Murder on a Silver Sea (Myrtle Grove Garden Club Mystery Book 3)

by Loulou Harrington

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Other Myrtle Grove Garden Club Mysteries

  Excerpt

  Dedication & Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Dear Reader

  Recipes from the Gilded Lily Tea Room

  Excerpt from A Misty Morning Murder

  Excerpt from Deadly Purr-Suasion

  MURDER ON A SILVER SEA

  A Myrtle Grove Garden Club Mystery

  Loulou Harrington

  Murder on a Silver Sea

  Copyright © 2016 by Loulou Harrington

  Cover art by: Mark Combs of DzinDNA.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this work may be reproduced in any form or manner, except as allowed under “fair use,” without the express written permission of the author.

  Other Myrtle Grove Garden Club Mysteries

  Murder, Mayhem and Bliss

  Murder Most Thorny

  A Misty Morning Murder

  Also, the Anthology: Happy Homicides 5: The Purr-fect Crime

  Featuring the short fiction: Deadly Purr-suasion: A Little Bit of Magic Mystery

  by Loulou Harrington

  Excerpt:

  “I don’t know how they can tell dementia from a stroke,” Winnie said, sounding worried. “At least as far as Dad’s comprehension goes. And I’m so tired I can’t think straight. LaDonna’s taken over Roy Lee’s funeral arrangements. God bless that woman. Roy Lee made a good choice there.”

  “Is there anything we can do?” Jesse asked, relieved to finally hear from her friend.

  “Yes, but not about Dad.” Winnie stopped to draw in a deep breath and let it out loudly. Then she did it again.

  Able to recognize stalling when she heard it, Jesse urged, “Just say it, Winnie. Whatever it is, it’s okay. You’ve got enough to deal with already. Whatever you need, I’ll do it.”

  After one last, deep sigh, Winnie said, “Bethany called a little while ago. Things have been a madhouse there this morning. Amanda…oh gosh…Amanda fell down the staircase last night.”

  Jesse gasped and felt her stomach clench. “How far did she fall? Is she hurt? How bad is it?”

  “It’s pretty bad,” Winnie acknowledged. Her words were breathless, and her voice sounded shaky. And evasive.

  “Oh, my God.” Jesse knew that voice. It was Winnie’s I-don’t-want-to-say-it-out-loud voice. The one she saved for things that were too hard to look at head on.

  “Oh. My. God,” Jesse repeated in a whisper. Her legs felt as shaky as Winnie’s voice sounded, and she wished to goodness there was a chair she could plop down in. But there wasn’t, and someone was going to have to say the words Winnie couldn’t bring herself to say.

  Jesse dipped her head and spoke softly into the phone. “Amanda is dead. Isn’t she?”

  Winnie whimpered. Then, with a sniffle, she confirmed Jesse’s guess. “Yes. Bethany’s terrified. She…uh, she begged me to send someone up there to help her if I couldn’t come myself.”

  “Oh, dear.” Jesse felt the rope tightening.

  Surely it was an accident. But why had Amanda gone there in the first place? With no warning, and no preparation, and no explanation—why had she gone running off to such an isolated island, only to die her first night there?

  This book is dedicated to my wonderful, adventuring sailor of a husband, who introduced me to the Salish Sea and the wondrous islands of the Pacific Northwest. I once dreamed of sailing the oceans and seeing the world. Thanks to you, sweetheart, I now anchor in its harbors and walk the streets of its cities. I love you and the worlds we explore together. You make me more than I would be without you.

  Acknowledgements: None of this would be possible in its present form without the feedback and support of my fellow writers and friends who make up my critique groups. You share your expertise in areas that are far beyond writing. You keep me honest, and you laugh when you’re supposed to—what more could I ask for?

  A special thanks to Emrys Moreau for technical support that has made so much possible. Also to my wonderful beta reader and proofer who saved me when I had so much happening all at once. And to Mark Combs, who gave me a new vision for my covers and made it all come together.

  Don’t miss the recipes at the back of the book!

  To sign up for my mailing list and get even more recipes, special offers and gifts, plus all the latest news, go to my website: http://loulouharrington.com (your information will always be confidential.)

  Chapter One

  Jesse Camden leaned back in her seat and soaked up the peace of Vivian Windsor’s side garden—a place of old stone, wrought iron furniture, ancient trees and deep green fescue. Birds chirped, chattered and sang in the nearby shrubs. The day was cool, and life was just emerging from its winter sleep into an early April morning.

  “Dahlias!” Vivian’s voice rang with triumph.

  Jesse’s eyes flew open and the garden diagram she was doodling on slipped out of her hands. “What?”

  Dahlias were great flowers, but Oklahoma wasn’t the greatest climate for them. Something Vivian would know since she had drifts of them throughout her own gardens.

