A Branch Too Far (The Leafy Hollow Mysteries Book 3)

by Rickie Blair

The other women around the table—and Derek, the sole male—stopped in mid-munch to stare at me.

  I took a bite of my crumbly scone and chewed it thoroughly. No one looked away. “Not much,” I said, raising the scone for another bite.

  Hannah placed an impatient hand on my arm. “We know that’s not true.”

  I put the scone on my plate. “Okay, here’s what I think. Lucy was scared of heights. She didn’t go up there willingly.”

  “I knew it,” Hannah crowed. “What else?”

  Curious faces leaned toward me, and I tried to curb the feeling of being hemmed in. Maybe I shouldn’t share my findings, given that one of these people could be a killer. Then I gave my head a shake. That was ridiculous. The Originals were nondescript bookworms who harbored a quiet affection for each other. Even Lucy’s prickly behavior had never sparked a serious argument.

  But if one of the Originals was hiding something that might shed light on Lucy’s death—maybe something they didn’t realize they knew—a blunt attack was the best way to flush it out.

  “I found a section of broken fence at the rim of the escarpment. On one of the closed trails. It was at least fifty feet from the spot where the police believe Lucy fell. I think they could be wrong about her… trajectory.”

  Eleven people inhaled all at once. I could almost feel the oxygen level drop in the room.

  “Oh, my gosh,” said a tremulous voice. “Does that mean there’s a killer on the loose?”

  The women shared shocked glances around the table. Then the muttering started, gradually growing in volume.

  Sue’s loud comment brought it to a halt. “Oh, come on,” she said with a scowl. “If anything was suspicious, it was Lucy’s hobby.” She spit out the word with obvious contempt.

  This was news to me. “What hobby?”

  Before she could reply, Hannah leaned in. “None of us know. But she spent a lot of time in her office working on her computer.”

  “She did bookkeeping,” I said. “To pay the bills.”

  Sue snorted. “I don’t know anyone in town who used Lucy as a bookkeeper.” She scanned the solemn faces around the table. “Does anybody?”

  All heads shook emphatically.

  “If someone wanted her dead…” Sue raised her eyebrows. A few women directed furtive glances at the kitchen where Thérèse was bustling about.

  I didn’t like the direction this was taking.

  “Nobody knows for sure what happened,” I stammered, wishing I’d stayed in my comfortable chair beside the exit. I crammed the rest of the scone into my mouth and regarded them solemnly, chewing.

  Sue leaned over to whisper something to the woman standing beside her. My mind filled with a sudden flashback of a previous meeting, when Sue and Lucy had ducked out into the hall together. They conferred in low tones for nearly ten minutes, until Sue gave Lucy a vicious poke with her finger. “That’s not what you promised me,” she hissed. I heard her clearly from my perch near the door. But Lucy only whirled around and walked back into the living room. For the rest of the evening, they had not spoken to each other. I assumed it was a minor disagreement.

  Today, as Sue chuckled and reached for a pistachio macaron, I wondered if I had been wrong.

  Sue plunked the cookie onto her plate. “I’d like to see the will, that’s for sure.”

  “What will?” said a voice from the doorway.

  At the sound of Thérèse’s voice, I nearly choked on my scone. She had returned from the kitchen while we were talking, a teapot in one hand and a coffee carafe in the other.

  We whirled to face her.

  “What will?” Thérèse repeated, her hand trembling under the weight of the carafe.

  Derek stepped forward, fingering his injured palm. “Lucy committed suicide,” he said loudly. “Everybody knows that. Those railings have been broken for years.” His glance darted around the room, lighting on each of us in turn. It was an unusual show of defiance for the soft-spoken hardware clerk.

  For a moment, I wondered how Derek knew about the fence. But maybe everybody in Leafy Hollow did. It was a popular hiking spot and not everyone respected the new boundaries.

  “Well, Derek, you should know—with all the skulking about that you do,” Sue said. “Follow one of your girlfriends up there, did you?” She smirked at the group, inviting us to share in the joke. A few titters broke out, but withered away under Thérèse’s warning glance.

  Derek whirled on Sue. “You bitch,” he snapped. “I never went near that place.”

