Dear Abby Cozy Mystery Collection 2

by Sonia Parin

  With more people coming into the café, Abby put away her photos and looked for Doyle.

  Joyce swept by. “You look puzzled.”

  “I’ve just noticed you don’t have any Christmas decorations.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.” Joyce reached behind the counter. A moment later, the cheerful tune of a Christmas carol filled the café. Joyce signaled to the ceiling and pulled a switch.

  Abby looked up and saw the entire ceiling come alive with strings of light.

  “It’s supposed to look like snow falling. The tree is going up tonight.”

  “Pretty but…”

  “But what?”

  “It’s all so understated.”

  Joyce gave a pensive nod. “I did the over the top one last year.”

  Abby collected her photos. “I’m going to have a wander around the place. I really should do my job and start asking questions.”

  “I’ll let you know when Mrs. Barnes has any news.”

  When Abby called Doyle, he jumped to his feet and scurried over. As they left the café, Abby glanced around the tables and wondered if her attacker was right that minute sipping a coffee. Dismissing the thought before it could settle in her mind, she said, “Come on, Doyle. We need to snoop around.” She slipped her sunglasses on, looked up and saw Faith approaching.

  “Any news?” Faith asked.

  “I’m almost embarrassed to admit I didn’t even read the international newspapers this morning. I’m sure something’s happening somewhere.”

  Faith looked up and down the street. “It’s a small town. You’d think the police would have someone in custody by now.”

  Abby remembered what Joyce had said earlier. She was right. They’d had more than their fair share of incidents. “Doyle and I are going to see what we can find. I should start talking to people.”

  “And I guess I should get to the office and take the phone off the hook.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  Abby found Martin Smith signing for a delivery. “Are you open?”

  He waved her in.

  If she had to describe him, she wouldn’t know where to begin. Nondescript? He looked about forty. His light brown hair had a hint of gray. He had regular features. Nothing that stood out. Abby decided he would make an excellent killer or spy.

  Doyle settled down by the door while Abby walked up and down the aisles.

  “Is there anything I can help you with?” he asked.

  Abby hesitated for a moment thinking that if she asked a direct question, Martin Smith would most likely entertain a few assumptions and, before she knew it, the entire town would be talking about her personal life... Then again, anything could be turned into a rumor. “Where’s the baby section?”

  He did not hesitate. “End of aisle one, in the corner. Is there anything in particular you want?”

  “Nappies.” Let him make of that what he will, she thought.

  “Aisles one. You’ll find the others further along.”

  The others? Abby strolled down the aisle, glanced at the nappies and then looked further down…

  Incontinence?

  Great.

  Instead of people talking about a possible pregnancy, they’d be discussing her state of incontinence.

  Abby glanced toward the front of the store. “Do you have doggy nappies?”

  Doyle looked over his shoulder and she would swear he rolled his eyes.

  “I think you’ll have to be creative.”

  “I see you’re well stocked. Are people buying nappies on-line or are you just not selling nappies?”

  He set a box down and looked at her for a moment as if trying to figure something out about her; something Abby found odd because she’d expected him to look more puzzled by her previous questions.

  “No one’s had a baby here for several months now but we get the occasional tourist running out... Are you doing market research?”

  “Me? Oh… no. It’s the heat. I’m… I’m a little discombobulated.”

  “You should wear a hat or drink tea.”

  “Tea?”

  “Hot drinks on hot days actually help.”

  Yeah… No, she wasn’t buying into that idea. She had a look at the shelf with the tea. “Is ginger tea good for the heat?”

  “I couldn’t really say.”

  It seemed to be a popular item.

  When her phone rang, she excused herself and stepped out of the store.

  “The coast is clear,” Joyce said. “George Mercer has just driven off and he’s headed this way.”

  “Okay, Doyle. This is our chance. Are you with me or would you like to stay with Faith?”

  He put his nose to the ground and kept up with her. Crossing the street to her car, Abby groaned under her breath. “Are you sure you want to come with me?”

