Fireside Homicide Cozy Mystery Bundle

by Willow Monroe

  “I didn’t know you were back,” I said, feeling more than a little breathless as I opened the door wider to let him in.

  “Been back about six months,” he explained, following me inside. “Decided that this old boy had been out of the mountains long enough.”

  Tucker had joined the Army right out of high school and after that we pretty much lost touch with each other. I’d heard that he was military police and then became a Texas Ranger when he mustered out. I was a little embarrassed that I hadn’t kept better track of my childhood friend.

  “You didn’t have to get all dressed up for me,” Tucker teased.

  A nervous giggle escaped my lips and I crossed my arms over the glittery pink star on my chest. “I didn’t know you were you,” I stammered.

  “What?”

  “I mean, I knew someone was going to be here but I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

  “What?”

  Behind me on the sofa, Poppy was laughing. Tucker was laughing. And soon I was laughing as well. He’d seen me wearing much worse than orange fuzzy sweat pants and a pink t-shirt.

  “Poppy,” Tucker said as Poppy threw herself into his arms. He lifted her off the ground easily. “I hear you and Tom are about to tie the knot.”

  “Yes, we are so excited,” Poppy gasped. “You’ll come to the wedding won’t you?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it but only if Miss Starla promises to come with me,” he said, turning up that boyish charm a notch.

  “We’ll see,” I said, plopping down on the sofa, hugging a purple pillow close.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he grinned again and perched on the edge of the chair across from me.

  I watched him fumble around for a note pad and a pencil and wondered when he’d gotten so...so...well, so manly. He was well over six feet tall with broad shoulders and even through his heavy jacket and that uniform I could tell he had muscles on top of muscles.

  “Looks like you’ve made a success of the diner,” he said. “You two own it now, right?”

  “We’ve worked hard,” I said.

  “I can tell,” he grinned again and then chewed on his lower lip. “I’m really sorry about Mr. Nettle. He was a sweet old guy.”

  “Everyone in town loved him,” Poppy said, shaking her head.

  “Well, not everyone,” Tucker pointed out.

  “So it wasn’t an accident?” I asked, saying out loud what we already knew.

  “It sure doesn’t look that way,” Tucker said. “We’re pretty sure we know where the shot came from because we found the shooter’s tracks and the place where he knelt in the snow. From the distance and size of the wound, I would say it looks like it was a small caliber rifle like someone would use for coyotes or woodchucks. Like a 22 magnum. I think a 223 would have made more noise, but no one heard the shot. It also would have made a bigger exit wound.”

  Tucker had pretty much lost me back at the word ‘caliber’ and my face probably showed it.

  Tucker shook his head. “Sorry. Got a little carried away. Anyway, there wouldn't have been anything that needed shooting or anything else to shoot at in that direction other than Mr. Nettle. A head shot at rifle distance. It would take too many coincidences for me to call it an accident.”

  Poppy looked worried again.

  “I’ll know more after the autopsy,” Tucker said quietly.

  “Why would someone want to hurt Mr. Nettle?” I asked.

  He shrugged those wide shoulders. “That’s what I have to find out.”

  “So you’re heading up the investigation,” Poppy said.

  He nodded. “Afraid so. My boss feels like a home town boy would have a better chance of getting people to open up.”

  “Makes sense,” I said.

  Tucker Ashe, investigating a murder. It just didn’t seem right, but then murder in our little town didn’t seem right either.

  “Okay, one at a time, tell me what happened this morning.”

  “Shouldn’t you separate us or something?” Poppy asked.

  “You’re not suspects. You are witnesses,” he explained patiently. “Poppy you go first.”

  I sat there quietly, biting my lip, while Poppy described our trip to the bank and then our decision to walk in the park despite the fact that it was cold and windy and snowing.

  “I’m determined to fit into that wedding dress,” Poppy told him.

  Tucker chuckled and nodded. “Go on.”

  Poppy told him about our walk and running into the man who was walking the wrong way on the path. I reminded her that he’d stepped over into our footprints and we’d walked through his after we’d passed each other.

