A Dear Abby Cozy Mystery Collection Books 1 - 3: End of the Lane, Be Still My Heart and The Last Ride

by Sonia Parin

  Joshua made a note. “We’ll have to run some more tests.”

  “Really? You don’t actually think it’s the most ludicrous idea you’ve ever heard?”

  He shook his head. “Anything else?”

  “Yes. Has anyone mentioned seeing Miranda on the day?” Abby asked.

  “No, but I haven’t spoken with everyone.”

  Abby told him about the Dear Abby letters she’d received. “It seems people are now suspicious of the bee story and they’re all claiming they didn’t see Miranda. They’re starting to put two and two together and coming up with police cover-up.”

  The edge of his lip quirked up.

  “What?”

  “I’m trying to picture you running an advice column.”

  “And?”

  He didn’t bother holding back his laughter. “I’m now picturing you discussing your advice with Doyle.”

  “Faith thinks it’s a good idea and I’m considering it.”

  Joshua gave her a small smile. “It’s actually good to see you engaging with the community.”

  What did that mean? For a moment, she became lost in his dark blue eyes and played around with a few possibilities but then reality gave her a nudge and she remembered she still had fresh wounds to deal with.

  “What now?” Abby asked. “Do you want me to sign some sort of release form expunging the police officers from any blame of false imprisonment?”

  Joshua tossed his head back and laughed. “We wouldn’t want to take the right away from you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “I think the police recruited Doyle to be their snitch. Since we returned, he’s been acting strangely.”

  “How so?” Faith asked.

  “He looks at me from the corner of his eye, the way you do when you don’t want to be caught looking at someone.” Abby strode over to Faith’s desk and lowered her voice. “I think we might need to take precautions around him.”

  “How exactly do you imagine the police will extricate information from Doyle?”

  Abby glanced at him and whispered, “I’m not sure, but the police have a K-9 unit and so they must have ways of communicating with dogs.”

  Faith shook her head. “Are you trying to avoid talking about what you saw at the lake?”

  “I didn’t see anything.” She’d already told Faith all about the divers and their find. “What’s most frustrating is that we’re no closer to nailing a solid idea. Joshua and I tossed around a couple of theories but nothing stuck.”

  “I’m actually curious about the skin moisturizer.” Faith turned her computer screen toward Abby. “There are videos showing how they extract the bee venom. It’s surreal. I’ve been wondering how I would go about killing someone who had a bee allergy and I could only think about catching a bee in a jar, removing the lid and then somehow holding the jar against the person. Of course, they’d either have to be out cold or a willing participant and I doubt Miranda agreed to be killed.”

  They watched the video in silence. When it finished, they both looked at each other.

  “Powder.” The bee venom was somehow collected as powder. “You’d only need to get her to inhale it.” Abby sent Joshua a text message. “I’d like to know how the coroner came to his conclusion. Did he find an actual bee sting stuck in her? Joshua said they’d run further tests but I’m not sure I can trust him to share the information with me.”

  Half an hour later they had their answer.

  Hiding her surprise, Abby read the text message Joshua had sent her. “The coroner took into account the physical signs and the bracelet she wore. He’s now running further tests and doing another examination of the body.”

  “Better him than me. It all sounds too gruesome,” Faith said under her breath.

  “Yes, I agree.” Abby sniffed. “Can you smell that?” She turned and strode to the door. The enticing aroma of sugar hung in the air.

  Faith came to stand beside her and moaned.

  “What is it?”

  Sighing, Faith shook her head. “Joyce is at it again.”

  “Please explain. I’m still relatively new in this town and while I’ve become accustomed to the odd behavior of some of the residents, there’s still room for surprise.”

  Faith closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Yes, she’s definitely at it. Come on. It’s time for a break. You were bound to find out sooner or later.”

  They strode over to Joyce’s Café like mice led by a Pied Piper. The moment they entered, they both stood still and, closing their eyes, inhaled deeply.

  Abby drew in another breath and hummed. “Whatever that is, I want one or two. Make it a dozen.”

