Amy King Cozy Mysteries- The Complete Series

by N. C. Lewis

  "Yes, I had an affair with Alan. I like trinkets, and he supplied them. My relationship with Tim died years ago. I don't know why it has taken so long to finish it. The death of Alan was the final blow, though. I'm leaving Tim."

  Amy knew then Esther hadn't heard about the fire nor the fate of Tim. She leaned forward to ask the question she'd wanted to ask from the start. "Do you know who killed Alan Earl?"

  Esther hesitated. "I didn't think so," she said slowly. "But now I believe I do."

  The sound of footsteps outside the front door echoed through the kitchen. Then a key turned in the lock.

  "Quick," cried Esther, her eyes filled with fear. "Hide in the bedroom." Amy wasn’t sure whether it was Esther's tone or her instinct, but she rushed to the bedroom, easing the door shut as the front door swung open.

  "Esther dear," called Tim Clark. "I'm home."

  Chapter 45

  Amy left the bedroom door ajar and peeped out through a crack. Tim stood with his hands by his side in the hallway. Black smudges covered his face. His T-shirt was damp with sweat, and pants torn and bloodied.

  "What happened to you?" asked Esther, hands on hips. Her voice was curious but not friendly.

  "Darling, we have to pack, get away from here."

  "Why?"

  "I burned down the bookstore…. and killed a man called Eddie Yates. You don't know him. Eddie supplied books for Alan. Nasty bit of scum, turned up this morning asking for money. I bashed him on the head when he wasn't looking and set fire to the store."

  "What are you saying?" Esther backed toward the kitchen.

  "Don't worry; I've got the cash from the bookstore and Alan's special manuscripts. I'll sell those later. We've got to pack and get out of here."

  Esther stared hard. "You… you killed Alan," she sobbed.

  "It was for you, Esther. I killed Alan so we could be free." Tim rushed forward to hug her.

  "Get away from me," she screamed. "It's over. Do you hear me? Over!"

  Esther ran into the kitchen. Tim followed. "No darling, you don't understand…"

  Amy decided to call for help, 911, then Nick. She searched her handbag for her phone, but It was missing. Then she remembered she'd left it on the passenger seat. What to do? She was considering whether to make a run for it, along the hallway and out of the apartment when someone called out.

  "Hello, is anyone home?"

  Tim rushed out into the hall.

  Danielle, the color drained from her face, staggered backward as if she'd seen a ghost. Tim must have seen something in her eyes. He reached forward, grabbed her by the shoulders, tugging and shoving her into the kitchen. Danielle, her eyes wide and mouth open, didn’t put up a struggle.

  It was only when Danielle saw Esther sobbing quietly at the kitchen table, she screamed.

  "Shut up!" yelled Tim, grabbing a butcher's knife from the kitchen drawer, waving it savagely in front of Danielle. "I'll kill you both. Shut up and let me think."

  Danielle covered her mouth. Esther continued to sob.

  It was then Amy made a run for the front door. She moved swiftly along the hallway. By the open kitchen door, she half glanced into the room. Danielle sat mute, Esther shaking with fear, and Tim, eyes wild, waved the knife.

  Amy lost her footing, stumbled with a thud to the floor two inches from the front door. Dazed, she struggled to her knees and grasped at the door handle.

  Something slapped her hand away. She fell face forward hitting the door.

  Panic-stricken, she whirled around and looked up.

  Tim Clark stood over her with a wild expression in his eyes. The glint of the butcher's knife through the hallway gloom froze Amy to the spot.

  Chapter 46

  "Get up!" yelled Tim. "In the kitchen, now!"

  Amy, dazed, knew she was trapped. One powerful slash of that knife would rip through clothing, skin, and flesh, opening a wound to the bone. She struggled to her feet, stumbled along the hallway into the kitchen with Tim marching behind. She was given no time for thought. With a sudden shove in the back, Tim commanded, "Sit!"

  Amy collapsed next to Danielle. Their eyes met briefly.

