Dear Abby Cozy Mystery Collection 2

by Sonia Parin

  The entire town. Heavens! A miniature version of Eden spread all around the room. “You even have little people. Hey, that’s the newspaper and the pub across the street.” Abby bent down to have a closer look. She could see two little figures inside the newspaper office. “Is that Faith?”

  “And you. Oh, and your dog. I’ll be putting up the Christmas tree and decorations soon. You should see it all at night. I’ve got the whole place wired up. There are street lights and the shops each have their own light.”

  The houses were all an assortment of Victorian buildings built to scale. There were even model cars on the road. “Did you do those?”

  “No, I’m not that good. There’s a bloke up north who builds model houses. I think I’m his favorite client. I have a shipment due in any time soon.” He pointed to a corner. “See that space? That’s going to be a new town extension with houses and a park. I’ve been thinking about developing the land around me and thought it would be fun to build a model version of it.”

  “Is there a demand for housing?”

  “Always. Now…” He rubbed his hands together. “Have you heard about the Christmas of ’09 power outage?”

  Story time, Abby thought.

  Chapter Three

  “The Christmas of ’09 power outage,” Abby said and regaled Bradford with the full story during the drive back to town.

  Bradford gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles showed white. “You’re paying me back for taking so long to load the lights.”

  Abby nodded. “Yes, now don’t interrupt. I have many tedious details to get through.”

  When they reached the town, Abby went straight to Joyce’s Café and told her about the Christmas of ’09 power outage. When Joyce refused to sit down to listen to the story, Abby followed her around the café. “It’s the price you have to pay for getting Harold Moorhead to come in tomorrow morning to look at your refrigerator. I had to listen to the blow by blow account of his heroic attempts to get the power up and running again, and so do you.”

  An hour later, Abby returned to the office and found Faith sitting at her desk working on the layout for that week’s edition.

  “Have you heard about the Christmas of ’09 power outage?” Abby asked.

  “I lived through it,” Faith said distracted.

  “Too bad, you get to hear it again and I’m not leaving anything out.”

  Doyle whined and curled up into a tight ball with one paw over his ear.

  “You can whine all you like, guess what you’ll be hearing for tonight’s bedtime story? And when I’m done with that story, I have several more because, guess what? Harold had several more.”

  “Did you at least get to play with his train set?” Faith asked.

  “How did you know about his trains?”

  “Everyone knows. His first wife divorced him because of the trains. Actually, his second wife gave the same reason. Alienation of affection due to his obsession with trains and model villages.”

  Abby slumped back on her chair. “I guess everyone also knows about the Christmas of ’09 power outage.”

  Faith nodded. “He needs to get some new material.”

  Groaning, Abby brushed her hands across her face. “He expects me to use the story for a column, and he’ll settle for no less than a front-page spread. It’s the only way I could get him to agree to fix Joyce’s refrigerator.”

  “So we’ve gone from a slow news week to a no new news week.”

  “Did I mention the fact he wants to see his story printed in our Christmas special edition? Also, he believes someone needs to include it in the town archives.”

  “That someone being you? Obviously, the story needs to be in print. Of course, that means your name will be forever connected to the Christmas of ’09 power outage.”

  “Great. There goes my career.” Abby sat up. “Is he on our mailing list? He doesn’t come into town, so… If we’re lucky, he might not even know the story hasn’t been printed.”

  Faith tapped a few keys on her computer. “I guess your luck has run out. He gets a copy every week. On the one hand, the town is depending on you, Abby Maguire. We need Joyce’s refrigerator working. No story. No Harold Moorhead. No refrigerator.”

  “What happened to the other electrician? Bradford said Harold has someone working for him.”

  Faith nodded. “He does. Stevie Garth. He’s on his honeymoon.”

  “There must be another electrician around. Maybe in the next town? Or… in the city. It’s only a few hours’ drive.”

  Faith said something under her breath.

