Gore in the Garden
A Collection of Cozies
By Shelley Dawn Siddall
The right of Shelley Dawn Siddall to be identified as the Author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the Author’s imagination or are used fictiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. No resemblance to persons living, dead or in some other form like a zombie.
Copyright © 2019 Shelley Dawn Siddall
All rights reserved.
Cover Design by Mariah Sinclair
www.TheCoverVault.com
To my dear Sister Tracy Zawitkoski, who laughed in all the right places and lit a fire under my butt to keep writing, instead of watching TV and eating frozen cappuccino yogurt.
And I really like frozen cappuccino yogurt so clearly, she is a force to be reckoned with.
And admired.
Scarecrows don’t bleed
Gracie Noseworthy liked cats better than dogs. Cats knew who they were and let you know immediately if you were out of line. Cats could actually plot revenge for days, attack you for the slightest infraction, (say a minute delay in serving them a meal), but surprised you with a random cuddle.
Dogs, on the other hand, could spend hours pushing a rock with their nose and be entirely happy the whole time. Gracie found their constant state of bliss annoying.
She lived in a small town with quaint homes and not so quaint people who regularly said to folks in the big cities they visited, ‘I come from a town so small you know everybody’s name and even the names of their dogs!’ But when asked the name of their neighbor, or even to just describe what their neighbor looked like, most residents then mumbled something about not really knowing them.
Oh, they might have taken them to court over property lines or other trivial matters, but even then, they didn’t know them. They may, however, know the name of the dog.
The town was, quite frankly, full of bad neighbors with bad habits.
Gracie thrived on the disputes of her neighbors because she liked a little drama in her life. She liked her unpredictable cats, Zoey and Frank, and she liked unpredictable people. That’s why, after she retired from retail, Gracie put an ad in the Huckleberry News that read as follows:
“Did you do something bad, but can’t quite remember? Did your neighbor do something bad and you want to get the goods on them? Contact Gracie Noseworthy Investigations at 555-2368. I sniff out trouble!”
So when the woman at the other end of the phone line said, “I know something bad about my neighbor; at least, I think I do,” Gracie felt a tingle of excitement and immediately invited her over for tea and a chat.
“Well, I don’t know if I should,” the woman said plaintively, “I don’t want to get anybody in trouble.”
“But you have phoned me,” Gracie noted. “You must be fairly certain you saw something untoward. My standard fee is one hundred dollars to open a file, paid up front in cash or bank draft. For this sum, I will find out what happened and report back to you. Expenses will be extra. You of course will have access to unlimited pots of tea at my home during the interview process.”
“I suppose I could come by this afternoon.”
Gracie had to be firm. “I have an opening in my schedule right now until five pm. I am otherwise engaged the rest of the evening.”
“Oh. Well then. I’ll pop by the bank and come straight over.”
“I’ll need your name please, so I can start your file,” Gracie said, pencil poised over her desk calendar.
“Barbara Shire, but my friends call me Barb.”
Gracie smiled into the phone. “See you soon Barb. I’ll be happy to take on your case.”
When the new client arrived, she reminded Gracie of a pug. Slightly googly eyed and snuffling. And a bit gassy.
They were sitting at Gracie’s large kitchen table that her late husband, Stan, had built. Both leaves were in and as such was a good four feet wide by eight feet, eight inches long. Wide enough to place soup tureens, platters of cold cuts and freshly baked bread in between twelve guests. Gracie loved hosting lunches. It gave her ample opportunity to sniff out fractious undercurrents and gossip that always came in handy.
She poured out some rich vanilla rooibos and asked Barb to tell her what happened.
“It’s just that I don’t want to get anybody in trouble,” Barb started.
Gracie had already put the cash in her lockbox, so she felt it necessary to encourage Barb again to start talking. But, Gracie thought, if she keeps prevaricating, I’ll ask her to leave and refund her money. Maybe.
“My neighbor killed somebody and dumped the body in the field across from me. I know because he had it in a wheelbarrow and wheeled it right in front of me!”
“When did this happen?”
“The night before last. I was out for an evening stroll…”
Here Gracie raised her eyebrows. It was still quite chilly in the evening and the snuffling pudgy woman in front of her did not look the least bit athletic.
“Probably how you got your cold,” Gracie said.
Barb looked startled. “Yes!” she said enthusiastically, “I was out for an evening stroll Tuesday and I got a cold. Don’t get me wrong, I always get along with people, but my neighbor is another kettle of fish. Do you know, he went and got married? In February?”
Gracie clapped her hands. “I saw the photo spread in the newspaper! That was the Frederickson-Ellis wedding, wasn’t it? The bride was stunning in a daring baby blue gown!”
“She was an icicle,” Barb said smugly. “I happened to be walking by and saw them posing in the park for photos. She was shivering and actually turning blue. I thought she was going to freeze to death right there. Would have served her right.”
Her Hostess wrote in large letters on a piece of foolscap ‘neighbor had body in wheelbarrow’. Gracie had the paper angled so her client could easily read the notes. It was a ploy she used to make her clients think that their focus was Gracie’s focus.
