriously disappeared as the patrons of Hansel's House jived and bopped to the up-tempo strains of an instrumental version of "Gangnam Style."

  "Oh… Oh… Mrs. Earl?" Amy stammered, trying to recover her composure. "My name is Amy King. This is my friend Danielle Sánchez. May we talk with you for a moment?"

  Mrs. Earl waved her hand as if swatting an annoying fly. "I was expecting someone else. I'm already a member of a religious group and delighted with it. No time to chat. Please don't call back. Goodbye."

  The door slammed shut.

  "Now what?" asked Danielle.

  "She thinks we are trying to convert her," replied Amy pressing the doorbell.

  When Mrs. Earl answered, Amy spoke quickly. "Mrs. Earl, we'd like to speak with you about Mr. Alan Earl. Could you spare ten minutes?"

  Mrs. Earl frowned. "Are you the police? I'm not giving any statements or answering questions without my lawyer."

  "Oh no, we are not police officers," cried Amy.

  "Then who are you?"

  "We are the people who found Mr. Earl's body in his bookstore."

  She eyed them with a trace of suspicion. "Why didn’t you call ahead?"

  "We wanted to express our condolences, but didn’t have your telephone number—"

  "This way please," she interrupted, waving them through the doorway. "You can come inside for a few minutes until my visitor arrives."

  She led them through a cool hallway to a large, brightly painted living room.

  "Please take a seat." She pointed to two armchairs, seating herself on a wide leather sofa. "Now, what is it you would like to discuss?"

  Amy spoke up. "Mrs. Earl—"

  She raised her hand like a police officer stopping traffic. "Please," she said, the deep wrinkles in her mottled face moving like rail tracks, "call me Sara. Everyone calls me Sara, except Mr. Alvin Shyster. Damn lawyers are always so stiff and formal."

  From a low table beside the sofa, Sara stretched out a plump hand to pick up a small, frosted, crystal perfume spray bottle. She toyed with it for a moment. Then wisps of light mist plumed out, aimed with a practiced hand, at her neck.

  Amy didn't recognize the floral fragrance but knew it was expensive.

  "Baccarat Les Larmes Sacrees de Thebes," whispered Danielle, eyes half closed.

  Sara leaned forward. "I see you appreciate a fine fragrance, young lady. Yes, it is rather special, don't you think?"

  "Indeed, indeed. I simply adore the Egyptian theme," replied Danielle warming to Sara. "One of the finest additions to any collection. Why, I've asked my husband Stan to bring me—"

  Amy nudged Danielle and began again. "Sara, we'd like to express our condolences for your—"

  "Don't bother!" said Sara sharply.

  Amy was startled by the tone of Sara's voice. She half turned to glance at Danielle who gave her a look of surprise and bewilderment.

  "Oh, don't look so shocked ladies," Sara said with a cackle. "Our marriage was purely pragmatic."

  "Pragmatic?" Amy quizzed.

  Sara glanced away. "Alan married me for my money, which he spent lavishly on himself and that dratted bookstore." She paused, looked back with a defiant glare, her eyes darting from Amy to Danielle. "You're surprised I'm not in mourning, not sobbing uncontrollably at my loss?" She clasped her hands together. "I'm amazed the scoundrel survived as long as he did. If it wasn’t for him satisfying a certain number of my… needs, I'd have gotten rid of him myself. Alan was a worthless bum."

  Amy stared hard at Sara. "Sorry?"

  "Come, come now, don't be so prudish," said Sara, then laughing. "Men come; men go. Alan could turn the charm on like a tap, but he was only really interested in himself and spending my money. In the end he was a loser. "

  Amy felt uncomfortable hearing Sara speaking so unglamorously of her recently deceased husband and experienced a deep sadness for the shallowness of their relationship and profound gratitude for the depth of her happy marriage with Nick.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Amy could see Danielle narrow-eyed with a puzzled expression on her face. "When did you last visit the bookstore?" Danielle asked, glancing at the perfume spray bottle now back on the table by the sofa.

  Sara shifted in her seat and sniffed. "Alan's bookstore business was a devil, and it gobbled money like souls. I visited the place when it first opened and a handful of times after that. I haven’t been there recently. The place is so small, claustrophobic, but it was all I would let him have. Boys and their toys if you know what I mean."