  “And you didn’t recognize him?” Tucker asked, sounding a bit skeptical.

  “Sort of but not really. He was covered head to toe with heavy clothes and dark glasses and wearing one of those long cowboy coats with the flap on the back...,” Poppy said.

  “A duster?” Tucker said, tapping the pencil on his little tablet. She nodded.

  “It looked like it was made of wool. And he was wearing a ski mask as well,” I added. I’d forgotten all about the dark glasses.

  “Was he carrying a gun?” he asked.

  Well, you would think that would be something you’d notice but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what he was doing with his hands. Poppy and I looked at each other. If he was carrying a gun, I hadn’t noticed.

  Both of us shook our heads.

  He rubbed his square chin thoughtfully. “We’ve searched the area looking for shell casings but we came up with nothing. We’ll search again.”

  “So, we followed the trail he’d made in the snow until it veered off the path and into the woods,” Poppy explained.

  “Starla, I’ll bet you were the one who wanted to find out where it led,” Tucker said, flashing that teasing smile at me.

  “Of course. She’s as nosy as she always was,” Poppy told him.

  Then she explained how we’d gone through the trees until we came to where his footprints ended at a tree just outside of the clearing.

  “You know, the one where kids used to go to make out,” Poppy giggled.

  “I know the place,” he said, quickly looking down at the note pad in his hand.

  “And that’s where we found Mr. Nettle,” I finished. “It looked like he was trying to make a snow angel.”

  “He was probably shot from right there,” he mused and then asked. “There was no one else around?”

  “Not until I spotted those boys playing in the woods,” I said. “That was after the police got there.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I heard about that. Talking to them next.”

  “Who would do such a thing?” Poppy asked, looking from one of us to the other.

  “More importantly, why? And why was Mr. Nettle out there in the park in the middle of a snow storm?” Tucker asked.

  “A man of his age should have been home in front of the fire,” Poppy agreed.

  “When did you see him last?” Tucker asked. “I mean before the park today.”

  “He was in the diner this morning,” I told him. “That in itself was unusual, especially in this weather. He gets tired easily and some days he just leaves the mail wherever he happens to be and we have to go pick it up.”

  Too late, I remembered to speak of Mr. Nettle in past tense.

  Tucker shook his head and chuckled. “How I miss living in a small town.”

  Poppy and I both agreed. Not that we’d lived anywhere else or wanted to, but we knew Sugar Hill was a tiny town where things were pretty unlikely to change no matter what happened.

  “Did you notice him acting any different this morning?” Tucker asked. “Who did he talk to?”

  Again, I had to think back on the morning. “The breakfast rush was almost over. We talked about his son, Adam.”

  “He’s a lawyer in Atlanta, right?”

  We both nodded.

  “I’ll have to give him a call later. He might have some insi
ght,” Tucker mused, making a note.

  “I doubt it. He hardly ever comes to see his dad. I understand he’s remarried and started a new family.”

  “Helen Taylor,” Poppy said, snapping her fingers.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” I said, remembering. “He offered to help her to her car and then she said she was going for a walk downtown, he offered to walk with her just in case she needed some help.”

  “And then she decided to go on home after all,” Poppy put in.

  “Maybe a little bit sweet on a younger chick?” Tucker mused, standing up and reaching for the hat he’d placed on the end of the coffee table.

  “Helen Taylor is still married to Robert, the insurance guy,” I reminded him.

  “You never know. Maybe she’s stepping out...”

  “Tucker, shut up,” I said, laughing.

  “She’s probably twenty years younger, maybe early sixties... Maybe she likes older men.”

  “Shut up.” I punched him playfully in the shoulder, all of us laughing by that time.

  “It’s been good seeing you ladies, but now I have to go to work,” he said, pulling me into a warm hug.

  I hugged him back. Closing my eyes, I inhaled his clean scent and suddenly I was fifteen years old again, safe in Tucker’s arms.

