Merrily Murdered

by Sonia Parin

  “Yes, you’re right about him never running anywhere,” Faith mused. “And… I think it’s more of a whistling a tune under his breath meander.”

  “So… How is he going to help me?” Abby asked.

  “You can actually help him by being his buffer. Harold Moorhead loves talking about his life. He’s been trying to get Bradford to write a book about him. Bradford is too polite to say no. Oh…” Joyce bounced on her chair, “that reminds me. While you’re at it, can you find out if Bradford’s put me in his book? He refuses to let me read his manuscript and he’s hidden it so well, I can’t find it.”

  Faith grinned. “There you go, you have your assignment, Abby Maguire. Now you won’t have time to think about the heat.”

  Chapter 2

  Joyce smiled up at Bradford. “Sit down and join us.”

  Despite having retired as a foreign correspondent, Bradford Mills still dressed the part. He wore loose Indiana Jones style trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. If he suffered from the heat, he didn’t show it.

  “Sit here?” The edge of his lip lifted slightly. “Certainly not.”

  Bravo, Abby thought.

  “Then you should get going,” Joyce said. “Harold Moorhead doesn’t like to be kept waiting. You know he’s probably been revving himself up all morning waiting for your visit.”

  Bradford drew in a deep breath. “Yes, I suppose so.” He looked at Abby. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Realizing her shoulders had slumped, Abby straightened. “What do you mean?”

  “You look about ready to fall off your perch,” he said.

  “Bradford! How could you be so insensitive,” Joyce chided. “Can’t you see Abby is suffering from heat exhaustion?”

  “That’s what I meant. What is she doing out here?”

  “She’s being a brave little soldier,” Joyce declared.

  “Oh, I see. How’s that working out for you?”

  Abby grabbed her handbag. “I’m ready if you are.”

  Bradford’s trademark blank expression settled on his face.

  “Abby has offered to go along with you,” Joyce explained.

  He checked his watch. “Okay. I suppose we should get going. Come on, I’m parked around the corner.”

  Realizing she was about to be chauffeured around in the comfort of an air-conditioned car, Abby hauled herself off the chair. “I’ll see you guys later.”

  Before they reached the corner, she said, “There’s something I need to ask you and I might as well do it now before I forget or come to my senses.”

  Bradford gave her a slanted eye look that spoke of caution.

  “Have you put Joyce in your book?” she asked.

  He chortled. “No.”

  “No?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Could you be more specific, please? You know she’ll ask for details.”

  “I’ve drawn a character who sounds remarkably like Joyce. Is that specific enough?”

  “Yes, I suppose she’ll have to take what she can get.”

  “And I suppose she put you up to it.”

  “Of course.”

  “I guess that also means she’s been snooping around.”

  Abby shrugged. “That goes without saying.” They walked past Brilliant Baubles. Not surprisingly, Bradford had left the front door to his antique store open. There were no thieves in the small town of Eden. Plenty of murders, but no burglaries.

  When she saw him walk up to a car and hold the passenger door open for her, her heart plummeted. “Is… Is this your car?” Why had she never noticed?

  “It’s a classic Range Rover,” he said, pride in his voice.

  At one time, in the distant past, it would have been a top of the line all weather terrain car. “Does it have air-conditioning?”

  Bradford smiled. “Sure. Four windows down.”

  Abby looked over her shoulder.

  “If you like, I can drop you off at the pub,” Bradford offered. “I promise I won’t tell.”

  “No, that’s fine. I need a story for the paper. Otherwise, I’ll be hot and out of a job.” Before she could change her mind, she settled into the passenger seat.

  “You’re in luck. Harold has a story for just about everything.”

  Laughing, Abby said, “You’re just happy because it lets you off the hook.”

  With a casual shrug, he got them on their way.

  Until her arrival in Eden, Bradford Mills had been the town’s latest addition. He had come to the small town to attend his uncle’s funeral and to deal with the estate which he had inherited. To everyone’s surprise, the foreign correspondent who had spent years reporting from war torn zones, had decided to quit his job and keep the doors open to Brilliant Baubles. Anyone walking into the antique store could find Bradford standing behind the counter, his attention fixed on a book. If anyone required assistance, well… He had a knack for discouraging people from asking questions.

  From what Abby had heard, Bradford had recently turned his attention to writing fiction; something he did in the office tucked behind the front desk. Precisely when he and Joyce had become an item was anyone’s guess. Bradford lived above the antique store and Joyce lived above the café. According to the rumor mills, their rooftops were connected.

  “So, have you and Joyce set a date?”

  Bradford replied with a question of his own. “Has Joyce said anything to you?”

  “No. I guess that means she’ll be the one setting the date and making the announcement.”

  “Yes,” he said. “And, in case she forgets to mention it to me, I will have to remember to pretend I knew about it all along.”

  Abby looked out the window. Instead of lush green rolling hills, the countryside had turned the color of dry wheat. A lonely crow swept across a field, its black feathers shining under the severe sun.

  “What’s the deal with Harold Moorhead?” Abby asked. “Why do you have to collect the lights?”