  Doyle jumped in and settled in the passenger seat.

  The steering wheel was almost too hot to handle. She let the AC run for a few minutes and then she got them on their way, stopping at the intersection to check for traffic. Making her turn into the main street, she saw a car approaching. She didn’t recognize it so she drove on. The next car she saw coming toward her looked like a Range Rover.

  “That’s him.” Abby slowed down and tried to look as if she was out and about minding her own business. “I think the coast is clear.” She checked the mirror and saw the Range Rover drive right through. “Interesting. He didn’t stop in town. I wonder where he’s going?” Her window of opportunity had just widened. She couldn’t waste a single minute.

  Abby tapped her finger on the steering wheel and focused on getting to the Mercer homestead in record time without breaking the law. Along the way, she formulated a few key questions. Or, at least, she tried to.

  “What does one ask a woman suspected of having an affair with the local ex-electrician?”

  Had she ever considered leaving her husband for Harold? If not, why?

  Joyce had told her Gloria Mercer was all hoity-toity. What had compelled her to settle in an out of the way corner of the world? Snobbish people tended to want and need to be seen in the right places by the right people. According to Joyce, Gloria never showed her face in town.

  Harold’s house came into view. Abby looked toward the right and just made out the Barnes farmhouse. She imagined Mrs. Barnes standing by the window with binoculars. In fact, she thought she caught sight of a reflection. Just in case, she waved.

  Like all the homesteads in the area, the Mercer house was set well back from the road. Unlike the homesteads Abby had visited or driven past, this one had a gate and an intercom. It seemed the Mercers wanted to keep the riff raff out. It didn’t stop Abby from trying to open the gate.

  When it didn’t budge, she pressed the intercom button. Looking up, she saw a camera pointed directly at her. That required some thinking. Should she smile or keep a neutral, businesslike expression?

  A woman answered but she didn’t identify herself.

  “Abby Maguire to see Mrs. Gloria Mercer.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but I believe Mrs. Mercer will want to see me.”

  “How so?”

  How so? “Is that you, Mrs. Mercer?” Abby introduced herself again, adding, “I’m a reporter at the Gazette. I’m interviewing people who knew Harold Moorhead.”

  “What makes you think I knew him?”

  Aha! The woman herself.

  “He was your neighbor.”

  “We didn’t exactly share a fence. It’s a no comment from me, I’m afraid.”

  “Wait. Mrs. Mercer, it’s rather hot out here.” Abby chased a bead of perspiration and wiped it off.

  “As I said, no comment.”

  “So, you did know him.”

  Gloria didn’t answer.

  “Mrs. Mercer, I think I can connect you to Harold Moorhead. In fact, I know I can. Does the first of the month ring any bells with you? Yes? No? What would a private investigator discover if they made a few phon
e calls to hotels in the city? I’m guessing, with enough perseverance, they will discover a love nest.”

  Abby heard a click and then she saw the gate slide open.

  She jumped in the car. “I think we’re in, Doyle. And, I think Gloria might be concerned about being linked to Harold. What do you think? Will she try to threaten me or reason with me?”

  The house came into view. Harold had owned a large Victorian homestead but it paled in comparison to this one. There were several buildings surrounding the large bluestone house with wraparound veranda. Abby guessed they were stables, and what, at one time, would have been a coach house and separate staff quarters.

  The Mercers had a lush green formal garden kept green by the water from a well. Driving up to the house, she saw a conservatory in the side and caught a glimpse of blue suggesting they had a swimming pool in the rear.

  “I wonder how many hectares stand between this homestead and Harold’s?” Enough to keep a safe distance but Abby insisted she had stumbled onto something Mrs. Gloria Mercer wished to keep hidden.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Coming face to face with Gloria Mercer, Abby couldn’t understand why she would have an affair with Harold Moorhead. If, indeed, she’d had one…

  Abby had met Harold just the one time, but that had been enough for Abby to think of him as a salt of the earth type of guy. Generally nice and easygoing.