  Wondering if she had missed something while she daydreamed, Jesse retrieved her notepad from the pavers at her feet and asked, “For the Square?”

  “What do you think? I think they’d be lovely. And familiar.” Vivian tilted her head in the direction of SueAnn and gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes that only Jesse could see. “Like something that you might have seen in your grandmother’s garden.”

  “Ooh, that sounds wonderful!” SueAnn Bailey joined the conversation with her usual enthusiasm.

  And immediately Jesse saw Vivian’s point. SueAnn wasn’t a gardener. She was a college student and a waitress at Jesse’s tearoom, and this was her first planning session since joining the Myrtle Grove Garden Club.

  Over the winter they had put in a small bed of pansies and kale on the front corner of the old Town Square that was shared by the Myrtle Grove City Hall and the Waite County Courthouse and Sheriff’s Department. Now the garden club was updating the public flower bed for the spring, and most of the town would be just like SueAnn. They would enjoy something bright, cheerful, and filled with the kind of flowers they remembered from their gran
dmother’s front yard.

  “Okay,” Jesse conceded, “but I want some herbs. And purple. I want purple.”

  “Not a problem.” With a flick of her wrist, Vivian waved away any worries. “I have some big, purple dahlias I lifted last fall and stored in my garage.”

  SueAnn clapped her hands together. “This is such fun!”

  “Do you think Bliss will be back to help?” Jesse asked, knowing Vivian’s great niece wouldn’t miss a golden gardening opportunity if she could avoid it.

  Vivian shook her head. “She’s still off investigating charities for her new foundation. I think she’s leaning toward a wounded veterans program.”

  “Wow,” Jesse said, impressed. “Is she getting close to starting it?”

  “Yes,” SueAnn answered, garnering the surprised attention of the other two.

  “Really?” Jesse asked. “You’ve talked to her about it?”

  SueAnn grinned. “Of course. I’m taking psychology courses in addition to my new criminology classes, and I did a paper last semester on delayed stress. Bliss read it and asked for my input on research and planning.”

  Jesse studied the red-haired kid who had become a friend during her years at the tearoom Jesse co-owned with her mother and their barista, Lindsey Hatch. With a start, Jesse realized that SueAnn wasn’t a kid anymore. She had gone from caterpillar to butterfly while no one was looking.

  “I’m so proud of Bliss. I do miss having her under foot, though,” Vivian added wistfully. “I was just getting used to having her around again.”

  “Oh, nobody who looks like Bliss is going to stay single for long,” Sue Ann said. “One way or another she’ll be moving back out on her own eventually.”

  “Did you have a birthday recently that I missed?” Jesse asked the nineteen-year-old. “You’re sounding pretty grown up for your years.”

  SueAnn flashed a freckled, ear-to-ear smile. “That’s the benefit of hanging out with you…um…mature ladies all the time,” she teased.

  Vivian huffed, arched one brow in warning and cupped a graceful, bejeweled hand to a still slender hip. “I beg your pardon?”

  The girl dissolved into laughter. “Sorry. Just kidding, but I couldn’t resist. I love it when you go all Lauren Bacall on me.”

  Vivian’s arched brow rose higher. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Jesse watched the exchange, marveling at the easy give and take between the two who were separated by fifty years in age, if not spirit. Vivian was timeless grace and beauty, a woman of class and sophistication with a strength tempered by experience.

  And perky, endlessly cheerful SueAnn had arrived on Jesse’s doorstep at sixteen looking for a weekend job, bringing with her a youthful buoyancy that enlivened everything she touched. Now a sophomore in college, SueAnn worked mornings, took afternoon classes, and had grown into a lovely and wise young woman almost overnight.

  At the sound of the garden gate opening, Jesse looked up and saw her mother enter. Close behind her was Winnie Rogers, a friend of Jesse’s since the first grade.

  “So, what have we missed?” Sophia Camden called as she closed the gate behind them.

  “Dahlias,” Vivian and SueAnn answered in unison.

  “What?” Sophia responded with the same mildly perplexed look that Jesse was certain she had worn when Vivian made her pronouncement.

  “With rosemary and African blue basil,” Jesse added.

  “But, dahlias?” Sophia took a seat on the bench next to Jesse. “Where…”

  “Vivian has volunteered to rob her own stock,” Jesse explained before her mother could complete her question.”

  “Ah-h-h. Okay, that should work.”

  Winnie remained standing at the edge of the shaded terrace where the others were gathered. As happy as Jesse was to see her old friend out and about, she couldn’t help wondering why exactly Winnie was here when she already had so much else to deal with.

  “So, how are things with you?” Jesse asked, aiming for casual nonchalance.

  “I’m taking a break from funeral planning. LaDonna’s picking out an outfit for Roy Lee to be buried in, so that’s one less thing for me to have to do.”