  “He’s retired and devotes his time to his train set. He checks the lights but says he’s too busy to come into town to install them. That’s the official story.”

  “And the unofficial one?”

  “He’s the local Lothario.”

  “And?”

  Bradford drew in a deep breath. “Let’s just say he’s not the most popular fellow in town. Certainly not with the men. According to some, he doesn’t like having to look over his shoulder. Personally, I think it’s all been made up.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “I’m just not prepared to point the finger at any of the local women. In fact, no one has ever been mentioned by name.”

  “Not even by Joyce?”

  He shook his head. “And she’s always had her finger on the pulse.”

  “Does he happen to have a competitor? Maybe someone eager to spread rumors about him.”

  “Like I said, he’s retired. So it doesn’t matter one way or the other.” Bradford glanced at her, his eyebrows slightly lifted. “By the way, you have a devious mind.”

  “It’s just the sort of rumor a competitor would like to spread around.”

  “Maybe. But, retiring didn’t hurt his business. Harold did well enough for himself. Now that I think about it, he still owns the business but hires another electrician. There’s some sort of story behind it but you’d have to ask Joyce about it.”

  “Is he married?”

  “Twice divorced, no children. Both ex-wives are in the Alpine Trail Carolers group. And that reminds me of the other rumor about his reclusive lifestyle. He’s afraid one of his wives will set fire to the place.”

  After a moment of silence, Abby said, “I think this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had.”

  “I think so. Yes.”

  Why would an introvert like Bradford be so keen on talking? “Is there something else on the agenda?”

  “Since you ask… Harold is quite handy with refrigerators. A word from you and he might agree to dr
ive into town to fix Joyce’s fridge.”

  “Why can’t you ask him?”

  He smiled. “Harold responds better to women.”

  Abby wasn’t convinced. “I’m not functioning at full capacity. If I agree to ask, what else will I be getting myself into?”

  “He’s harmless,” Bradford assured her.

  The farmhouse came into view like an oasis in the middle of the parched landscape; the lush green lawn a harsh contrast against the withered landscape surrounding the property.

  Forgetting her other question, Abby asked, “Where does his water come from?”

  “Harold doesn’t keep any livestock, so the reservoir in the back of the property is used to irrigate his garden. The water comes straight from the mountains and a spring he found on his property. I’ve heard say he’s sitting on a goldmine.”

  Harold Moorhead came out to meet them. He looked to be about fifty years old with a stocky physique and an easy, jovial smile. He wore an old-fashioned train conductor’s hat; a sign he took his hobby seriously. While gray tuffs of hair stuck out from under his hat, his face looked clean shaven.

  “G’day,” he called out.

  Abby hopped out of the Range Rover and dashed toward the front porch.

  “You can drive round to the back shed,” Harold called out to Bradford. “I’ve packed the lights for you.”

  Abby introduced herself but Harold seemed to know all about her.

  He laughed. “You’re that newspaper reporter that’s always getting up to no good. Where’s your dog?”

  “Doyle is the one with the brains. He’s back at the office enjoying the air-conditioner.”

  “If it’s cool air you want, you came to the right place.” He signaled inside. “There’s plenty of it in there.”

  Mesmerized by the offer of relief, Abby followed him inside.

  “Drink?”

  “With ice-cubes?” she asked.

  Harold laughed. “If you like.”

  She followed him into a large country style kitchen. Cool air wrapped around her, teasing her skin. Abby gathered her hair. Lifting it, she sighed with relief.

  He handed her a glass with ice-cubes clinking. Music to her ears, Abby thought. Gulping down half the contents, she smiled. “Thank you.” Only then did she notice the train tracks. “Wow. You have trains in the kitchen.”

  “All over the house. If you follow the tracks, they’ll lead you right around.”

  He’d fixed the tracks at waist level with platforms jutting out of the walls and mountain scenes painted as a background on the walls. “It’s fabulous,” Abby exclaimed.

  “It’s all still a work in progress,” he said, his voice filled with pride. “If you walk through to the dining room, you’ll find a train station. The town itself is in the sitting room.”

  The entire town. Heavens! A miniature version of Eden spread all around the room. “You even have little people. Hey, that’s the newspaper and the pub across the street.” Abby bent down to have a closer look. She could see two little figures inside the newspaper office. “Is that Faith?”

  “And you. Oh, and your dog. I’ll be putting up the Christmas tree and decorations soon. You should see it all at night. I’ve got the whole place wired up. There are street lights and the shops each have their own light.”

  The houses were all an assortment of Victorian buildings built to scale. There were even model cars on the road. “Did you do those?”

  “No, I’m not that good. There’s a bloke up north who builds model houses. I think I’m his favorite client. I have a shipment due in any time soon.” He pointed to a corner. “See that space? That’s going to be a new town extension with houses and a park. I’ve been thinking about developing the land around me and thought it would be fun to build a model version of it.”

  “Is there a demand for housing?”

  “Always. Now…” He rubbed his hands together. “Have you heard about the Christmas of ’09 power outage?”

  Story time, Abby thought.

  Chapter 3

  “The Christmas of ’09 power outage,” Abby said and regaled Bradford with the full story during the drive back to town.

