Cozy Suburbs Mystery Box Set

by Lisa B. Thomas

  “You see,” Gary said, “good things happen to good people.”

  She leaned over and kissed her husband on the cheek. It had been a long journey, but she felt like she had learned some important lessons about life and about herself.

  “Check out this play,” Russell said to Gary. They both turned their attention to the sportscast.

  Seeing that the boys were pre-occupied, Deena reached into her pocket for the slip of paper she had found in Matthew’s camera. She read it again and then folded it up. Holding it over the red glass candle on the table, she watched the flames eat away one letter at time until its secret was fully devoured.

  On the paper was written a single word: Zoyenka.

  THE END

  AUTHOR’S NOTE: Sharpe Shooter is loosely based on the true story of my mother’s cousin. Sign up for my newsletter to receive a free short story as well as an account of what really happened to me and my family when Matthew disappeared. You’ll also receive a free book and information about giveaways, discounts, and new releases. Sign up here.

  SHARPE EDGE: STRANGER ON THE STAIRS

  Copyright 2015

  Lisa B. Thomas

  Published by Cozy Stuff and Such, LLC

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Prologue

  September 27, 1940

  The day Charles Brice had dreaded for nearly nine months was here, and all he could do now was pray. Lily sat next to him in the car with her eyes closed, taking deep breaths, and rolling rosary beads between her trembling fingers. A tarnished St. Christopher medal dangling from the rearview mirror kept time with the windshield wipers, desperately trying to keep the rain and evil spirits at bay. Third time’s the charm, he thought.

  They made no telephone calls to alert friends or family of their trip to the hospital. They had not discussed baby names. The nursery lay untouched, as it had been for the past six years. Their expectations were low, their fears beyond measure as they pulled into the parking lot of St. Francis Hospital in Boston. A nurse pushing a wheelchair met them at the emergency room entrance and took Lily straight to the maternity ward. He stayed behind to fill out paperwork.

  This ritual was all too familiar, which only added to his anxiety. The pregnancy had gone well, just as the two previous ones. Today, though, there were two lives at stake—the baby’s and Lily’s. He didn’t know if his wife could survive having a third stillborn baby.

  Dear God, he prayed, let this baby live.

  “Sir. Mr. Brice? You can go back to the waiting room now.” The clerk was used to seeing dazed, expectant fathers. He looked up from the desk and remembered where he was. Standing up, he tipped his head slightly as he thanked her, and several drops of water fell from the fedora he had completely forgotten to remove.

  He made his way down the corridor to the family waiting room. Maybe it was the full moon or maybe it was chance, but the room was cluttered with excited families awaiting the birth of a new child. One expectant father took a long drag from his Camel cigarette and moved his hat and coat so Charles could sit down. Several children played with blocks and read picture books in the middle of the floor.

  The men took turns pacing the room and then the hallway. When one man sat, another one stood. One by one, though, they were called from the waiting room to receive the good news. “It’s a boy” or “It’s a girl” led to handshakes and pats on the back. They passed around cigars and strutted proudly. Eventually, each man left to reunite with his wife and to meet his new little tax deduction.

  This was the part where Charles lacked experience. In his case, a nurse would appear and say the doctor needed to speak to him. The first time was devastating. The second time was unreal. Today, he almost hoped the nurse would never call his name at all.

  He leaned his head back against the gray-green wall and closed his eyes, trying to escape his present situation. Picturing the farm in Texas where he had grown up, he saw himself as a boy helping his father with the cows and the hogs. He fetched eggs from the coop for his mother and pitched hay for the horses. And at night, he lay in bed dreaming of a chance to get as far away as he could to live in the big city where his shoes would always be clean and his hands would never sting from the endless scrapes and cuts that come as part and parcel with a laborer’s life.

  Now, at age 35, he had fulfilled his American dream, but all he could think of was that small quiet life back on the farm—a life that should include Lily and their child.