Gracie was actually making mental notes that ran like this, ‘No ring on left hand; jilted ex-lover? Is there even a body? Has that woman been eating nothing but cabbage for three days straight? Land sakes, the smell!’
“What time was it that you were out for your stroll?”
“What stroll?” Barb asked.
Gracie smiled encouragingly and pointed to the pad of paper. “Your stroll on Tuesday evening? When the body in the wheelbarrow was wheeled right by you?”
Her client dabbed at her nose with a frilly hanky. “Oh yes, of course, silly me, the cold medicine must be mixing me up. It was just after supper, perhaps around six, and I thought I would go to the end of my drive and see if the crocuses were peeking through yet. I was moving the dead leaves from under the maple, I have a Crimson King maple in the front of my property, when I saw Barry, I mean, Mr. Frederickson pushing a wheelbarrow.”
“And then what happened?”
“Well naturally I said good evening.”
Gracie could barely restrain a sigh. Let’s liven things up a bit, she decided.
“The new Mrs. Frederickson was walking with him?” she asked.
“Are you kidding? And risk breaking one of her five-inch heels? No Anita wasn’t with Barry. It was just him.”
“And his wheel
barrow,” Gracie added.
“Right. He thinks he’s the world’s greatest gardener, but when he cut my maple last year, I could have throttled him! I mean, when we had that big windstorm in November, my poor tree had huge branches that came crashing down. Barry offered to trim it up for me and he butchered the thing. So when I saw him, I may have said a few choice words to him.”
“What did the wheelbarrow look like?” Gracie asked as she eyed the liquor cabinet behind her loquacious but unforthcoming client.
“It was orange, with red splotches all over it. Oh yes, one handle was gone. The wood around the metal I mean, it was broken off.”
“And what did the body look like?”
Barb pondered while she spent some time trying to create a sneeze by looking at Gracie’s dining room chandelier.
“It looked dead,” she said finally.
“Was it a man or a woman?” Gracie asked while hoping she had, in fact, filled the ice cube tray the previous night. Her thoughts continued to turn to a rum and coke over ice.
“It was a man, I think. He had on a checkered shirt, like scarecrows wear and old dungarees and a straw hat over his face. Barry did, in fact, say it was a scarecrow he was moving to another part of his land. But, here’s the funny thing, Barry was headed to the empty field across the road from both our places.”
“I take it he doesn’t own that particular field?”
“No, it’s been for vacant for years.” She sniffed loudly. “Apparently the ownership of the land is in dispute.”
Gracie poured Barb another cup of tea. “So Barry was transporting a dead body. Who do you think he killed?
Barb’s face darkened. She crossed her arms and slid her chair back from the table.
“Oh I wouldn’t have any idea! Why would I know?” she retorted.
The two women went on to discuss Barry and his wife’s work schedules, that Barb just happened to know, and concluded their meeting shortly before the imposed deadline.
Gracie grimaced as Barb picked up the hanky off the oak table, but quickly smiled as she waved her client goodbye. As soon as Barb’s little Toyota rounded the bend in Gracie’s driveway, Gracie was on the phone.
“Change in plans Ted, we’re going to meet at my place and drink rum until the memory of my latest client is gone.”
“On my way,” he said.
***
One hour and several drinks later Gracie and her assistant Ted Bailey were summing up the latest case. He had extra information that he readily shared.
“We were called out for a report of a suspected stalker in early March, but after a thorough search of the grounds we didn’t even find a fresh footprint,” Ted commented. He said wryly, “I think the frozen layer of snow may have been an impediment. Anita was not pleased. She called us slackers and wanted us to arrest somebody immediately!”
Ted had an expressive set of bushy gray eyebrows; was a Detective Sergeant in the local police force and one of Gracie’s oldest and dearest friends. He had joined the force at the same time as Stan Noseworthy when both men were single. Ted married his childhood sweetheart, Laura-Beth, shortly afterwards, Gracie and Stan were happily married.
In a weird twist of fate, Ted and Gracie lost their mates to cancer about one year apart from each other. Many of their friends and acquaintances felt that Ted and Gracie should be married by now as they spent considerable time together, however the investigative team had a completely different arrangement that worked for them.
“The peeping Tom probably was Barb. She sure seems to do a lot of walking at key moments.” Gracie counted on her fingers. “One, she just happened to be walking by the wedding, two, she happened to be walking by when Barry was overtly wheeling a dead body, and three, she really doesn’t like Anita.”
Ted nodded and asked, “I’ll check and see if anyone has been reported missing. From everything you’ve told me, Barb and Barry were quite chummy, or at least she thought they were. I mean, a man prunes your tree, that’s got to mean something!” He waggled his eyebrows at his friend/ part-time boss.
Gracie smiled. “I imagine the marriage to Anita Ellis must have come as a bit of a shock. Ted, there was something else,” Gracie said eyeing her watch. “Barb’s body language was wrong. She got defensive when I asked about who the dead person could be. She pushed herself away from the table as though to distance herself from the whole event.”