  "I knew you two were trouble when I met with you at Sara Earl's house," Tim shouted. He looked from Amy to Danielle. "Always in other people's business, just like Alan Earl." He spat out the words like a snake spits venom, slashing the knife back and forth in the air.

  "Tim, please," cried Esther. "We can work this out. Put down the knife and we can talk."

  Tim's eyes narrowed to slits. "That's what Alan said before I shut him up. I told him I wanted my girl back, that it was too late for talking. The knife finished the job. He squealed like a pig, ha-ha-ha." Tim seemed to ramble now. "I have to get out of here. Esther, we are going to South America, and then Europe. Honey, you always said you wanted to see Europe. Now you can go with me. Wear all the fancy clothes you want, buy fine fragrances, eat fancy food and drink expensive wine. Will you come with me?"

  "No! Can't you see, Tim, I don't love you. It's over. It's been over for a long time now. I'd never run away with a murderer."

  Tim exploded, rushed forward thrusting the knife at Esther. She shrunk back screaming.

  "Shut up," he yelled surging forward, jamming the knife into her shoulder.

  Esther let out a savage, earsplitting shriek.

  "I'm gonna kill you just like Alan. Shut up!" spat Tim raising the knife above his head, ready for another strike.

  "Freeze—FBI! Tim Clark put your hands in the air and drop the knife. Now!" The woman dressed in rags with a yellow scarf around her head stepped through the doorway of the kitchen with a gun in her hand. A round-faced man in dark shades with a long, bushy beard followed close behind. Behind him a weasel-faced man wearing tattered blue jeans and an FBI jacket over his torn, white T-shirt.

  Tim dropped the knife, raised his hands slowly, and began to weep.

  Chapter 47

  Moments later the apartment was full of law enforcement officers. Tim was in handcuffs and led away by two FBI agents, one wearing an orange hard hat, the other the overalls of a painter. Tim seemed shriveled and pathetic flanked by the two agents. "I did it! I killed him and shoved his body into a tiny closet. Just like the tiny apartment I'm forced to live in… It was her fault." He was screaming now. "Esther caused this whole mess. If it wasn't for her, Alan would still be alive…" The rest of his sentence was lost in bitter sobs.

  The wails of sirens followed soon after. Two paramedics rushed into the apartment. They were followed by a tall man in a dark blue EMS uniform, with a hairline mustache and an almost military haircut. He stooped down, spoke quietly to Esther who nodded but seemed unable to speak. Then he examined the wound for an instant and stood up. As the paramedics worked, he watched, occasionally barking orders.

  Within minutes Esther was on a stretcher and being carefully carried down the apartment stairs to the waiting ambulance. "She's conscious. Superficial wound," said the tall man tweaking his mustache and nodding at the weasel-faced man wearing tattered blue jeans and an FBI jacket.

  The woman in the yellow scarf took Amy and Danielle to one side while a whirl of activity continued around them. "I'm Agent Jenny O'Malley," she said in an official voice. "We've been trailing Alan Earl for several months as part of a larger Interpol investigation into the illegal international trade of rare manuscripts."

  "That's correct," said the weasel-faced man joining the conversation. "I'm Special Agent Paul Roman, been working undercover for a while in Austin as a homeless man under the alias Bert Jennings." He turned toward the door. Detective Wilson walked in. "I've been so deep undercover, even the Austin Police Department thought I was their man, the murderer of Alan Earl, that is. Took a lot of phone calls to sort that one out." He chuckled.

  Detective Wilson nodded at Amy and Danielle and gave a weak smile. "Sometimes," she said in a low voice, "the channels of communication between the various law enforcement agencies get a little blurry. It's unfortunate, but it ha
ppens."

  "Well," smiled Special Agent Roman, "you have your perp, and you can book him for a double murder."

  Detective Wilson sighed. "Will do. Not much of Eddie Yates left from the burned store, but forensics will work with what we have got. Tim Clark's life on the outside is over. Hope he likes prison food."

  A uniformed officer appeared and took a brief statement from Amy and Danielle. They agreed to go to the police station the following day to give a more detailed account.