  “Mr. Brice.” A tall nurse in a starched white uniform called his name. She recognized him and waited for him to look up. “Mr. Brice,” she said louder. He opened his eyes slowly, feeling dizzy and nauseous. When he looked at her, she was smiling. He walked into the hallway and got the news he had waited so long to hear. “It’s a girl.”

  Dropping to his knees, he wept and thanked God over and over. He didn’t care who saw him. This was the day the Lord hath made.

  After a few minutes, he dug into his pocket for a nickel and called Lily’s parents. He wiped the tears with his handkerchief. There would be time later to wire his mother and father back home in Texas. Waiting to be led to the maternity ward, the time seemed to creep by excruciatingly slow. He was anxious to see Lily and his new daughter. When the nurse returned, he charged out of the waiting room like a wild animal going after its prey. He walked past five other women in the large ward before coming to his wife. She was holding the smallest creature he had ever seen.

  Lily looked like an angel. The expression on her face was beyond happy. She was fulfilled. He kissed her and stroked his daughter’s cheek with the back of his finger. Another woman on the ward screamed in pain, but he barely heard. This was the moment they had waited for, and nothing was going to spoil it.

  “Isn’t she the most beautiful baby in the world?” Lily could not take her eyes off the little pink bundle. “Rose. Let’s call her Rose.”

  “Perfect,” Charles said. “My two beautiful flowers, Lily and Rose.”

  The same nurse who had brought him the good news came to take the baby back to the nursery for a bath. She told Charles he should go home to get some rest and that he could return for his wife and child in the morning. He kissed Lily and floated out the door.

  When he arrived at the hospital the next morning, he was a new man. He entered as a father, not just a husband. When he checked in at the front desk, a look came over the clerk’s face as if Charles were a stranger or criminal. She whispered something to a young woman in a nun’s habit who asked him to follow her. She led him down the corridor past the waiting room and past the maternity ward. They rounded the corner and stopped at the office of Father Baker, the head of the hospital. She knocked on the door and entered.

  “Mr. Brice, please come in and sit down.” The priest motioned to one of the leather chairs across from his desk. Charles knew this was not protocol and began breathing rapidly.

  “What is it, Father? Has something happened?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Is it Lily? The baby?”

  “There’s been an accident.” The old priest could not hide his despair. He had sat with hundreds of grieving families over the years. Whether it was a son lost in the war, a husband killed in an industrial accident, or a dying parent receiving last rites, he had always managed to keep his composure and his faith. However, even he had a hard time understanding this cruel act of fate. “You see, the nurse was giving the child a bath and somehow the tiny baby slipped from her hands and fell to the ground.” He watched the expression on Charles’ face. “I am sorry to have to tell you that the baby’s skull was cracked, and she died at once
. Poor little thing never even cried.” He stood up and walked over to sit in the chair next to Charles. “I cannot tell you how sorry we all are.”

  The dizziness and nausea from the previous day returned. He swallowed hard to keep the bile from drowning him. “Lily,” he managed to say. “Does she know?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take me to her, please.”

  “Before I do, you need to know that she is in shock. The doctor has given her something to make her sleep. We think she should stay another day.”

  Charles did not respond. He just stood by the door waiting. They had moved Lily to a private room. It was small and dark, the only light coming from a bedside lamp. He kneeled down next to her and touched her face. Had he not known she was asleep, he would have thought she were dead. He stroked her hair and as he did, he cursed God. This woman doesn’t deserve this.

  He stood up, pushing past Father Baker and headed out of the building to the parking lot. “This cannot happen! I will not take my wife home to die of grief.”

  He drove to the convent, blinking hard to keep back the flood of tears.

  Sister Katherine opened the heavy oak door and looked at Charles. He slowly shook his head, and she knew the worst had happened. She showed him to a small room where he sat waiting, rocking back and forth, praying for a miracle. He and Lily had met with her just weeks earlier to finalize adoption papers just in case they found themselves in this situation again. The home for unwed mothers was now their best hope for piecing their lives back together.