  Joyce hadn’t exaggerated when she’d described Gloria Mercer as a snob. Abby tried to remain impartial but she couldn’t help picking up on an air of superiority about her.

  She did not invite Abby in. Holding the door open, she gave Abby an up and down look that seemed to draw lines of distinction as well as express disdain and disapproval.

  If pushed to guess her age, Abby would say Gloria hovered in her mid-forties but only because she obviously took great care of herself. She definitely had the body of a well-toned thirty-year-old. But she was most likely in her mid or late fifties.

  She met Abby’s gaze without having to look up so they were about the same height; slightly taller than the average woman.

  Abby felt instantly underdressed in her striped shorts and white T-shirt. Gloria Mercer wore an elegant pair of pants in a light shade of beige and a white linen blouse that looked expensive even to the untrained eye. While Abby’s brown hair hung in heat exhausted clumps, Gloria Mercer’s blonde hair, which had been expertly cut into a stylish bob, looked like it was surrounded by a halo of sea breeze. Despite being at home, she wore a light shade of pink lipstick and a hint of blue eyeshadow that highlighted her pale blue eyes.

  To Abby’s surprise, she waved a checkbook.

  “I heard you had a knack for digging around. How much do you want?”

  An admission of guilt if ever she’d heard one. Why would she say that? Did she even realize what she’d just said? Did she care?

  In her career as a reporter, Abby had lost count of the number of times she’d heard a public figure say one thing one moment, and, in the next moment, deny he or she had ever said anything. “How much? How about all of it?”

  Gloria Mercer held her gaze for long seconds.

  In case she’d misunderstood her, Abby added, “The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

  Gloria’s neatly shaped eyebrow quirked up. “Or else?”

  “I have to print something, Mrs. Mercer. It might as well be the truth but it can also be my version of the truth. Or rather, my impression of what I have seen and what I assume has happened.”

  “I had no idea Sebastian Cavendish allowed smut to be printed in his newspaper.” Gloria lifted her chin. “The next time I see him, I will have to point out the error of his ways.”

  Smut? Gloria appeared to be assuming the worst. Would someone with nothing to hide succumb so easily to bribery? “The fact you want to buy my silence tells me there must be some truth to the rumors.”

  Gloria’s cheeks paled. She looked uncertain and, in that moment, she looked defeated.

  Heavens! Abby could not be more surprised.

  She’d expected Gloria to stand her ground, even against the most obvious proof. That had been the window of opportunity to deny she had ever said anything.

  If the photos of the model village were any indication, she and Harold had been carrying on for quite some time. That suggested a certain amount of confidence; a belief she could get away with anything, including murder.

  Before Gloria Mercer could recover, Abby took the opportunity to push her way inside her house. “Nice place you have here.”

  Gloria gasped and appeared to snap out of her momentary shock. “I didn’t invite you in.”

  “A woman in your position should have.” Abby walked on through to the first room she saw. A sitting room furnished in pale green and beige. She stopped to take in the scene. A Christmas tree stood next to a fireplace and the wall next to it had thirty framed photographs. All taken in the same place and at the same time of the year. Christmas.

  Gloria recovered enough to say, “As you can see, I stand on solid ground.”

  She did indeed.

  The family photographs had been taken every Christmas for the last thirty years. Happy family snaps of Gloria, her husband and her two sons. Why risk it all? Why hadn’t she been satisfied with everything she had?

  Holding her phone against her chest and being as discreet as she could be, Abby took photos of the framed photographs.

  “Where were you the morning Harold was killed?”

  “Enjoying my morning swim.”

  Gloria Mercer didn’t show any curiosity about the way Harold had died. And, if she had felt anything for Harold, she did not show it. In fact, Gloria Mercer had regained her composure. She smiled at Abby, her eyes bright with confidence.

