by Jill Orr
ADVANCE PRAiSE
for The Ugly Truth
“Jill Orr’s comedic capers shine on! The third Riley Ellison mystery The Ugly Truth had me in stitches and made me want to visit Tuttle Corner to join Riley on one of her hilarious adventures. Do your funny bone a favor, and pick this book up now.”
—Hannah Mary McKinnon, author of The Neighbors and Her Secret Son
“Jill Orr hits an almost impossible combo with The Ugly Truth; page-turning suspense, laugh-out-loud humor, and a delightfully complex mystery you just can’t put down. If you like smart criminals, smarter women sleuths, and endearing side characters you care about, Orr delivers with the third book in her charming Riley Ellison series.”
—Libby Kirsch, Emmy Award–winning journalist and author of the Stella Reynolds Mystery Series and the Janet Black Mystery Series
PRAiSE
for the Riley Ellison Mysteries
“A ray of sunshine cloaked in a mystery. Jill Orr is the best humorous mystery writer around, with a voice all her own.”
—Laura McHugh, best-selling author of The Weight of Blood and Arrowood
“Fresh and funny, romantic and sunny, Orr’s book checked three genre boxes for me: a smart cozy series, a Southern small-town setting, and, my favorite, a newspaper mystery…. I loved the hilarious emails the author interjects into the narrative.”
—Carole Barrowman, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
“The laughs keep coming.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“I loved this fresh page-turner—it’s fun, funny, and moves like lightning.”
—Lian Dolan, Satellite Sister and author of the best-selling novels Helen of Pasadena and Elizabeth the First Wife
“Crime novels are one of the most popular fiction genres, so it is difficult for writers to keep it fresh and explore new twists on the traditional whodunit. Author Jill Orr is successfully among those who have [a] niche all of her own…. By actually capturing the unique voice of a generation, Orr brings something out of the ordinary and elusive to so many.”
—BookTrib
“Fans of comic light mysteries will be rewarded.”
—Publishers Weekly
“The small-town nature of this mystery, with the requisite fishbowl local politics, relationships, and grudges, makes it perfect for cozy lovers who want something more modern.”
—Booklist
THE UGLY TRUTH
By Jill Orr
Prospect Park Books
Copyright © 2019 by Jill Orr
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all names and characters, are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. With a few exceptions, all places are also products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
Published by Prospect Park Books
2359 Lincoln Avenue
Altadena, California 91001
www.prospectparkbooks.com
Distributed by Consortium Book Sales & Distribution
www.cbsd.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress. The following is for reference only:
Names: Orr, Jill, author
Title: The ugly truth: a Riley Ellison mystery / Jill Orr.
Identifiers: ISBNs 9781945551468 (hardcover); 9781945551444 (softcover); 9781945551451 (ebook)
Subjects: | GSAFD: Mystery fiction
Cover design by Susan Olinsky
Cover illustration by Nancy Nimoy
Book layout and design by Amy Inouye
Printed in the United States of America
To Jimmy
forever and ever, amen
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The Riley Ellison Mystery Series from Prospect Park Books
Dear Miss Ellison,
Thank you for updating your Click.com profile and uploading a current profile picture. A photo that puts you in the best possible light (both literally and figuratively) is an important first step in snagging the interest of that special someone! #knowyourangles #shootfromabove #noduckface
I see you’ve also updated some of your personal information. Well done! At Click.com we are big proponents of keeping things fresh. However, I believe there are a few areas we might be able to improve with some positive reframing to get you #fromnottohot in no time! For example, you say that you are “really focused on your career right now.” To a potential suitor it could look as if you don’t have the time to invest in a new relationship. Consider instead saying simply, “I love my job!” #moneymoves
Also, I understand you find reading the obituary section “very life-affirming,” but to the average person that might sound ghoulish. Consider reframing this as, “I’m an avid reader of nonfiction!”
Finally, you mention that you are “recently out of a relationship.” #disaster! Highlighting your recent breakup is the last thing you want to do when trying to attract a new man. Consider omitting any mention of past relationships and instead focus on your future. #blankslate #likeavirgin
If you’d like some assistance attracting the high-quality matches you deserve, please be aware that for a onetime fee of $49.99 our experts at Click.com will craft an original and authentic profile just for you (photo retouching available for an additional $14.99). Let me know if you are interested in adding this service to your current plan! #investinyourself #youreworthit
Sincerely,
Regina H,
Personal Romance Concierge™
Click.com
TWO WEEKS LATER
Dear Miss Ellison,
I wouldn’t be worth the paper my Click.com Personal Romance Concierge™ certificate is printed on, if I didn’t notice that you might not *quite* be ready to move on after your painful breakup with Jay.
Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve detected a certain level of cynicism not typical of the Riley Ellison I’ve come to know. For example, when I told you about Chase, the gentleman whose profile said he likes to “work hard/play hard,” you wrote back, “Overgrown man-child. Pass.” And when I came to you with Aidan, who mentioned his family is very important to him, you wrote back, “Momma’s boy. Pass.” And perhaps most dishearteningly, when I presented Spencer, who said he loves to laugh but also has a serious side, you responded with, “Bipolar, unmedic
ated. Pass.” #savage #thatmeansharsh
Maybe it’s time we took a step back from searching for love and focused on you?
I’d like to make you aware of a new opportunity available from Click.com designed to meet the needs of our more challenging clients like yourself. Our new program, Sugar, How’d You Get So F.L.Y.™ (Fiercely Love Yourself) is an intense initiative focused on the important practice of self-care!
Are you ready for the most exciting part?
#drumrollplease
As a part of my training to become a F.L.Y. Guy™ Concierge, I have been authorized to offer you a FREE seven-day trial of Sugar, How’d You Get So F.L.Y.™ #keepyourmindonyourmoney#andyourmoneyonyourmind
To redeem this offer simply fill out the attached Self-Care Inventory, use activation code: GOLOVE YOURSELF, and I will have the program materials overnighted directly to you. You will receive a subscription box full of F.L.Y.™ approved self-care essentials to help you fall in love with the most important person of all…YOU! Keep what you like, return what you don’t. #extrachargesapply #selfcareaintcheap
I look forward to taking this journey together!
Sincerely,
Regina H,
Personal Romance Concierge™ and F.L.Y.
Guy™-in-training
Click.com
CHAPTER 1
MONDAY
Southerners will go to great lengths to avoid speaking ill of the dead, no matter how much they hated a person’s guts while they were alive. “He sure loved his mama.” “There was nobody who knew more about NASCAR.” “I’ll bet he was a real good flosser.” In my experience as an obituary writer in Tuttle Corner, VA, people dug deep to find any bright spot in an otherwise dim and detestable life—or at least that had been my experience until I was assigned to write about Justin Balzichek.
Justin Balzichek was thirty-one years old when he was brutally murdered, and no one I talked to had anything remotely nice to say about him. I’d interviewed several of his school classmates, two former employers, even his childhood pastor—and not one of them could find a single positive thing to say. Justin had been a bad seed from the very beginning, according to Doris Johnson, his third-grade teacher. Tricia, the woman who worked at the Kwikee Stop where he bought his chewing tobacco, said she got the heebie-jeebies every time he looked at her. And Justin’s landlord, upon hearing the news of his death, said simply, “He’s the devil’s problem now.” From what I could tell, it came as a surprise to exactly no one that Justin had met a sticky end, and it was even less shocking that he’d left a trail of violence and destruction in his wake.
I was on my way to the Campbell & Sons funeral home to see if they had had any luck finding his next of kin. It had been almost two weeks since Justin’s body was found, and so far there’d been no takers. I was writing a piece on him for the Tuttle Times, and I thought if I could talk to a relative, I could get a broader perspective on who Justin had been—or perhaps more interestingly, why he had been that way. I wasn’t trying to glorify who he was or what he’d done, but I didn’t believe that anybody outside of a Bond villain could be so one-dimensionally bad.
There were no services scheduled for that day, so I figured Franklin wouldn’t mind me popping in. Over the past few months, I’d gotten to know Franklin Campbell fairly well. When someone died in Tuttle County, the families would often work with the funeral home to submit death notices to the Times, and it was part of my job to help edit and format the pieces for publication. It was, unfortunately, what passed for an obituary section in most newspapers these days due to declining budgets, although the Times had recently decided to allow space for one editorial obit each week. Justin Balzichek, however, would not be our featured obit this week; I was writing his story for the Crime section.
Franklin Campbell was an older man, probably the same age my granddad would have been if he were still alive. Old-school through and through, Franklin favored the Victorian approach to death notices. That is to say, no one Franklin wrote about ever died. They “went to be with the Lord,” or “were called home,” or my personal favorite, could be found “gathering the angels for a rousing game of canasta.” Franklin was a quiet man who always spoke in hushed tones and gentle metaphors, even when he wasn’t at work. The years of restrained sympathy had seeped into his bones, and when you came upon him walking through Memorial Park or eating dinner at the Shack, he’d clasp your shoulder gently and say, “How are you?” And even when you were having a perfectly lovely day, the reflex was always to respond with, “I’m hanging in there.”