  Just days earlier, a teenaged girl had given birth to twins. She planned to give up both babies but changed her mind at the last minute and decided to keep the boy. Sister Katherine had numerous couples waiting for a baby, but Charles and Lily were at the top of the list.

  Sister Amelia carried in the infant and set her in the bassinet along with a small bag of necessities. Charles thanked the nuns, and God, repeatedly as he looked down at the precious new life. As he drove away, they knew that the baby girl was in good hands.

  The hospital clerk looked surprised when Charles walked in carrying the bassinet. It was time for supper and a nurse was trying to wake Lily to eat. Her eyes fluttered open but then closed again as if to block out the reality of what had happened. Charles walked in quietly and asked the nurse to step outside. He set the basket beside the bed, leaned close to Lily’s face, and called her name. The baby began to stir and let out soft gurgling sounds.

  “Rose?” Lily opened her eyes and looked blindly around the room. She did not even seem to see her husband.

  “No, sweetheart. It’s me, Charles.” He took both of his wife’s hands in his. She looked up and focused her eyes on his.

  “Charles,” she said, “I thought I heard a baby. I thought it was Rose.”

  “You did hear a baby,” he said. “Rose has gone to heaven, but God has sent us another child.” He lifted up the tiny infant whose small cries grew louder. “Look at her, Lily. She’s beautiful.” Holding the baby just in front of his wife, he could see she was confused.

  “Another baby?” she asked.

  “I went to see Sister Katherine. This little darling needs a home. She needs a mother.” The baby puckered her lips and turned her head toward Lily. “She needs you.”

  He picked up the bottle of formula and held his breath as he handed it to his wife. She slowly sat up and took the bottle. Somehow, Mother Nature intervened, as Lily instinctively knew she must comfort the crying child. Charles placed the infant in her arms, and Lily took over. She studied the little face and began gently rocking her.

  “Thank you, God,” she whispered without looking up at Charles.

  Charles began breathing easier as his wife’s face began to relax. “Should we call her Rose?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “I want to name her Carolyn.”

  His jaw dropped, not believing what he had just heard. “Carolyn? Are you certain?” he asked. “You want to name her after the nurse who—”

  “Yes,” Lily said, looking up into his eyes. “I want her to know that we forgive her.”

  Charles leaned down and kissed his wife’s forehead. Tears ran down his face as he thought about how lucky he was to have found such a loving woman. At that moment, he knew everything would be just fine.

  Chapter 1

  If Deena Sharpe had known she’d soon be involved in a murder investigation, she might have skipped Christmas altogether. Instead, she stared unwittingly at the plastic tubs in the attic, wondering how she and Gary had accumulated so many Christmas decorations. She determined right then and there that this year she would finally cull the herd. But hadn’t she said the same thing last year?

  Three cardboard boxes of her great aunt’s papers peeked out of the clutter, a reminder of her previous summer’s exploits as an amateur sleuth.

  The Christmas wreaths—her pride and joy—winked at her from behind a stash of pre-lit garland. Every year she would fire up the glue gun and fashion new wreaths for the front door and fireplace and just about every other flat surface she could find in the house. Thank goodness for those removable sticky hooks.

  Recently, she had spent hours searching Pinterest for new wreath designs to copy, always modifying them a bit to add her own flair. She might be lousy in the kitchen, but she was a beast when it came to crafting, a skill she had honed in her former life as a teacher. The Texas ranch-style house she and Gary bought nearly fifteen years earlier might look like any other in the suburbs on the outside, but she had an eye for décor and made sure the inside had a unique personality. It was a work in progress, as was she.

  Only part of the attic had flooring, just enough to house the holiday decorations and some bins of old clothes. Stepping around an old plastic Santa, she grabbed the large box of last year’s wreaths with both hands and danced a pirouette back toward the attic opening. Forgetting to duck, she smacked face-first into a slanted wooden beam.