  “I didn’t catch that.”

  “We’ve been blacklisted.”

  “We?”

  “The town.”

  Abby gestured with her hands, making a rolling motion. “You’ll have to expand on that.”

  Faith pushed out a breath. “A few years ago, the local hardware store owner called in someone from a nearby town. He came, fixed the wiring in the store and when he walked out to his truck, he found the tires slashed. No one saw anything so the culprit got away with it. Anyhow, it didn’t take long for word to spread and we… We sort of had to learn to deal with things ourselves or call the one and only electrician. Harold Moorhead.”

  “I’m not buying it.”

  “That’s just the way it is. Harold Moorhead’s Electrical has the monopoly in this town.”

  “Did anyone think to question him?”

  Faith struck up a pensive pose. “Let’s see. We’ve been blacklisted and the only electrician in town is held under suspicion. No, I don’t see that working out for us.” Turning her attention to her computer screen, Faith added, “By the way, Sebastian Cavendish called to say he would be dropping by before Christmas.”

  “Oh, really?” Abby produced a bright smile. “The boss is coming. What are the chances he hasn’t heard about the Christmas of ’09 power outage?”

  “He’s hardly going to fire you if you print a story no one wants to read. At least… I don’t think he would… Would he?”

  The next day dawned bright and…

  “Sultry, headed for hot. It’s nine in the morning and I have to wear my sunglasses to cross the street.” Abby looked down at Doyle who’d stopped at the curb to look to the right and to the left before crossing, but only after looking up at Abby who gave the go-ahead. By the time they reached the opposite side of the street and trudged to the newspaper office, they were both panting.

  Doyle scratched the door.

  “I’m hurrying.” As soon as she opened the door to the newspaper office, Doyle shot inside and went to sit in front of the air-conditioner, his single woof demanding she hurry up and switch it on. “Hold your horses and let me get the key out of the lock. Yes, yes, I know. In your place, I’d be barking mad. It can’t be easy wearing a furry coat in this heat.” She flip-flopped her way to her desk and picked up the remote. “There, happy now?”

  Doyle wagged his tail and settled down to enjoy the cool breeze.

  Looking around the office, Abby saw the blinking light on the phone. “Right. First order of business. Listen to the messages.” A moment later, she was smiling.

  “It’s Faith. Why is your phone off? I’ve been delayed. I blew a fuse last night. My old fridge has defrosted, now my kitchen is a puddle. Switch your phone on.”

  “I would if I had remembered to charge it,” Abby said. She took care of that and then walked to the small kitchen in the back to fill a bowl with water for Doyle. “That’s you sorted out.”

  Doyle looked down at the bowl and then up at Abby.

  “That’s it? No treats? Where are my treats? Would it kill you to give me a little doggy biscuit or two…” Smiling, Abby went back to the kitchen, all the while saying, “You’ve had breakfast. You can’t possibly be hungry.”

  Back at her desk, she picked up the phone and called Joyce. When she didn’t answer, Abby said, “She must be run off her feet. How am I supposed to get my breakfast if she doesn’t pick up?”


  Doyle looked askance.

  “Not your problem?” Abby’s stomach grumbled. “I guess I’ll have to get myself there before I get to the running on empty stage. Is there any point in asking if you want to come along?”

  Doyle sighed and, to Abby’s surprise, he got up and walked to the door.

  “Oh. Let me guess. You’re concerned you’ll lose your loyal companion status. You don’t have to come, not if you don’t really want to.”

  He hung his head as if resigned to the task of accompanying Abby.

  “Just as well. You really should get some exercise before it gets too hot.”

  When they stepped out of the office, Abby heard her name called out. Looking across the street toward the pub she saw Joyce.

  Joyce Breeland crossed the street and walked toward her. Dressed in her summer elf outfit which consisted of a green T-shirt, shorts and elf ears, she gave her a cheerful smile. “I hope you’re not headed to the café.”