  “You’ll be fighting me for it.” Faith tugged her along.

  They settled down at a table and kept their eyes on Joyce who appeared to be deliberately taking her time to come over. When she finally did, both Abby and Faith had their tongues lolling out.

  “What is that divine aroma?” Abby managed to ask.

  “Portuguese Custard Tarts. They just came out of the oven so you’ll have to wait a bit for them to cool down.”

  “We’ll take them all,” Abby declared.

  “But you haven’t tasted them yet.”

  Abby and Faith shook their heads. “We don’t care. We want them. Why haven’t we had them before?”

  Joyce smiled. “Because I only recently discovered a great recipe.”

  Awed, Abby asked, “This is your doing?”

  Joyce nodded. “I prepared the first batch. The rest will be up to my pastry chef. He’s fresh out of school but he’s a quick learner.”

  Abby studied the menu. “I don’t see them listed.”

  “We’re her trial customers,” Faith said. “If we like them then everyone else will like them, and she’ll include them in the menu.”

  “Okay.” Abby sat up. “Let’s make this happen. We’ll start with coffee because I get the feeling nothing else will suffice.”

  As they waited for their coffee, Faith asked, “Did they take your fingerprints?”

  “No. I’m sure it was all a prank. Do I look like someone who’d break into a house? I’d like to know who called it in.”

  “Are you talking about the break-in at the lake?” Joyce asked as she set their coffees down and joined them.

  Abby nodded. “I’m guessing a neighbor saw me wandering around. A woman and a dog. What’s so suspicious about that?”

  “Most of the owners work in the city during the week so anyone seen in the area looks suspicious,” Faith explained.

  “Here comes Eddie. We can ask her.” Joyce drew a chair out and waved to her.

  “Hey. Did you all hear?” Eddie asked. “There was a break-in at the lake.”

  Abby put her hand up and smiled at the redhead. “No break-in. Just me. Do you know who reported it?”

  “I can only think of one person. Miss Haverstock,” Eddie offered. “She’s in her nineties and lives out there alone in that house that looks like a mini Scottish castle. She spends her time gazing out the window.” Eddie leaned in and whispered, “I don’t like to spread rumors, but I’m told she enjoys roaming the tower at night wearing a gossamer white nightgown and carrying a candle.”

  “She’s an oddity in this part of the world,” Joyce offered. “I rather like her. Her name is actually Haverstock-Smith. The family has a tradition of hyphenation both parents’ names. She never married and insists on being addressed as Miss.”

  “Out of curiosity, does she have a first name?” Abby asked.

  They all looked at each other and then shook their heads.

  “We only know her as Miss Haverstock. She’s one of the people on our visiting list.” Joyce explained a group of them had organized themselves into paying house calls on some of the elderly residents in the area who no longer went out and about. “We take turns so they don’t get bored seeing the same faces every week. Would you be interested in joining?” Joyce asked. “You could pick up some juicy stories from them. W
hile they don’t get out and about, they always seem to know more about what’s going on than any of us.”

  Abby tried to remember if she’d seen the house. “Is she the only elderly person living in that area?”

  Eddie nodded. “Yes, why do you ask?”

  “She might have seen something the day of the picnic. I have this crazy idea floating around my head about the killer doing the deed on that side of the lake.” Abby drew out a small notebook and pen and jotted down a few notes.

  Faith leaned in and read, “Phone calls. Cousin.” She looked up. “What’s that about?”

  “I’d like to know if Miranda had any calls on that fatal day.” Abby shrugged. “I also wouldn’t mind knowing more about the cousin.”

  “Oh, you’ll get to meet her,” Eddie said. “I was over at the pub earlier when she checked in.”

  “She’s here? Why?”

  Eddie took a sip of her coffee. “Who knows? Maybe they’re holding the funeral here.”

  A waitress approached and set a platter on the table. Faith and Abby clapped their hands while Eddie’s eyes widened.

  “You are a goddess,” Eddie said. “I usually have to wait until I go into the city to have these.”

