Nosy Neighbor: All 7 complete Nosy Neighbor cozy mysteries PLUS: 2 short Christmas stories (A Nosy Neighbor mystery)

by Cynthia Hickey

  I knew that third voice. It belonged to Jane Weston of Weston Realty. She sure wasn’t wasting any time selling off Mr. Worthington’s pride and joy. First his wife, now Jane. Did no one mourn his passing?. What kind of man had he been? It was becoming quite obvious that the kindly gentleman I once knew was possibly a façade.

  “I think we’re done here,” man number one said. “We plan on gutting the space, anyway.”

  “That will be a pity,” Jane said. “These shops are all part of our historical society. We pride ourselves in keeping Main Street looking much as it had when the town was founded. In order to make major changes, you’ll have to get committee approval.”

  “I’m sure the store owners will be more than compensated.”

  The bell jingled again, signaling they’d left. We unfolded ourselves from behind the work counter.

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Mom said. “It sounds like some strangers are wanting to buy up Main Street. Do you think that’s why Mr. Worthington was killed and dumped in my chocolate? As a way of running me off? Kill him, scare me, and take care of two at once?”

  “Have you been approached about selling?” I faced her.

  “No.”

  “Then there must be another reason.” Killing for property was one of the oldest tactics in the book. But then, how many reasons were there for killing? It seemed most of the time to come down to fame or money. “Let’s go before someone finds us.”

  We filed out the back door and ran smack dab into Officer Jones. He exhaled sharply. “Explain yourselves.”

  “Now, Wayne.” I held up a hand. “Don’t get upset. Mrs. Worthington gave us permission to investigate her husband’s death.”

  “She did?” Mom glanced at me.

  He shook his head. “You know better than to interfere. Hasn’t Steele taught you anything?”

  Well, yeah, Matt and I had gone over plenty of times the reasons why I shouldn’t butt my nose into the police’s business, but I couldn’t help myself. “We promise to stay out of your way and to share any information we find.”

  “I’m not your boyfriend, Stormi. I will arrest you if you interfere.”

  “Then, we’ll stay out of your way.” I ushered the group into their vehicles and whispered for everyone to congregate at my house. I had a baked spaghetti dish I’d heat up while we compared notes.

  “I mean it!” Officer Jones yelled after us as we backed from the alley.

  I tossed him a wave out the window. Maybe he should date my sister. She might loosen him up a bit. No one who hung around our family long enough could resist our charm. He’d be spilling his guts within days.

  Not that Matt told me everything I wanted to know about the crimes around town, but I managed to get enough out of him to stay one step ahead of the killer. This time, Matt was out of town. Who was going to keep me alive?

  4

  “It’s too early for spaghetti,” Mom said when I pulled a casserole dish from the freezer.

  “It’s for lunch. It’ll take a while to thaw.” I rolled my eyes, something I seemed to be doing a lot lately, and opened the kitchen window to allow a breeze to circulate. I grabbed a notepad and pencil and sat at the table. “We now know that Mrs. Worthington didn’t care much for her husband, that he wasn’t a nice guy, at least in her eyes, and that someone wants to buy the businesses on Main Street.” I scribbled the notes on the notepad.

  “Of course she isn’t distraught,” Mom said. “I didn’t want to say anything yesterday, but Jim Worthington was nothing more than a wife beater. A brilliant seller of books, but not a nice man in his personal life.”

  “Do you think she killed him?” I still wanted to know how the man got into Mom’s store, and why.

  “That tiny thing?” Mom shook her head. “It took some force to shove his head far enough into the chocolate that his feet didn’t touch the floor.”

  True. I tapped the pencil eraser against my lips. “We still don’t know how he died.”

  “Yes, we do.” Mary Ann held up her hand. “He died with blunt force trauma to the head and was dead before being put into the vat.” She grinned. “No chocolate in his lungs.”

  “Was he killed in the store?” Greta leaned forward.

  Mary Ann punched buttons on her phone. Seconds later, a ding announced a text. “No.”