  “Yes. Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?”

  “I’m not there,” Joyce said. “I’ve just had breakfast at the pub. Harold is making quite a racket so I decided to keep the doors closed to the public this morning.”

  “Then, I guess it’s back to the pub for breakfast.”

  “Oh, I could make an exception for you. French toast?”

  “With walnuts and a dusting of powdered sugar?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll even throw in some bacon for Doyle.”

  Doyle made a slurping sound.

  “He’s happy, I’m happy. What are we waiting for?”

  “By the way,” Joyce said, “thank you for doing such a fine job convincing Harold Moorhead to come into town. I know what it cost you and I appreciate it.”

  Abby grinned. “Just how grateful are you?”

  “I suppose you want coffee on tap.”

  “That would be too easy.” Abby hummed.

  “I see. You’ve been taking lessons from Mitch.”

  “Let’s just say I am now aware of the benefits that come with having you owe me a favor.”

  Walking into the café, Joyce said, “I’ll just go see how Harold is getting on. I don’t hear him so he must have finished. Come and say hello.”

  “Must I?” Abby whispered even as she followed Joyce.

  They walked through to a gleaming kitchen with a massive refrigerator.

  “He must have finished.” Joyce looked around the kitchen. “You’d think he’d at least leave a note.”

  Abby pointed toward the back where a door stood open. “Or maybe he’s packing up.” She followed Joyce who came to an abrupt stop at the threshold.

  “Well, if that isn’t the messiest… Oh. Oh, no.” Joyce rushed out into the alley.

  Reaching the doorway, Abby heard Joyce yelling at Harold to wake up.

  Abby smiled down at Doyle. “I guess Harold fell asleep on the job.” With a sigh of resignation, she stepped out into the alley.

  At first, Abby thought she would have to act as referee. Then she stood motionless and watched Joyce shaking Harold by the shoulders.

  That’s when she knew.

  She didn’t suspect. She simply knew what to expect and seeing Harold slumped over the back of his truck, she knew it would take more than yelling to revive the man.

  Chapter Four

  Abby watched as Joyce came to her senses and jumped into action. She dug inside her pocket, produced a phone and called for an ambulance. When she spoke, her calm tone surprised Abby. However, when she finished giving the details, including Harold’s age, she snapped.

  “How long will it take for the ambulance to get here?”

  Abby felt for a pulse and didn’t find one. In the process, she saw the cause of death.

  A dark red stain had formed around the collar of his shirt. His hair stuck out in clumps. Someone had hit Harold on the back of the head.

  Taking the phone from Joyce, Abby said, “You should send the police too.” Disconnecting the call, she took hold of Joyce’s hand and guided her back inside.

  “We can’t just leave him there,” Joyce complained.

  “At the risk of sounding like a cliché, Harold is not going anywhere.”

  Joyce looked confused.

  Giving her an encouraging tug, Abby softened her voice and said, “He’s gone, Joyce.”

  “We don’t know that for sure.”

  Looking over her shoulder, Abby saw Doyle had remained by the door. She walked up to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. “Have some water.”

  “Why? I’m not thirsty.”

  Abby pressed the bottle of water into Joyce’s hands. “It’ll give you something to do.”

  Shaking her head, Joyce said, “I spoke with him only half an hour or so ago.” She gave a firm nod. “I can’t believe this. How could it have happened? Yes, yes. I know. I’m in shock.”

  And denial, Abby thought.

  “How could he? How could he die right outside my café?”

  Abby couldn’t tell if Joyce felt incensed or puzzled. She’d seen Joyce shaking Harold. Abby assumed Joyce must have seen the blood.

  Glancing at Doyle, she saw him looking down one end of the alley and then the other, performing his guard dog duties.

  “We can’t just leave him out there,” Joyce murmured again.