  Sue regarded him with an air of surprise.

  Derek pivoted on his heel and stalked out of the room. A few seconds later, the front door slammed with such force that glass tinkled in the kitchen.

  “I hope he didn’t break anything else,” Sue said with a smirk.

  Thérèse thumped the carafe down on the table, followed by the teapot. Tea spurted from the spout and onto the tablecloth. “Can I refill that for you?” she asked evenly, reaching for the nearest cup.

  The group broke up after that, leaving half-empty cups and dessert plates scattered around the room. I stayed to gather up the remaining pastries and seal them into a Tupperware container from the kitchen.

  Thérèse flicked a hand. “Never mind that, Verity.” She paused, biting her lip. “But I do need your help for something else.”

  My stomach dropped. Now what? I’d fulfilled my promise to look into Lucy’s death and only made everything worse. Hopefully Thérèse wasn’t about to blame me for that.

  “You’re an accountant, right?”

  “Sort of,” I countered. “I never sat the exams. More of a casual bookkeeper, really.”

  “Good enough. I want you to look over the club’s accounts.” She walked to a desk at the side of the living room, pulled open the main drawer, and drew out a USB flash drive. After she closed the drawer and returned to my side, she held it out.

  Confused, I took it from her. “I thought all the records were at Lucy’s.”

  “No need for Sue to know.” Thérèse sighed. “She has such a suspicious mind.”

  “Why do you want me to look at this?”

  “I think there are… discrepancies.” She inclined her head at the stick of metal in my hand. “I need someone to confirm it. Then I can decide what to do next.”

  “Can I take it home?”

  She nodded, and I dropped the flash drive into my purse.

  Thérèse walked me to the front door. At the entrance, I turned to face her.

  “I don’t understand why this is important. The book club doesn’t have much money, does it?”

  Thérèse studied the hall carpet for a moment before replying. “Normally, no. But we did a fundraiser last year, before you arrived in Leafy Hollow, for a literacy training program at the high school. All the village businesses contributed. We raised a lot of money—over fifty thousand dollars. Lucy put it into a separate account, so it wouldn’t get mixed in with our book club money. There are two accounts on that flash drive, our regular account and a second one for the charity drive.

  “Two weeks ago, I wrote a check on the charity account for eighty-five dollars to pay for the first study guides. It was a small order because we wanted to check them over before launching the full program. And…”

  Thérèse flinched, squeezing her eyes shut for a second.

  “Yes?” I leaned in.

  Heaving a sigh, she sank onto the hallway’s carpeted stairs and reached up an arm to steady herself on the railing before replying.

  “The check bounced. I think the money is gone.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Emy and I had not expected to attend the reading of Lucy Carmichael’s will. Yet, there we were—sitting in leather armchairs arrayed in front of the massive mahogany desk of Wilf Mullins, Leafy Hollow councilor and village lawyer.

  Wilf beamed at us from behind the executive workstation in his inner sanctum. “Everybody comfy?” he asked, rubbing his hands together.

  We nodded.


  Twenty minutes earlier, I had been having an early-morning tea break at the 5X Bakery when Thérèse walked in.

  “Girls,” she said. “I need your help.”

  She asked if we’d accompany her to Wilf’s office. Thérèse explained that she was a beneficiary of Lucy’s will. She expected that her friend had bequeathed her one or two coveted first editions from the antique glass bookcase in the mansion’s front hall. Nothing more.

  Although her request surprised me, I was delighted to comply—if only so that later, I could refute Sue Unger’s ridiculous allegations.

  “Thank you, girls,” Thérèse said with a small smile. “I appreciate it.”

  During our short walk to Wilf’s office, a few doors away on Main Street, Emy had leaned in to whisper, “Mom’s pretty cut up about Lucy’s death. She wants us for moral support. I think she’s afraid she might break down and cry in Wilf’s office.”

  The thought made me wince. A public display of emotion like that would mortify Thérèse. The only time I’d seen her even remotely affected in public was during her talk on Anna Karenina—the suicide scene, as it happened. If my presence helped her maintain her composure, I was happy to help. And yes, it also meant I could satisfy my curiosity about Lucy’s will. But that was an unexpected bonus.