  “You haven’t tasted them yet,” Joyce complained.

  “I don’t need to. I can tell just by looking at them. They’re good.” Eddie helped herself to a tart and, biting into the flaky pastry, nodded. “Heavenly.”

  Abby and Faith snapped out of their drooling stupor and both reached for a tart and promptly bit into them. Neither one spoke for the duration. After they’d each had two, they sat back and sighed with contentment.

  Abby wagged a finger at Joyce. “If you don’t include these in your menu, I will spread the word and organize a demonstration outside your café, day and night.”

  Joyce looked at Eddie and laughed. “She calls us odd.”

  Looking at Faith, Abby said, “I could eat three more. How about you?” Seeing Faith nod, Abby added, “But then we have to go back to work. There’s some serious digging to do. Then again, this is a brand new era of roaming technology. We might want to stay close to the source of everything that is good in this life and carry out our research right here.” She looked up at Joyce. “You should rename your café Ambrosia. We’re like bees to honey—” Abby sat up.

  “What?” Faith asked.

  Shaking her head, Abby said, “I’m sure it’s nothing but a sugar rush…”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Is nothing sacred? I should be allowed to entertain wild ideas,” Abby said as they stepped out of the café.

  “Even so, you have to share,” Faith insisted.

  “Fine. I just imagined someone dusting Miranda’s dress with pollen. You know, something to attract a bee.” Hearing Faith’s stifled laughter, Abby got her car keys out. “What did I tell you? I knew it would sound absurd.”

  “Actually, you might be onto something. Lacing gowns with poison goes back to the reign of Queen Elizabeth the first. Maybe even before that time. Hey, I thought we were going back to the Gazette,” Faith said as Abby headed toward her car.

  “Slight change of plans. Come on, get in.” Abby checked for traffic and then turned into the main street. “I’d like to pay Miss Haverstock a visit. If she’s the one who reported seeing me at the lake, then she might have seen something else the other day.” The wonderful aroma of Portuguese Custard Tarts hung in the air. “I hope she likes the tarts.”

  Faith hummed. “I’m going to wake up in the middle of the night craving them. I almost wish Joyce had never made them.”

  “You don’t mean that.” Seeing Faith reaching for the box of tarts, Abby put her hand on it. “By the way, how did you get on with that search I asked you to do for me?” Before she’d been arrested, Abby had asked Faith to trawl around for any information she could find on William Matthews. Joyce had mentioned seeing him and Miranda driving by on weekends. Abby assumed no one had seen him around the rest of the time because he worked in the city during the week.

  “I found several mentions of the name but only two entries ended up being about him.”

  “How did you figure that out?” Abby asked.

  “I narrowed the search to William Matthews, banker. That actually brought up more results. He’s also a patron of the arts and sits on a couple of boards. I’m still researching. I downloaded a couple of annual reports but didn’t have time to go through them because we were mesmerized by Portuguese Custard Tarts.” Faith shifted in her seat. “Joyce is becoming dangerous. I wouldn’t be surprised if she renames the tarts and calls them Whimsical Tarts only available at her pleasure.”

  “She wouldn’t be so evil.”

  “You haven’t lived here long enough to see the dark side of Joyce Breeland. You should ask Elizabeth Charles. She’ll tell you all about it.”

  “Who’s she?”

  “You haven’t met her?”

  “Would I ask who she is if I had?”

  “She’s Mitch’s fiancé. Surely you’ve seen her around town. She drives a yellow VW.”

  “Hang on.” Abby searched her mind. “Come to think of it, yes. I’ve seen the VW. What does she look like?”

  Faith thought about it for a moment. “She’s tall. Slim. Long strawberry blonde hair. When she first arrived, she made quite a splash. She’d been on a no sugar diet for years and suddenly she caved in and had a puff donut at Joyce’s. She’s probably the only other person to ask for an egg white omelet at Joyce’s. You being the other.”

  “How did you hear about that?”