  “Who are you texting?” I sipped my frozen mocha drink, that after the visit with Mrs. Worthington, wasn’t so frozen.

  “My source.” Her cheeks darkened.

  “Who is he?” I smiled around my straw. “I seem to recall Matt saying something about a new rookie down at the station. He must be cute for you to turn so red.”

  “He’s all right.” She kept her head down. “Are you going to grill me or find out what happened to Mr. Worthington?”

  “I can do both.” I reached over and tossed my empty cup in the garbage. “I’m going to have to make a trip to the station and meet this new guy.”

  Mom cleared her throat. “I have a confession to make.”

  We quieted.

  “Jim and I did not exactly get along.”

  “Define exactly,” I said.

  She huffed, tearing a napkin into tiny pieces. “We’ve had several arguments about my bakery. He said people came into his store to smell books, not cakes. He approached me several times about expanding and wanted to buy me out.”

  “Did you tell Officer Jones this?”

  “No. I’m afraid if they knew, then they would have even more reason to suspect me.”

  “Mom! You can’t keep information like that from the police. It only makes you look guiltier.”

  She shrugged. “I suppose I can tell them when we go in today to give our statements.”

  “We’re supposed to go in?”

  “Officer Jones told us last night to come in today. You must have been so busy arguing with that news reporter that you didn’t hear him.”

  Criminy. Of course, we’d have to give a statement. “Let’s go. I’m sure he expected us this morning.” I grabbed my purse, flipped the notepad over, and stormed out the front door. If I did eventually get arrested, it would be because of something my mother did, or didn’t do. Not on my own merits.

  I was already buckled into the van by the time the others came out. “I’m heading home for a while,” Mary Ann said through the vehicle window. “I still have labels to type up for your next mailing. Let me know if you find out anything interesting.”

  “Like if we’re going to jail?” I glared at Mom. “We should have gone first thing this morning.”

  “Like you’re one to talk. I remember when Matthew had to hunt you up to get your statement. Besides, the bakery belongs to me. You have nothing to do with this.”

  “I learned my lesson, and my name is on the title!”

  “Good for you.” She turned the key in the ignition and put the van in reverse. “Watch your feet, Mary Ann. We’ll call you when it’s time for lunch.” Mom drove to the station in stony silence.

  I probably shouldn’t have barked at her, but with Matt gone, I tended to go overboard in trying to do the right thing. When he wasn’t away on assignment, I felt as if the other officers gave me a bit of leeway. They would rather send Matt to deal with me, than have to do it themselves.

  We pulled in front of the station as Officer Jones was coming out. He shook his head and turned to go back inside. I glared at Mom. “I bet he was coming to get us.”

  “Stop being such a brat.” She cut the engine. “We’re here now.”

  “I’m sorry.” I stopped her from exiting the van. “I’m scared, Mom. This isn’t the same as tripping over a body in the dark or receiving threatening emails. This is close to home. I don’t want to go to jail while Matt is gone.”

  “We’re not going to jail.” She patted my hand and led the way into the station.

  Angela glanced up from the receptionist desk. “Run,” she hissed.

  “What?” I swallowed against the sudden boulder in my
throat.

  “Wayne was on his way to see you and Mom. You should have been here first thing this morning. He’s steaming.” She grabbed a coffee mug from her desk. “First door on the right. I’ll bring coffee, uh, later.”

  Liar. She was going to hide.

  She lowered her voice. “He called Matt.”

  The blood drained from my head to my feet. I slipped my hand into the pocket of my denim shorts, tempted to push the off button.

  Mom and Greta marched into the conference room, leaving me to shuffle behind them. Officer Jones sat at the end of a rectangular table and stared, unblinking, like an owl.

  “Close the door,” he said.

  I pulled the door closed, envisioning the bars of a cell clanging shut behind me. Taking a deep breath, I leaned my forehead against the small glass window set in the door panel.

  “Stop being so dramatic,” Officer Jones said. “Sit down. It’s your mother that is in trouble.”

  “I guess you found out.” Mom sighed and set her giant purse on the table.