  Wilf’s assistant, the elegant gray-haired Harriet, had ushered us in. “Mr. Mullins will be here shortly,” she said, placing a leather portfolio on the mahogany surface. She aligned it with the edges of the desk before walking out, leaving the door ajar.

  I craned my head, trying to peek at the folder’s contents, and then reached for it with one hand. Emy slapped my fingers, and I withdrew.

  “Wilf’s going to read it to us anyway,” I whispered. “It can’t hurt to take a little peek.”

  She glared at me and glanced over at her mother. Thérèse was staring at the pull-down map on the far wall that outlined Wilf’s latest business venture—The Cameron Wurst Waterpark. She seemed mesmerized by the dancing sausages that decorated the edges.

  The door opened and four-foot-tall Wilf strode in, followed by realtor Nellie Quintero. Harriet slipped in behind them with a steno notebook in her hand. She closed the door before sitting on a straight-backed chair along the far wall.

  “Good morning, ladies,” Wilf said, grinning broadly as he shook each of our hands before walking behind his desk and hopping onto his leather chair. With the whirr of an electric motor, the chair rose until Wilf’s face—still smiling—was level with ours.

  Nellie slid into a seat directly behind mine where I couldn’t see her without contorting my neck. I was baffled by her presence, but I suspected it might have something to do with her status as Wilf’s BFF. The listing for Lucy’s house would be lucrative, and Wilf might be giving her an advance peek. Either that, or Nellie simply wheedled him into it. Given his finely honed sense of political survival, Wilf hated to say no to a constituent. Any constituent.

  Wilf adopted his most solemn lawyerly expression before flipping open the folder with a dramatic air. He paused to scan it. More theatrics. He’d prepared Lucy’s will, so he must know what it contained.

  Stifling a sigh, I gave my watch a sideways glance. Lorne and I had a lot of bookings today, and I hoped Wilf would move this along.

  I also hoped the reading would end the public insinuations about Lucy’s death. That evening I intended to go through the book club account. Hopefully then I could close this volume forever.

  Although, if money really was missing, Thérèse would have to report it. What if she didn’t? Would that make me an accomplice? That made me think of Jeff. I shifted uneasily on my seat. Why couldn’t I put him out of my mind?

  “Let’s begin,” Wilf said.

  We settled in our chairs, giving Wilf our full attention.

  A tap sounded on the office door, and it creaked open.

  “Hallo in there,” called a woman’s gruff voice.

  Wilf looked up, startled. The door opened completely, revealing Sue Unger’s considerable bulk. “Am I too late for the reading of Lucy’s will?”

  Harriet got to her feet, dropping her steno pad on the chair behind her and reaching for the door handle. “I’m afraid this is private, Sue. You’ll have to come back.”

  “I need to be here,” Sue said as she pushed through the door, pulled over the nearest chair, and sat. She steepled her fingers on her lap. “I’m the new treasurer for the Leafy Hollow Original Book Club, and Lucy’s computer is part of the estate. The book club’s accounts are on that computer. I’m hoping her last will and testament will reveal all.”

  Wilf looked confused. “What accounts?”

  “For the book club. And the charity drive. There seem to be no other copies.” Sue nodded sagely.

  I exchanged glances with Thérèse. There were definitely copies. The flash drive that contained them was sitting on the dining table at Rose Cottage where I’d placed it after the book club meeting. I waited for Thérèse to explain this.

  She merely brushed both hands down the length of her immaculate skirt, no doubt contemplating the fabric’s mysterious lack of wrinkles.

  Wilf pursed his lips, but I knew he wouldn’t ask Sue to leave. Our diminutive councilor never caused a scene, unless he was at the center of it. Although… the last time Wilf was annoyed in public, scores of chocolate cupcakes were destroyed in a fusillade of baked goods.

  He raised the document and tapped it on his desk to align the pages. “Let’s get started then…”

  Before he could read a word, the door creaked open again.