  “You’re acquainted with the expression ‘What happens in Vegas…’ well, what happens at Joyce’s doesn’t stay at Joyce’s. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. Sugar. After eating the puff donut, Elizabeth had a sugar rush moment and Joyce decided to take the puff donuts off the menu labeling them too dangerous. So she might do the same to the Portuguese Custard Tarts.”

  Grumbling, Abby turned off the main road. She knew Miss Haverstock’s mini castle stood at the end of the lake. This time, she had a better idea of how far to go. Two stone pillars signaled the turnoff into her property. The imposing iron gates were closed but Abby could see a security intercom.

  “I’ll announce us,” Faith offered. “She knows me. Or, at least, she did the last time we spoke. Sometimes I think she pretends she doesn’t know me so she can tell me her life story from the beginning.”

  After a brief exchange, the gates eased open. “Impressive.”

  “It’s all for show,” Faith said. “Anyone can just walk along the lake to her place. I think you’ll find Miss Haverstock has airs of superiority. Her father had been a judge and there’s serious money in her family. This was her family’s weekend retreat and I’ve heard say their house in the city was in the snootiest suburb and surrounded by high walls. Miss Haverstock grew up in the type of world we only read about. Garden parties, shopping sprees overseas, private yachts.”

  And here she was, a recluse.

  Along the way they encountered a gardener raking up leaves on an otherwise manicured lawn. The house really did resemble a castle with a couple of turrets at either end of the bluestone building, large mullioned windows and a door so large it could have been mistaken for a drawbridge.

  Abby leaned forward for a closer look. “I assume she doesn’t live here alone.”

  “Oh, no. She has servants. There are people wealthy enough in the area who employ cooks and cleaners but she’s the only one I know of who employs full-time staff.”

  A tall man wearing coattails greeted them at the door. His imperious look suggested he had studied at the most prestigious butler school in Europe.

  “Miss Haverstock will see you in the drawing room. Follow me, please.”

  Portraits and statues became a blur as the butler’s long legged stride had them both hurrying their steps.

  Miss Haverstock sat on a high-backed chair carved with an intricate design. Going by the darkness of the wood, Abby guessed the a
ustere looking antique piece belonged to the Jacobean era.

  Seeing them, Miss Haverstock lifted her chin. Her clear blue eyes sparkled with excitement. Abby guessed she enjoyed having guests.

  Her white hair sat like a crown on a heart shaped face. Her pink lipstick matched the color of her twin set. Abby also saw hints of it on her tweed skirt and jacket.

  Miss Haverstock gestured toward a couch plump with cross-stitched cushions. “You’re that new reporter I’ve been hearing about.”

  Faith introduced her.

  “And this must be the stray you picked up. My whippets, Lady and Duchess are out for a walk but I’m sure they’ll be delighted to meet your Mr. Doyle.”

  “It’s just Doyle,” Abby said.

  Miss Haverstock looked up at the butler. “Clifford, we’d like some refreshments, please.”

  Abby held out the box of tarts. “We brought these for you.” Settling back, Abby sent her gaze skating around the spacious sitting room. Large windows faced the lake but Abby decided Miss Haverstock would have to have perfect eyesight to see all the way across. Next, she turned her attention to a portrait hanging over the fireplace.

  “My great grandfather,” Miss Haverstock said.

  A stern looking man dressed in severe black stared down his patrician nose at Abby. Deciding they needed to cut to the chase, Abby asked if she’d heard the news.

  “Of course I have. Various versions and none true,” Miss Haverstock declared.

  Oh, dear.

  “I could hear the music wafting from across the lake. I told Clifford to keep an eye on the boats.”

  Abby shifted to the edge of her seat. “Why? Did you expect trouble?”

  Miss Haverstock leaned forward slightly. Or she wavered. Abby couldn’t really tell. She looked reed thin and Abby imagined her swaying at the slightest breeze.

  “It’s the lady of the lake,” she murmured.

  “Pardon?”

  “I saw her. I told Clifford to get a closer look. He humored me, I’m sure.”

  When Clifford cleared his throat, Abby realized he’d been standing beside her stock-still.