  “I’ll come by in the morning for one of those pumpkin spice cupcakes I’ve heard about,” Tucker said, as he turned to leave.

  “You won’t be sorry,” Poppy told him. “Melt in your mouth yumminess.”

  “Are you driving back to Harrisonburg tonight?” I asked, glancing out the window. I was sure another six inches of snow had been dumped on the area, just since this morning.

  “Nah, staying here in town until I get this solved.”

  “With your mom?” I asked and felt a little twinge of guilt. Tucker’s mom had been like a second mother to me growing up and I had been pretty lax about visiting her. In fact, I probably hadn’t seen her in a year.

  “I’m staying at the Rebel’s Roost, out on the highway. Mom, has, well, company.”

  “Company?”

  “As in a boyfriend. I didn’t want to cramp her style,” he explained. Then he laughed, winked at us and jogged down the steps.

  I watched him until he opened the back door and disappeared into the snow storm and then I closed the door quietly. “Speaking of yumminess,” I said to Poppy.

  “Wow, did he grow up or what?” she asked.

  “I know. Can you believe it?”

  Pushing my feet into slippers, I went downstairs to see what was happening at the diner, which was absolutely nothing. I told Barbara Ellen to go home. She’d already sent everyone else home. I changed the sign on the door to CLOSED even though it was really just late afternoon. The streetlights were already coming on. More snow was forecast for the area and with dark, gloomy skies overhead, I found that easy to believe.

  “Can I crash here tonight?” Poppy asked when I came back upstairs.

  “Of course,” I told her, wondering why she would even ask.

  “Tom says the roads are treacherous but he was willing to come and get me. I told him to stay put and that I’d stay here with you,” Poppy explained.

  In the end, we made homemade pizza, watched a movie, and talked about growing up in Sugar Hill with Tucker and the other kids from our neighborhood. Most of them were scattered all over the country. While the storm raged outside the windows, the wind sounding so fierce, we made a game out of trying to find them. We even went as far as looking on Facebook but we barely found half of them.

  “That’s kind of sad,” I said, finally giving up.

  “And we wouldn’t have found Tucker if he wasn’t here investigating Mr. Nettle’s murder,” Poppy reminded me.

  “You’re right.” I didn’t bother Googling his name. “I wonder if there’s a Mrs. Ashe?” I asked as we settled down for the night.

  “I didn’t see a ring but that doesn’t mean anything,” Poppy answered, sounding drowsy.

  I didn’t answer, already drifting off to sleep feeling safe knowing that Tucker was keeping an eye on us.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning Poppy and I opened the diner early, even though there were no customers. We sipped coffee and shared cupcakes and talked to Gladys, who braved the snow to come to work even though I told her to stay home.

  Finally, the regulars began trickling in. Tom Brown, of course, had to check on Poppy, even though they’d already talked to each other several times that morning. As if I would let something happen to my best friend. Mayor Gillespie held the door for Eva and Anna Lord, then Tiffany, and then took his usual seat at the end of the counter. He looked tired.

  Poppy was already giving Tom’s order to Gladys.

  I poured the Mayor’s coffee and then headed for the booth where the sisters and Tiffany sat. They rarely ate anything and drank only herbal tea. Sometimes I think they came in just to torment me.

  I really needed to let this go.

  But it’s hard to let it go, especially with Tiffany beaming up at me when I took her order. “Are you entering the baking contest this year for the Winter Festival?”

  “I am,” I assured her.

  “So are we,” she said, reaching across the table to squeeze Anna and Eva’s hands. The two sisters were as pale as ghosts and I wondered if they’d ever eaten bacon. “Sort of a group entry.”

  “Great. Well, good luck,” I said and started to turn away.

  “You’re the one who is going to need luck,” Tiffany said.

  Yeah, that was definitely a challenge.

  “Oh, yeah?” I countered, one hand on my hip, a sure sign of irritation.

  “Yes, we’re taking decorating lessons from Sylvia Shatner in Harrisonburg,” Anna said, looking pretty proud of herself.