  Abby took the bottle of water from her hands and twisted the cap off. “Someone actually came up with this idea. I wonder how long it took them?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The cap. See how it twists off. And, look… It twists right back into place. There are so many things we take for granted.”

  “Abby, it’s not working. I know you want to distract me, but…” Joyce’s voice hitched. “There’s a dead man in my alley.”

  And someone killed him. Abby waited for Joyce to say it, but she didn’t.

  Joyce growled. “For heaven’s sake. Where is the ambulance?”

  “They’ll be here soon.” The feeble assurance appeared to satisfy Joyce who turned her attention to wiping the kitchen counter.

  They stood in the kitchen, almost as if they’d unanimously chosen the area as the most sensible place to be, within sight of the back door and the front entrance.

  Abby glanced from one door to the other, the soft hum of the refrigerator the only sound she heard. She knew they could not have done anything for Harold Moorhead. At least, they’d remained relatively calm and Joyce had been quick to act.

  No, she couldn’t think of anything else they might have done for Harold.

  Abby cleared her throat. “Joyce? Do you remember what time you left for the pub?”

  “I went there for a quick bite but then Mitch sat down and teased me about the favor I owe him. Let me think… Harold arrived promptly at seven saying he would have everything fixed in under an hour but as long as he was here, he offered to look at my wiring. I showed him through the upstairs. That must have taken ten minutes. I remember thinking it would take longer because I expected him to launch into one of his tales but it turns out Harold is… was not a morning person.” Joyce gave a firm nod. “I left for the pub at twenty past. I ended up having a leisurely breakfast. Then Mitch engaged me in conversation and I came out at…”

  “Nine,” Abby said. “That’s when I left the Gazette.” An hour and a half. He’d clearly finished the job and had been packing up, she thought.

  She imagined someone had accosted him in the alley. Abby puzzled over this and wondered if someone had been waiting for him. Then, it occurred to wonder if someone else have been the target. No. Definitely not, she thought. It could not have been a case of mistaken identity. Not if the killer had been after Joyce. She had a slim build while Harold had been stocky. Also, he’d worn a Moorhead Electrical T-shirt. Not even a careless killer could have mistaken Harold for Joyce.

  She hadn’t seen any signs of a struggle. Harold had clearly been caught by surprise.

  Abby brushed her hands across her face.

/>   Her mind flooded with an avalanche of questions.

  Had it been premeditated or had it been a random act of violence?

  She knew the police would be looking at opportunity.

  Who had known Harold Moorhead would be there? His visit to Joyce’s Café had been organized the previous day. She tried to remember who else had known about it. She’d told Faith. Bradford had been there, so he’d known.

  “Joyce, did you tell anyone about Harold’s visit today?”

  “No, but someone might have overheard you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, when you came back, you chased me around the café and forced me to listen to the story about the Christmas of ’09 power outage. Maybe someone put two and two together. Everyone knows the story.” Joyce studied her for a moment. “Are you thinking about opportunity?”

  “I guess you’ve been watching police procedural shows too.”

  “I prefer not to comment.”

  “Really? Why’s that?”

  Joyce lifted her chin and shrugged. “I like my air of enigma. So… you were thinking about opportunity.”

  “Yes… I’m thinking someone found out about Harold’s visit to town and decided to make the best of it.”

  Had someone seen him arriving at Joyce’s? She turned her thoughts to the neighboring businesses. The hardware store, the post office. The bakery. Dry cleaners. Anyone from a dozen stores could have noticed him arriving.

  Using her imagination, she had no trouble picturing Ellen Dalgety peering out from her bakery and thinking what a wonderful opportunity she’s just been handed.

  Abby mentally drummed her fingers. What possible reason would Ellen have for bludgeoning Harold Moorhead?

  “Who else lives above their store?” she asked.

  Joyce studied the bottle of water. “On and off, quite a few people. Bradford and I are the only regulars. What’s on your mind?”

  “I just wonder if someone else saw Harold arrive.”