  “Found out what, Mrs. Nelson?”

  Everything in me wanted to tell Mom to be quiet. Couldn’t she tell she was being led into confessing something? I slumped into a chair.

  “That Jim and I had a few altercations.” She leaned on the table. “But that doesn’t mean I killed him.”

  “Do you recognize this?” He set a large plastic bag between them. Inside was a wooden, French-style rolling pin. “We’ll get back to the altercation you mentioned.”

  “That’s mine.” Mom reached for it. “Why do you have it?”

  “This was the murder weapon, Mrs. Nelson.” He placed it back out of sight. “When was the last time you saw it?”

  “Yesterday afternoon.” Mom paled. “I use it all the time.”

  “Did you use it to kill Jim Worthington?”

  “No! We argued over the fact he could smell my baking in his bookstore, but we never got physical.”

  “Maybe you killed him to get him off your back?”

  She shook her head vehemently. “I did that just fine by using my words.” She stared at her hands. “Am I under arrest?”

  “No, but you’re our main suspect. I’m releasing you under Greta’s supervision.” He narrowed his eyes. “As a former police officer, I trust her to keep you in line.”

  I bit back a snort. Of the three of us, I was by far the most responsible, and that wasn’t saying a lot. “We’ll make sure she doesn’t go anywhere.”

  He cocked his head. “Stay out of it, Stormi.”

  Hey, that was Matt’s line. “Mrs. Worthington asked us to investigate her husband’s death. I intend to do just that.” I gave him a thin-lipped smile. “I already promised to share any information we found.”

  “Have you discovered anything?” He crossed his arms.

  “Did you know there are men interested in buying all the shops on Main Street?”

  He laughed. “Old news, Stormi. There is always someone out to buy prime real estate.”

  “But someone is actively trying to do so.”

  “We’re finished here. I’ll be in touch.” He pushed to his feet and stormed from the room, leaving the three of us to stare dumbfounded at each other.

  “Let’s get out of here while I’m still a free woman.” Mom grabbed her purse and pushed past my seat to get out. She didn’t stop until she stood on the top step of the station. Taking deep breaths, she closed her eyes. “Fresh air never smelled sweeter.”

  I rolled my eyes, then froze as Love Me Tender erupted from my pocket. Forcing myself to sound chipper, I pressed the answer button. “Hey, sweetheart.”

  “Uh huh. What’s going on now, Stormi?”

  Okay, straight to the point. “Mom is under suspicion for killing the bookstore owner.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. Like, why are you getting involved?”

  I leaned against the warm brick of the building. “I can’t not get involved. Not now, when Mom’s been accused of murder. Besides, the widow gave me permission. When are you coming home? You can help us.”

  “Soon.” He sighed. “Baby, you know how your hobby scares me.”

  I practically melted every time he called me baby. “I’m being careful. We don’t even have a bonafide suspect yet.”

  “I hate when you talk like that. Look, sweetheart, I’ve got to go. Please, move slow until I get home.”

  “I have to keep my mother out of jail.”

  “Who would have ever thought I’d care for a woman who had reason to say those words? I love you. Gotta go.” Click.

  “I love you, too,” I whispered to a silent phone, before joining Mom and Greta in the van. While we headed home, I texted Mary Ann to let her know we were on our way.

  She met us at the front door. “Mrs. Worthington has disappeared.”

  “What?!” I shoved open the van door. “Get in.”

  She slid into the back.

  “How do you know?”

  “I tried to call her. When she didn’t answer, I called her neighbor. They said they saw her tossing things into the back of her Toyota before she sped away.”

  “Turn right up here, Mom.” If that wasn’t the actions of a guilty person, I didn’t know what was. Petite or not, I was putting my money on the widow as Jim’s killer.

  Sure enough, no Toyota sat in front of the cute little cottage. “The front door is still open,” I said, emerging from the car.

  I climbed the three steps and pushed the door open. The house looked exactly as it had that morning. If Mrs. Worthington was leaving, she wasn’t taking a lot with her.