  Bradford gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles showed white. “You’re paying me back for taking so long to load the lights.”

  Abby nodded. “Yes, now don’t interrupt. I have many tedious details to get through.”

  When they reached the town, Abby went straight to Joyce’s Café and told her about the Christmas of ’09 power outage. When Joyce refused to sit down to listen to the story, Abby followed her around the café. “It’s the price you have to pay for getting Harold Moorhead to come in tomorrow morning to look at your refrigerator. I had to listen to the blow by blow account of his heroic attempts to get the power up and running again, and so do you.”

  An hour later, Abby returned to the office and found Faith sitting at her desk working on the layout for that week’s edition.

  “Have you heard about the Christmas of ’09 power outage?” Abby asked.

  “I lived through it,” Faith said distracted.

  “Too bad, you get to hear it again and I’m not leaving anything out.”

  Doyle whined and curled up into a tight ball with one paw over his ear.

  “You can whine all you like, guess what you’ll be hearing for tonight’s bedtime story? And when I’m done with that story, I have several more because, guess what? Harold had several more.”

  “Did you at least get to play with his train set?” Faith asked.

  “How did you know about his trains?”

  “Everyone knows. His first wife divorced him because of the trains. Actually, his second wife gave the same reason. Alienation of affection due to his obsession with trains and model villages.”

  Abby slumped back on her chair. “I guess everyone also knows about the Christmas of ’09 power outage.”

  Faith nodded. “He needs to get some new material.”

  Groaning, Abby brushed her hands across her face. “He expects me to use the story for a column, and he’ll settle for no less than a front-page spread. It’s the only way I could get him to agree to fix Joyce’s refrigerator.”

  “So we’ve gone from a slow news week to a no new news week.”

  “Did I mention the fact he wants to see his story printed in our Christmas special edition? Also, he believes someone needs to include it in the town archives.”

  “That someone being you? Obviously, the story needs to be in print. Of course, that means your name will be forever connected to the Christmas of ’09 power outage.”

  “Great. There goes my career.” Abby sat up. “Is he on our mailing list? He doesn’t come into town, so… If we’re lucky, he might not even know the story hasn’t been printed.”

  Faith tapped a few keys on her computer. “I guess your luck has run out. He gets a copy every week. On the one hand, the town is depending on you, Abby Maguire. We need Joyce’s refrigerator working. No story. No Harold Moorhead. No refrigerator.”

  “What happened to the other electrician? Bradford said Harold has someone working for him.”

  Faith nodded. “He does. Stevie Garth. He’s on his honeymoon.”

  “There must be another electrician around. Maybe in the next town? Or… in the city. It’s only a few hours’ drive.”

  Faith said something under her breath.

  “I didn’t catch that.”

  “We’ve been blacklisted.”

  “We?”

  “The town.”

  Abby gestured with her hands, making a rolling motion. “You’ll have to expand on that.”

  Faith pushed out a breath. “A few years ago, the local hardware store owner called in someone from a nearby town. He came, fixed the wiring in the store and when he walked out to his truck, he found the tires slashed. No one saw anything so the culprit got away with it. Anyhow, it didn’t take long for word to spread and we… We sort of had to learn to deal with things ourselves or c
all the one and only electrician. Harold Moorhead.”

  “I’m not buying it.”

  “That’s just the way it is. Harold Moorhead’s Electrical has the monopoly in this town.”

  “Did anyone think to question him?”

  Faith struck up a pensive pose. “Let’s see. We’ve been blacklisted and the only electrician in town is held under suspicion. No, I don’t see that working out for us.” Turning her attention to her computer screen, Faith added, “By the way, Sebastian Cavendish called to say he would be dropping by before Christmas.”

  “Oh, really?” Abby produced a bright smile. “The boss is coming. What are the chances he hasn’t heard about the Christmas of ’09 power outage?”

  “He’s hardly going to fire you if you print a story no one wants to read. At least… I don’t think he would… Would he?”

  The next day dawned bright and…

  “Sultry, headed for hot. It’s nine in the morning and I have to wear my sunglasses to cross the street.” Abby looked down at Doyle who’d stopped at the curb to look to the right and to the left before crossing, but only after looking up at Abby who gave the go-ahead. By the time they reached the opposite side of the street and trudged to the newspaper office, they were both panting.

  Doyle scratched the door.

  “I’m hurrying.” As soon as she opened the door to the newspaper office, Doyle shot inside and went to sit in front of the air-conditioner, his single woof demanding she hurry up and switch it on. “Hold your horses and let me get the key out of the lock. Yes, yes, I know. In your place, I’d be barking mad. It can’t be easy wearing a furry coat in this heat.” She flip-flopped her way to her desk and picked up the remote. “There, happy now?”

  Doyle wagged his tail and settled down to enjoy the cool breeze.

  Looking around the office, Abby saw the blinking light on the phone. “Right. First order of business. Listen to the messages.” A moment later, she was smiling.

  “It’s Faith. Why is your phone off? I’ve been delayed. I blew a fuse last night. My old fridge has defrosted, now my kitchen is a puddle. Switch your phone on.”