  They fell into silence for several seconds as Amy considered how to phrase her next question. She decided to be direct. "Can you think of anyone who would want your husband murdered?"

  Sara was silent for such a long moment it seemed she wouldn't answer.

  "Yes," she said at last. "Me."

  Chapter 26

  Sara stood up and shuffled slowly to the window, with her back to Amy and Danielle she began to speak. "Our marriage died years ago. Alan needed money, and I had it, inherited from my papa. It was as simple as that. But there were rules… which he broke!" She began to sob.

  Amy started to interrupt, but Sara half turned, pressed a fingertip to her lips. "I found out recently that Alan was cheating on me. For some time I'd sensed it—we do as women—but last week I became convinced. I'd have killed him myself, but not in that pesky store."

  Sara pulled the curtain back, gazed out into the front yard. "Our relationship was very… transactional. He was twenty years younger. My money made up for the difference in age." She turned to face Amy and Danielle, her eyes flashing with something hard and cold. "If I wanted to get even with Alan, I'd have restricted his access to my cash. That'd be more satisfying than killing him. I'd make him dance."

  Amy believed her, and although she knew little about the psychology of a murderer, it would take a lot to convince her now that Sara had killed her husband. "Sara, can you think of anyone else who would want your husband dead?"

  Sara sighed and shook her head.

  "What about his mistress; do you know her name?"

  Again, she shook her head. "I only suspected; he admitted nothing, but I knew."

  "What about business acquaintances?"

  Sara's eyes darted around the room. "The only thing I knew for sure about his business is that it was losing money. I only know because I funded it. But I've no idea about the details, who supplied the books, or even who Alan sold them on to. It was his toy, and I kept away from it. Now, ladies, I really have things to do." She gestured toward the door.

  Amy and Danielle followed her out into the hall. Sara seemed to have suddenly aged as she shuffled along stooped as if carrying a heavy load on her back. At the front door, she stopped, pressed a palm to her cheek glancing over her shoulder at the friends. "If you want to know more about Alan's business, you'd better speak with Tim Clark."

  "Who is Tim Clark?" asked Danielle.

  Sara sniffed and peered at a clock on the wall. "Alan's only employee. He'll be here in a few minutes to go over plans for t
he continued operation of the bookstore. He thinks he can turn the business around, and I've half a mind to let him try… Tell you what, why don't you take a seat in the living room and speak with Tim before my meeting?"

  Amy wanted to get back to the hospital to see how Nick was doing, but the decision to stay was taken for her.

  "Oh, we'd be delighted to meet Tim. Thank you for offering," Danielle said quickly, turning and walking back toward the living room.

  Chapter 27

  Sara brought in a pot of tea with china cups and dainty Danish cookies. "Please help yourself. I'll be back shortly." Then she disappeared leaving Amy and Danielle sitting quietly in the living room waiting for Tim Clark to arrive.

  "I expected her to have some sadness," Amy said in a faint voice pouring tea into both cups. "But there is nothing, not even a trace of grief. It is as if Alan's death is a relief. It has rejuvenated her in some bizarre way."

  Danielle thought for a moment and picked up a cookie. "They had a strange relationship, purely functional, no love at all. I can't imagine living like that."

  Amy sipped. "Even if you are no longer in love, it must be a cold hard heart that doesn't even feel a twinge when—"

  "I know," interrupted Danielle raising a hand. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of Sara."

  "Me neither, but I don't think Sara murdered Alan—not on her own."

  "We should focus on Alan's secret lover," Danielle suggested.

  "Agreed. What do you think her motive might have been?"

  Danielle took a sip of tea. "With so much cash at stake, Alan wasn’t about to walk away from Sara. That suggests his lover doesn't have much money and is probably younger than Alan. Maybe she became frustrated with the situation. She wanted Alan to herself but couldn't have him."

  "Then why didn’t she kill Sara?" asked Amy.

  "I don't know," replied Danielle putting her cup down and staring toward the windows.

  Amy took another sip of tea. "We must identify this woman somehow." She paused, thinking. "Since Tim Clark worked for Alan, he might know something."

  The doorbell rang.

  "That must be Tim," said Danielle, "Got your questions lined up?"