  “Come out.” Mary Ann grabbed my arm and yanked me back out the door. “She’s back.”

  The four of us oozed guilt as Mrs. Worthington rushed toward us. I fidgeted with my hands in my pockets. The last thing we needed was for her to call the police because we were trespassing.

  “What now?” She brushed past us and into the house. “Y’all sure don’t believe in letting a woman grieve in peace, do you?”

  “Are you grieving?” I raised my eyebrows. “Not that it’s any of my business, but you seem as far from the grieving widow as is possible.”

  “You’re right. It’s none of your business.” She whipped open a closet and started tossing coats into a box. “What I do is not your concern. I’m going to sell that store for a high price and live in comfort for the rest of my life.”

  “What are you packing?”

  She straightened and grinned. “All my dear husband’s belongings. I can’t bear the sight of them. His death is my freedom.”

  5

  Stunned, shocked, horrified, all of the above, our little foursome trooped out to the van and left the widow to her glee. I clicked on my seatbelt and stared out the window at the cottage.

  Mrs. Worthington skipped outside with a full box, placed it in the trunk of her car, and hopped back inside the house. How awful to lose your spouse and be so happy about it. I made a mental note to return the next day and question the neighbors about the relationship between the bookstore owner and his happy little wife.

  Mom drove us home where I popped the thawed spaghetti casserole into the oven. “This mystery is a bit … confusing,” I said. “Usually, we have some kind of clue by the second day. All I can come up with is the widow did it in the kitchen with the rolling pin.”

  “Not funny.” Mom glared. Being a widow who spent a lot of time in the kitchen with baking utensils, she obviously didn’t find my reference funny.

  “Maybe you should stick with killing off Mrs. Rogers,” Mary Ann said.

  A crash sounded outside the kitchen window. I parted the curtains and glanced out. Sadie ran from the window to the rear of the house and back again, a big doggy grin on her face. Under the window, several empty flower pots were scattered across the lawn. Silly dog. Always getting into something.

  “Oh, that plot is definitely on the burner.” I opened the fridge, noted we had plenty of sweet tea made, and then grabbed
the trusty notepad. “What is y’all’s gut reaction to Mrs. Worthington?”

  “If she wasn’t so small,” Mom said, “I would say she did it.”

  “Maybe she had someone else do it.” Mary Ann glanced around the table. “If she was unhappy in her marriage, perhaps she had a boyfriend. Someone who would want to share in her fortune once her husband was gone.”

  “That makes perfect sense.” I stabbed the pencil into the air for emphasis. “Her boyfriend killed him. Very cliché, but who am I to judge? I just can’t shake the idea that she had something to do with Jim’s death.”

  Mary Ann got up and moved to the window. She made a shushing motion with her hand.

  “What?” Mom frowned.

  “Shh. I think someone has been listening. There’s scuff marks in the flower bed.” She sighed. “If so, they’re gone now. Stormi, why can’t you have a dog worth something?”

  “She is worth something. She’s a great big love bug.” I glared.

  “She’s worthless as a guard dog.” Mary Ann resumed her seat. “It was probably just Rusty.”

  I didn’t think he would duck out of sight if discovered, since he didn’t see anything wrong with peeping in windows, but there was always a first time. I pointed everyone’s attention back to the paper. “Okay, let’s assume it isn’t Mrs. Worthington. We also have the unidentified voices we heard in the bookstore.” I jotted a note to make an appointment to talk to Jane Weston. Maybe if I pretended to be interested in buying or selling another property, I could get her to open up about the business on Main Street.

  I made a column on the paper listed “Things to Do”. So far, I had talk to Mrs. Worthington’s neighbors, and make an appointment with Jane Weston. I tapped the eraser against my teeth and stared at three sets of eyes focused on me.

  “What else?” I asked.

  “Find out about a boyfriend,” Mary Ann said.

  “Find out how Jim got in my bakery,” Mom stated.

  Greta clapped her hands once together, the sound loud in the kitchen. “Find out who the men in the bookstore are.”