When I walked into the building, I saw that all the lights were off except for one coming from Franklin’s office in the back hallway. This was unusual. Franklin often had his staff dusting the pews or polishing the brass fixtures when services weren’t going on. He took great pride in Campbell & Sons, a family-owned funeral parlor serving Tuttle Corner since 1877.
“Hello?” I called into the empty space. “Franklin, you here? It’s Riley.”
When I didn’t get an answer, I walked back toward his office. The door was cracked slightly. “Knock, knock,” I said, hesitating for a minute before peeking my head inside. But instead of seeing Franklin, I saw a much younger man sitting in his chair. He was leaning over, holding his head in his hands as if he’d been crying.
“Oh, I’m sorry—”
The man wiped at his eyes and stood up quickly. “We’re closed today. There’s a sign out front.”
“Sorry…I didn’t see it.” I swiveled my eyes to the floor. This man, whoever he was, was clearly embarrassed. “I’m here to see Franklin. I’m from the Times.”
“Franklin isn’t in.”
I looked up. The man was dressed in a plaid shirt in reds and blues untucked over worn-in jeans. His eyes were moist, his cheeks ruddy from wiping away the tears. He looked like the whole world had just crashed around his shoulders. I took a half step closer. “Are you okay?”
He looked down for a split second, and when he raised his eyes it was as if he’d put a little suit of armor on each one. “I’m fine.”
I blanched at his harsh tone. “Okay, um, do you know when Franklin will be back?”
“No.”
I was starting to get the feeling this guy didn’t want to talk. But, as my mother always said, being upset is no excuse for rudeness. Besides, I knew most of Campbell’s employees and I’d never seen this guy before. It was strange that none of the regulars were here. “Do you mind me asking who you are?” I said, careful to keep my tone conversational.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
So much for keeping things conversational. “Well,” I said, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “I really need to speak with Franklin, so if you don’t mind, I think I’ll wait.”
“Suit yourself.” He grabbed keys off the desk, turned off the lights in the office, and walked past me, nearly knocking my shoulder with his.
“Hey!” I called after him as he moved down the dark hallway. “Where’re you going?”
“I told you. We’re closed. I’m going home.”
“And you’re just going to leave me here?”
He let out an impatient sigh. “You said you wanted to wait.”
I sped down the hall to catch up to him. He opened the front door, but I came up behind him and slammed it closed. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, whoever you are! I don’t appreciate being treated like this.”
“Look, honey, you’re going to have to—”
“—Oh no, I am not your honey—”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Whatever—your honor, your majesty, your eminence—whatever your name is, I gotta go. I don’t have time for this.”
Now that I was up close, I could see that this guy wasn’t much older than me, despite his condescending tone. It gave me a boost of confidence. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me where Franklin is and—”
“Fine,” he said, and with that he walked out the door, leaving me inside. I heard the key go in th
e lock from the outside.
I was stunned silent for a second. “Hey!” I shouted once I recovered. I banged on the door a few times. “Let me out!” It took a good thirty seconds of shouting and pounding on the door before I realized I could just twist the deadbolt and let myself out.
I swung it open to find the mystery man standing there, an amused grin tugging up one corner of his mouth. He reached around me to close the door, pulling on the handle to make sure it was locked. “Figured it out, did you?”
“There is something seriously wrong with you,” I grumbled. “I’m going to talk to Franklin about this. Just who the hell do you think you are?”
The man was halfway down the front steps when he turned around to face me, the sunlight bouncing off of his tawny eyes. “I think I’m Ashley Franklin Campbell,” he said, pausing to watch the surprise register on my face. “And I think you’re trespassing on private property, honey.”
CHAPTER 2
I found out after a couple of phone calls—one to my mother and one to Eudora Winterthorne, the grande dame of Tuttle Corner—that Franklin Campbell had suffered a stroke two days earlier. He was in pretty bad shape and if he made it at all, according to Eudora, it would be some time until he could go back to work. I was sorry to hear it. Franklin had always been kind to me, and I knew how important his business was to him. I asked Mom to add me to the meal train for Franklin’s wife, Patricia. She’d be exhausted caring for him, as she had some health problems of her own, which, according to Mrs. Winterthorne, meant she “wore out quick.” The Campbells had a lot of friends who would no doubt pitch in, though they were in their seventies, and they didn’t have family in town, or at least not until recently.
Franklin and Patricia Campbell had raised two sons, neither of whom was involved in the family business. Their youngest son, Martin, died suddenly from an undetected heart condition at the age of seventeen during a high school basketball game. The whole town was shocked by the unspeakable tragedy, and many claimed that the Campbell family never truly recovered.