Ted too, was looking at his watch. “Well Gracie my dear, I’m glad we didn’t meet for supper as planned. This has been fun, but right now, do you know what’s on the agenda?”
“Bowling!” Gracie said happily.
Ted drained his drink and leapt to his feet. “The Huckleberry Blue Balls are ready to roll!”
Despite herself Gracie snickered. There had been much discussion on the police force about the name of their bowling team. Everybody had been loudly yelling their favorite name while at the same time condemning Ted’s suggestion.
Unfortunately, Ted was the only one sober enough to think of registering the name. Although not a constable, Gracie was now an honorary member of the Huckleberry Blue Balls. However, when asked what team she was on, she always said ‘Huckleberry Blue’ then paused before adding ‘Balls’.
“We have to change that name!” Gracie said as they walked out the door.
She returned to give Zoey and Frank some instructions.
“Now look folks,” she said sternly, “You are both grown cats. I do not, repeat, do not want to find that you had a party while I was gone. I’ve marked the levels in the liquor bottles and locked up all the toilet paper. Be good.”
The two cats waited until Gracie had left the house and then ran to the en-suite. The toilet paper roll had not, in fact, been locked up.
***
“I think she should be locked up; I mean, her garden is a blight on the neighborhood!”
Gracie and Ted looked at one another as they were tying up their rented shoes, then over at the speaker.
“I haven’t said anything to her before now, you know it wouldn’t be kind so soon after her husband left her, but I do intend to bring the matter to the Garden Club after a decent interval.” Trudy-Faye Gervais was pontificating to her team, the Holy Rollers, one lane over.
As Ted laid out the score sheets and the pencils, he asked Gracie, “Have you ever found the volume control on Trudy-Faye?”
“Nope and I’m not looking for it,” she said as she tied up her long silver hair in a ponytail.
“Chicken.”
“In other, more pressing matters, my dear Theodore, where are your brothers and your sister in blue? It’s nearly seven.”
“I gave Mark an extra assignment; Pauline and Dave should be here any minute now.”
At that moment the three team members entered the Splitsville Lanes. While the married couple went to rent shoes, Mark walked over to Ted with several sheets of paper in his hand.
“Got that information you asked for. Looks like Barb Shire has had a few run-ins with her neighbors.”
“Do tell!” said Gracie.
“She’s due in court tomorrow for mediation with Andrew Walters, the neighbor to the right of her, while the neighbor to the left of her is in the process of obtaining a restraining order.” Mark dutifully reported to his boss but showed the documents to Gracie.
Ted reached over and took the documents.
“Could we at least pretend that I have some degree of confidentiality regarding police matters?” he asked Gracie.
She smiled. “So it was Anita Frederickson who filed the restraining order, but what was the other neighbor upset about?”
“Dang, you read fast,” Mark said. He went to rent shoes as Ted perused the reports.
“Looks like he applied for a restraining order as well,” Ted said, “and was granted one. Barb Shire continually harassed him for years about a piece of property that she said he promised her, get this, ‘as a wedding gift’.”
“What? Does that woman think everybody is
in love with her?”
Ted started chuckling as he read further. “This is cute. Andrew Walters wrote in his application, “I have no interest, nor have I ever had any interest in becoming betrothed to that woman. Her name should be Barbed Wire instead of Barb Shire as she is constantly poking around my house.” Ted’s laughter abruptly stopped as he continued, “When she doesn’t get invited in, she says cutting remarks and has threatened to shoot me several times. I didn’t take her seriously at first, but she brought her twelve gauge over in February and waved it around.”
Gracie frowned as well. “You’d think the recoil of a twelve gauge would knock old Barbed Wire off her feet. But more importantly, she brought a gun to his home. And here I was thinking of her as a harmless, if somewhat gassy, little pug.”
Pauline, Dave, and Mark had already taken their turns. Ted rolled a spare and Gracie ended up with a bedpost split. She glared at the seven and ten pins.
“They should really change the name of this bowling alley,” she declared.
“Bedposts! She planted bedposts!” Trudy-Faye shouted to her team after watching Gracie gutter the ball while attempting to pick up a spare.
Gracie walked over. “What in the world are you talking about?”
Trudy-Faye was red in the face from the exertion of throwing three strikes in a row while at the same time, giving a running commentary on her strategy. Now that her audience had increased; so did her color.
“Let’s sit you down and give you some water,” Gracie added.
“You know Julia Smith? The one whose husband took off with the young woman from the tanning salon?”
Gracie didn’t know her but nodded anyway.
“Well, she went to the dump and dragged all manner of trash home including old metal headboards and footboards. She put them in her garden and planted mounds of marigolds in between.”
“Oh! So she really does have garden beds. How cute!” Gracie said enthusiastically, but then looked at Trudy-Faye’s face.
“But not a good look really,” she added.
Gore in the Garden Page 1