  “Are we too late?” asked an elderly woman. Her bare arms resembled the desiccated skeleton of a bird I’d found as a child. She fluttered her hands anxiously. Behind her stood a man with a thatch of white hair, who also looked anxious but had more bulk to back it up.

  Ignoring Wilf’s consternation, the woman strode into the room and held out her hand. “I’m Anne Sage, and this is my husband Owen.” She indicated the man behind her, who gave us a worried nod.

  Wilf limply shook her hand, his mouth falling open.

  “Are these seats free?” Anne asked, pointing to two straight-backed chairs against the wall.

  Harriet looked askance—one of her specialties—and rose to her feet. “I don’t think…”

  “We’re Lucy’s neighbors,” Anne said, urging her husband toward the empty chairs. He dragged them over to the back row, next to Nellie.

  “We used to be neighbors, that is,” Anne said with a heavy sigh, hands on her hips. “What an awful thing.” She glanced at each of us in turn. “Such a loss.”

  She settled into the new seating. Owen sat beside her, staring at the floor.

  “Uh-huh,” Wilf said, no doubt evaluating their two council votes against the need to eject onlookers from a private meeting. “And you’re here because…”

  His words hung in the air.

  “Because of the house, of course,” Anne said, shrugging and glancing about for affirmation. “We live next door. We need to know what’s going to happen to it. Who our new neighbors will be, and so forth.”

  She poked Owen with her elbow. With a start, he sat up straight. “That’s right. Neighbors.”

  “Oh.” Wilf studied the newcomers. “It’s really not a public process, I’m afraid.”

  “You don’t understand.” Anne’s formerly friendly tone turned harsh. “That Carmichael woman owes us. Tell him, Owen.” She elbowed her husband. Before he could open his mouth, Anne added, “She made him do things.”

  Every eyebrow in the room shot up.

  “Things?” Wilf asked with a tentative air.

  “Tell him, Owen,” Anne said, then carried on without him. “She claimed to have vertigo.” Anne sniffed. “As if. Nothing wrong with her. But Owen did all sorts of chores for her, getting up on ladders and fences and rooftops. Look at him. Is this a man who should be climbing ladders?”

  Owen hung his head sadly.

  “Ah…” Wilf said. “I don
’t—”

  “And did she ever pay us for it? Not. One. Penny. And what about the notes?” Anne snapped open the clasp on her purse and stuck in a hand. She pulled out a handful of business cards, rose to drop a few on Wilf’s desk and then passed the rest around. “Look at those.”

  We regarded the white cards. They were blank except for ??? in the middle. In red ink.

  “I don’t get it,” Wilf said, peering at the cards.

  “Lucy left one of those every time we did something she didn’t like. Our neighbors got them as well.” Anne glanced around the room. “I’m surprised none of them have shown up yet.”

  Harriet shot a worried glance at the door.

  “What did Lucy object to?” Wilf ventured, although I suspected he would rather not know.

  “Once.” Anne leaned forward, and we held our breath. “It was because we didn’t deadhead our zinnias. She said it made the street look trashy.” Anne settled back in her chair. “We’re considering a lawsuit, to be honest. No matter how high the fees.”

  Wilf perked up at the word lawsuit. Or maybe it was fees that did it.

  “I guess you can stay.” He looked around. “Unless anyone objects.”

  There was a general murmur of approval.

  “All right, then. Harriet, would you please close the—”

  Another knock.

  Wilf’s sigh was heartrending. “Now what?”

  Jeff stuck his head into the room. He regarded the crowd with surprise. Then he nodded at me with the hint of a smile before turning to our host.

  “A word, Wilf?”

  I’d known Wilf long enough—he was my aunt’s lawyer and so mine by default—to know his smile was not genuine. He flicked on the chair’s motor.

  No one spoke as he descended silently, lips pressed together.

  Wilf shut the door when he left. There was a muffled conversation in the anteroom. The men returned, leaving the door open.

  Harriet rose, her leather flats silent on the plush carpet, to close the door. This time, the lock snicked softly before she regained her seat and picked up her steno pad and pencil.

  Jeff removed his peaked cap and leaned against the far wall. Wilf flicked on the chair motor and waited silently while it rose. He flipped over the first of the papers.