  Shifting her gaze, Abby saw Doyle sniffing around the entrance hall. Had he found a new scent?

  “What about yesterday?” Abby asked. While she didn’t think Gloria had been the intruder who’d broken into Harold’s house, she wanted to keep her distracted while she finished taking the photos.

  “Home.”

  “All day?”

  Gloria gave a stiff, determined nod.

  “If the police haven’t talked to you yet, they will eventually get around to it. I don’t mean to scare you, but they do have persuasive skills.” Abby turned to the photos again and tried to commit each image to memory, in case she’d missed one.

  “I would like you to leave now.” Gloria Mercer didn’t threaten Abby but the intention glittered in her eyes.

  “You have a secret, Mrs. Mercer, and I’m going to find out what it is.”

  Hearing a car approaching, they both turned. Abby braced herself to meet Mr. Mercer and perhaps experience his wrath. Instead of looking pleased with herself, Gloria Mercer looked concerned.

  Looking out of the window, Abby recognized the car. Doyle trotted outside to greet Joshua.

  “I guess I’ll be leaving you in the police’s capable hands.” She handed Mrs. Mercer her card. “If you change your mind, feel free to give me a call.”

  Driving off, Abby looked down at Doyle. “Do you know what just happened? Because I sure don’t.” She spent the rest of the drive into town trying to figure it all out. Parking the car behind Bradford’s old Range Rover, she shook her head. “Honestly, I still can’t figure her out. Instead of denying it all, she confirmed my suspicions.” She gave Doyle a drink of water and sat back. “Maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree.”

  Something told her that if she continued to fixate on Harold having an affair with Gloria Mercer, she risked missing vital clues.

  Holding the door open for Doyle, Abby laughed. “Just listen to me. I’m on the lookout for vital clues.” Locking the car, she looked up and down the street. It didn’t matter in which direction she headed, there was no escaping the sun, she thought and headed away from the main street.

  When she reached the alley, she stopped. Looking down at Doyle, she said, “Can you believe this? I found s
hade. Come on. Put your nose into gear.”

  She walked past the café back door and looked up with longing at the AC unit on the roof.

  “Abby Maguire.”

  Two doors down from the café, Ellen Dalgety, the owner of the bakery, leaned on her broom.

  “You should be wearing a hat,” Ellen said.

  “So people keep telling me. Maybe I’ll get one for Christmas.”

  Ellen wore a white baker’s hat, white T-shirt and pants. Her cheeks were bright red and her face shiny from the heat of the ovens.

  “Are you still baking?”

  “I’m working on the Christmas plum puddings and mince pies.”

  “You should charge extra for degree of difficulty. How hot is it in there?”

  Ellen laughed. “Hot enough. It’s actually not that bad. I get an early start so by the time the heat sets in, I’m done for the day.”

  Early start…

  “Just how early do you start?”

  Ellen wagged a finger at her. “Did I just become a suspect?”

  “No. But you might have seen or heard something.”

  “The detective’s already spoken with me and I can only tell you what I told him, I didn’t hear anything because I had the radio on and the back door was closed. I only realized something had happened when I was done for the day and came out to empty the trash.”

  “Did you know Harold?”

  She gave a tentative nod. “Before he retired, he used to come in at the crack of dawn for a coffee scroll and a chat.”

  Abby thought she detected a hint of evasiveness in her tone.

  “No. Get your mind out of the gutter, Abby Maguire. We only ever talked.”

  Yes, but… had that been enough for Ellen?

  “Harold always had a tale to tell. Did you hear the one about the Christmas of ’09 power outage?”

  Abby covered her ears. “I’ll see you around, Ellen.” As she walked away, she couldn’t help wondering if that had been Ellen’s way of getting rid of her. How could she not have heard anything, even with the radio on?

  By the time she reached the end of the alley, she’d spoken to every store owner on the main street with access to the alley. Those who had come in early had the same story. No one had heard anything.