  “Holy Don Quixote!” she yelled, trying not to curse. Luckily, she regained her footing before crashing through the floor and into the bedroom below. Once steady, she chastised herself for not waiting for Gary to get home from work to do this job for her. Unfortunately, he was afraid of heights, always making her stand at the bottom of the ladder when he put up Christmas lights along the roof, ready to catch him in case he fell. He would tease her and say, “If I’m coming down, I’m taking you with me.”

  The bright stars blurring her vision lit the way down the ladder. She stumbled to the kitchen to get ice for her forehead. Just what I need the day before the Christmas party, she thought, and went to survey the damage in the bathroom mirror. No blood, but a blue-green bruise was already beginning to form.

  She sat on the bed and picked up Hurley to quiet his barking. The small terrier mix had moved into her home and into her heart a few months earlier when she visited the animal shelter with her friend Sandra. The poor pup had been neglected and was missing the tip of one ear and a patch of fur on one hip. Deena had flipped for his black furry face the minute she saw him and named him Hurley after her favorite character from Lost. Having no children due to a hysterectomy at the age of thirty, she was delighted by this new-found, pseudo-motherhood, even buying him a winter sweater, designer collar, and doggy condo—despite Gary’s teasing. Hurley’s soulful eyes told her he was sympathetic to her pain.

  Deena had just settled into her second career as a part-time reporter for the local Northeast Texas Tribune, and Hurley often served as a sounding board for her story ideas. Except for wanting to sleep on her pillow at night, he was the perfect companion.

  “Let’s get back to work.” She tossed the now-warm ice pack into the bathroom sink. December had crept up quickly, and she wanted to get her house holiday-ready before getting too involved with work. She was hosting this year’s family gathering, a stressful affair that generally took her outside her comfort zone.

  Besides her newspaper job, her booth at the Hidden Treasures Antique Mall took much of her time and a
ttention. The small town of Maycroft was a great shopping destination just south of Dallas. She needed to make sure her booth was fully stocked to take advantage of the holiday season—as well as the pocketbooks of holiday shoppers.

  The doorbell rang, and before she could get there, the FedEx truck was already pulling away. She shook the package, wondering which of her recent online purchases it might contain. A tendency to forget what she had bought made getting a delivery feel like Christmas morning. It was the new tartan plaid skirt she had ordered for the Fitzhugh Christmas party. Carolyn Brice Fitzhugh was hosting the shindig, and even Deena’s dressiest pants outfit would be too casual for Carolyn’s liking.

  She tried on the skirt and looked in the full-length mirror on her closet door. The fit was perfect, not too tight but not too loose. She dug black boots out of the back of the closet and tried them on. Not bad for a fifty-something retired teacher, she thought. “What do you think?” Hurley rolled over to get a belly rub, a sure sign he approved.

  The ever-darkening bruise on her forehead gave her a cartoonish look. Hopefully, she’d be able to cover it with make-up and a swoop of her brunette hair. A quick glance at her watch reminded her it was getting late. She wanted to get to the library to talk to Betty and go by the bookstore before Gary got home from work. If she could catch him before he got too comfortable, maybe he’d take her out to dinner.

  She eyed the box of wreaths sitting on the floor by the kitchen table. Tempted to unpack them, she forced herself to close the lid. Decorating the house was a high priority, but not as high as making a good impression at the Fitzhugh party. She had a knack for mucking things up now and again. The last thing she wanted to do was commit a major faux pas in front of Maycroft’s upper crust.

  PREPARATIONS FOR THE party at Fitzhugh Manor were well underway. Caterers and florists streamed in and out the front door making it nearly impossible to keep the huge two-story Victorian house warm. The brutal summer heat had made way for a beautiful, cool fall. But it was the beginning of December, and cloudy skies and north winds brought the temperature way down. Coat-weather had finally arrived in northeast Texas.