  Sylvia of Sylvia’s Sweets was known all over the area for her outlandish cake decorating skills. She made a cake for someone’s July wedding that actually had firecrackers exploding out of an elaborate motorized device that was attached to the cake.

  “You’re going to need those lessons,” I said, sounding much more confident than I felt as I looked at each of them in turn.

  There, I’d thrown down the gauntlet, practically challenged them to a cupcake duel.

  Turning on my heel, feeling pretty proud of myself, I smacked right into what felt like a brick wall.

  “Mornin’, Sunshine,” Tucker said. He steadied me with both hands on my shoulders and grinned.

  “Good morning,” I said, truly happy to see him. “You’re out early.”

  “Got a murder to solve,” he said, sliding easily onto a stool at the counter.

  He nodded at Mayor Gillespie, a few stools away. The Mayor nodded back.

  “You’re going to need a big breakfast. Keep your energy up,” I said, handing him a menu.

  “And coffee. Lots of coffee,” he added.

  “Coming up.”

  I was surprised at how good it felt to have Tucker around again after all these years. That feeling of security settled over me again.

  “My first order of business is to buy a coffee pot for the police station.”

  “They don’t have one?” I gasped.

  He shook his head. “And if I’m going to be working out of there, we have to have coffee!”

  “Amen to that.”

  Charlie Rush and the VDOT crew showed up right after that, stomping snow off their feet and pulling off hats and gloves once they were inside. There were four of them and it was obvious they had been up all night plowing snow from the roads so people could get to work.

  “Schools closed again today?” I asked as I guided them to a round table where they could all spread out and relax.

  “Yep,” Charlie said. “They’re asking everyone to stay off the roads as much as possible.”

  Poppy was right behind me with a heavy white mug and a menu for each of them and I dashed off to the kitchen to get a coffee pot.

  “I’ll get a fresh pot goin
g,” Gladys told me and I smiled my thanks.

  “It’s the cold that gets to this old man,” Charlie told me when I filled his cup. He wrapped both hands around it and took a deep breath.

  “Don’t let that gray hair fool you,” one of the other men said with a shake of his head. “That old man can drive better than all of us.”

  They all roared with laughter at that.

  “Listen, you guys order whatever you want from the menu. It’s on the house.”

  “Why thank you, Miss Starla,” Charlie said. “We ‘preciate it.”

  “And when you’re done, bring your thermoses in and I’ll fill them up,” I added, knowing they had already plowed the small parking lot beside the diner for me. They’d probably already plowed the lot the police station shared with the historical society and the Mayor’s office, too.

  I left them studying the menu and returned to fill the mayor’s cup.

  “I swear Charlie was old when we were kids,” Tucker commented when I filled his cup. “I don’t think he even recognized me.”

  “I know, he’s like the Energizer Bunny.” I laughed. “And you’ve been gone a long time,” I reminded him.

  “Good morning, Doll-face.” That was Joe Wheeler. He blew me a kiss before settling onto the stool beside Mayor Gillespie. Today, even he was wearing a hat and gloves.

  “Good morning,” I said, placing a mug in front of him.

  “I moved down here to get away from the winters up north,” he said, slapping the Mayor on the shoulder. “It’s sixty degrees in Jersey.

  Mayor Gillespie smiled and fiddled with his tie, something he always does when he’s nervous. I assumed he had a lot on his mind, was worried about the weather and the murder and the upcoming Winter Festival. Oh, he had help with the preparations for that but, in the end, the Community Trust and the Winter Festival was his baby. Lots of things happening in his little town.

  I vaguely wondered whose idea it was to turn the baking contest into a decorating contest. But I wasn’t about to bring that up now.

  Joe seemed to be humming with nervous energy as well. Murder was news and he was, first and foremost, a newspaper man. Unfortunately, what had happened to Mr. Nettle was going to give Joe a chance to shine and maybe even put the Sugar Hill Herald on the map.