  "I'd better call Nick," Amy said as she and Danielle strolled across the apartment parking lot. Police vehicles were still pulling into the area, and a crowd had gathered. "I've got a lot to tell him!"

  Chapter 48

  The following evening at Nick and Amy's home on Gaston Avenue…

  "So, justice has been served and Esther will make a full recovery?" asked Nick, his fork chasing a potato around his plate.

  "Physically, yes, apart from the scar I suppose. Psychologically, only time will tell," Amy replied. She had prepared a special meal—quail roasted with honey, cumin, and orange juice on a bed of baby spinach with buttered new potatoes.

  Nick took a bite of quail. "Oh darling, this is very good." He chewed a forkful of spinach. "It is common for federal agents to carry out undercover operations without informing the local police department. I've seen it a few times in my career. When it works, it works well. Tim Clark is off the streets and will spend the rest of his days behind bars."

  The hum of the insects outside in the garden took the place of conversation for several moments. Nick put down his fork and smiled at his wife. "Did you figure out Sage Oats' angle?"

  Amy stabbed at a potato. "I've thought about this. Initially, I supposed he wanted the store for use by the temple. Then I thought Sage Oats knew about Alan Earl's illegal activities and wanted to muscle in on the act."

  Nick tilted his head back and laughed. "Really?"

  Amy folded her arms. "Yes, really! Do you have a better idea?"

  Nick chuckled. "A friend at the town hall tipped me off." He took a sip of water. "The temple wants to buy all the commercial property on Twelfth Street. The plan is then to have the entire street rezoned as noncommercial."

  "Why?"

  "The Sage has a thing about crime. The cult believes commercialization leads to criminal activity. If they can reduce commerce, they think they can reduce crime."

  Amy turned to her husband with a knowing smile. "What do you think about that?"

  Nick took another sip of water and became thoughtful. "Well, people are people. There was crime on the farms, there was crime in the caves, and even without commerce there'd be crime in Austin. Part of the solution lies in education and a well-resourced police department. Anyway, I doubt Sage Oats will be successful even if he can raise the cash. People like to shop. Austin is a city founded on business; most of the stores on Twelfth Street are local, and that's how residents like it."

  Amy's mind drifted to Sara Earl. "You know, I feel sorry for Mrs. Earl. As hard as she seems on the outside, it can't be easy growing old alone."

  Nick looked amused. "I'd rather grow old alone than have a wife who hangs around so she can spend my money."

  They fell silent, gazing into each other's eyes. It had been a lovely meal, with Amy cooking up one of her special creations for which Nick was always grateful. It was the first step along a road to normality from the dark place he had been. There was still a long way to go before he regained his full health. With Amy at his side he knew he could make the journey.

  Nick leaned his elbows on the dinner table. The candlelight shimmered off his smiling face. "I can't think of anything nicer than growing older with you." He pulled Amy toward him and kissed her.

  "Neither can I," Amy sighed contentedly.

  Murder by the Clowns

  Copyright © 2018 by N.C. Lewis

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies or events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except with brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Chapter 1

  Wednesday, 9 a.m. Gaston Avenue…

  Sometimes when Amy King was upset or had something on her mind she'd spend hours in the kitchen with her nose in a cookbook, creating dishes which her husband Nick was always keen to try.

  "You should set up a catering company alongside your staging business," he suggested. "I've yet to try a dish I haven't enjoyed."

  "You’re a detective," Amy laughed.

  "On sick leave."

  "Yeah, but you are still a detective."

  "What's that mean?"

  "You eat and drink anything. I've tried Austin Police Department coffee, yuck!"

  Nick wrapped his arm around Amy and gave her a kiss. "What's wrong with department coffee?"

  She wriggled away. The truth was Nick enjoyed food, any food. Biscuits and gravy scored as high on his taste buds as smoked Chilean sea bass with ponzu sauce on a bed of Egyptian buttered couscous. It was one of the many easygoing things Amy loved about her husband. But for her, cooking was a therapy of sorts, a soothing influence in troubled times.

  "What're you making tonight?" Nick sniffed the air. "It smells delicious."

  "Creamy Tuscan chicken served with an arugula and pineapple salad," she said, accepting a glass of wine. "It'll be ready in twenty minutes."

  Nick sat down beside her at the kitchen table. "Honey, there's a lot going on right now." It was more of a question than a statement.

  Amy put down the recipe book. "Ruby and Noel arrive Friday evening. I've got to get their room ready. Victoria arrives the week after that. Then there is the staging business to take care of, and your health, of course, honey."

  Nick folded his arms. "Slow down. The kids first." Ruby and Victoria, their adult daughters were flying in from England to visit Nick after a recent heart attack that had nearly cost him his life. Fortunately, he'd survived and was now on medical leave from the Austin Police Department.

  Amy sipped. "Noel's traveling with Ruby." Noel and Ruby had been married for five years, but there were no signs of the grandchildren Amy secretly desired. Victoria, her youngest daughter, had only been married a year. Victoria liked to travel. Amy doubted children were on her radar yet.

  "Noel is visiting us?" Nick asked.

  "Yes. He's attending the annual meeting of his investment firm."

  "I've lost track a little; where does he work these days?" Noel Laird had worked a succession of jobs since marrying Ruby, none of which he had been able to stay in for more than a year or so.

  "Battles Equity Partners."

  Nick sat up straight. "That's Barry Battles' firm, on Congress near the capitol building. How long has Noel been working there?"

  "A year or so, I think."

  "How'd I miss that! I did some work with Mr. Battles a few years back as part of the executive protection unit."

  "What happened?"

  "Not much. Several threatening letters were sent to Mr. Battles."

  "Letters?"

  "Yes, one or two a week, threatening his life. Our unit monitored him for six months, but the letters stopped. We never caught the perp. Can't say I enjoyed that assignment. Barry Battles is not an easy person to work for."

  "Oh!" Amy said taking a sharp breath followed by another sip of wine. "What makes you say that?"

  "Barry Battles has two topics of conversation. Himself and money. No, three! Himself, money, and how he built the firm from scratch."

  "So he's a proud man. I thought you would appreciate that."


  Nick glowered. "A little pride, yes, but even if you went into Battles Equity Partners with a heart of gold, you'd come out tarnished. The place is a swamp."

  Amy's face paled. She took another sip then held the wine glass midair. "Ruby mentioned Noel was working long hours in the London office. She said she'd be happy if he quit the job…" Her voice trailed off into silence.

  "And what else?" Nick asked, sensing there was more.

  Amy's lips quivered. "Studio Shoal Seven is staging an event with—"

  "Barry Battles!" Nick interrupted in an astonished voice. He pushed back his chair and stood up. "My God, Amy! Keep clear of the alligators."

  Amy put the wine glass down slowly on the table and stared at Nick. "Surely, it can't be that bad?"

  Nick wrinkled his nose. "As a public servant, my duty is to serve and protect. If they weren’t paying me, I'd have left Barry Battles to defend himself. The man is like climbing a sand dune, you can never quite get your footing."

  The oven beeped.

  "Oh, it's done," Amy said. "Let's eat at the kitchen table tonight."

  Chapter 2

  Amelia Dubois sat at her huge oak desk in her private suite of the London office of Battles Equity Partners waiting for the monthly business call. Monday was the first of the month. On Tuesday the sales figures for the previous month were released. And on Wednesday, Barry Battles called. She glanced at the wall clock—five minutes.

  Clinically sharp. That was the phrase Mr. Battles had used to describe her when she joined the firm five years ago, straight out of business school. And that was how Amelia thought of her mind. Cambridge educated, she considered her mental abilities to be second to none; she was sharp, flexible, and deadly. It had earned her the top salesperson award for the past three years. The call was a chance to show off her sales numbers. Oh, how Amelia had loved the monthly business call.

  This year, however, things were different. Investors were no longer clamoring to sign up for Barry's investment fund. She'd exhausted her network of contacts and resorted to desperate cold calling with the inevitable result—nothing.