  Roy Lee being Winnie’s ex-husband, and LaDonna Stroud being his girlfriend of the last year, Jesse was deeply impressed that the two women had chosen to work together on his funeral rather than squabble over territorial rights.

  “And how’s that going?” Jesse asked.

  Winnie’s expression relaxed into a cockeyed grin. “Not too bad. She’s really kind of nice. And she’s been a lot of help. Go figure.”

  “Maybe you’ll end up best buds when this is over.”

  “Stranger things have happened,” Winnie said with a shrug.

  “Well, I thought she was very nice when we talked to her,” Sophia offered. “That whole thing was so much less awkward than I was afraid it was going to be.”

  “So are you here to help with the garden planning?” Vivian broke in, getting them back to the purpose for their gathering. “I thought you were going to be too busy with everything else going on. Oh, and how’s your dad doing?” she added.

  “He woke up pretty much out of it this morning, so it looks like he’s back in the hospital for another thirty days of observation. They’re not sure if his dementia’s worse or if it’s something new. And you’re right…”

  The sound of a car door closing interrupted Winnie’s train of thought. “Oh, gosh.” She swung around toward the sound and then turned back. “Okay, here’s the deal…I hope I’m not out of line, but…” Winnie looked toward the garden gate again, then back, her voice becoming lower and more hurried. “I have a friend, and I’d like you to meet her. She has a problem, and she needs someone to talk to. And I thought of you guys, because you seem to be good at this stuff.”

  “Oh, good heavens,” Vivian exclaimed, not bothering to whisper. “Who’s dead now?!”

  “No one’s dead,” Winnie protested, looking horrified at the thought. After another quick glance over her shoulder, her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “She just needs to talk to somebody.”

  “Well, it’s very nice of you to think of us,” Sophia began, only slightly hesitant.

  “Wait!” Jesse held up both hands and turned her gaze to the garden gate. Footsteps were audible on the old, brick path on the other side. “Are you saying that she’s here? Now?!”

  “Ooh.” Winnie’s expression became a wince. “I should have asked first, shouldn’t I?”

  “Of course not, dear,” Vivian said in the same robust pitch. “If she’s a friend of yours, she’s welcome. And if there’s anything we can do to help her, we will be happy to. We don’t require that anyone be dead. That just seems to be the way things have been going lately.”

  Jesse couldn’t fault that line of reasoning. What with two recent murders in a fairly short period of time, one more death by foul play wouldn’t really be that much of a surprise. And solving the surrounding mysteries had become something of a garden club specialty.

  “So, what is it that you hoped we could help with, Winnie?” Jesse asked gently, conscious of the stress her solidly grounded and very practical friend had to be dealing with at the moment.

  Winnie drew in a deep breath and let it out again in a long sigh. “Well…” She began and then stopped, turning toward the garden gate as it opened.

  A tall, sturdy-looking woman of medium build stepped through and halted just inside. She wore a demure navy-and-white pants suit. A matching headband kept her chin-length brown hair away from her pleasant, but concerned, face.

  Tucked close to her right ankle was a small, cinnamon-and-white spaniel who stood quietly waiting for a signal to move. Rusty red patches covered its drooping ears and encircled each dark, soulful eye while a white blaze ran from the top its head to its nose. Its big brown eyes and sweet face reflected none of the nervousness in its owner’s stance as the little dog lifted its head and slowly wagged its long, feathery tail in a gr
eeting.

  “Bethany, hi!” Spurred to action, Winnie hurried toward her obviously uncomfortable friend. “Everyone, this is Bethany O’Connor. Bethany, this is Jesse Camden, my best friend from practically birth, her mother, Sophia Camden, and Vivian Windsor. I’m sure you’ve heard of her.”

  Bethany’s grimace and head bob indicated that she had and wished it was someone else’s home she was intruding upon. This brought Vivian to her feet and across the terrace to where the woman still waited just inside the open gate.

  “And the red-haired imp remaining is SueAnn Bailey, a child wise beyond her years,” Vivian said, finishing the introductions.

  She reached out to take the hand that fluttered defensively in front of the new arrival. “Bethany, dear, it’s so good of you to join us. Welcome, and please take a seat anywhere you’re comfortable. Would you like some tea? Or coffee? We have pastries. And what a lovely little dog you have with you.”

  As she chatted, Vivian led the other woman across the terrace to an empty chair. Placing a teacup and saucer in her hand, Vivian lifted the coffee carafe and asked, “Cream or sugar? It’s a bold blend, so be forewarned.”

  “Cream?” Bethany asked hopefully.

  Vivian added a dollop from the pitcher, then put a Danish on a dessert plate, which she guided into Bethany’s free hand. The dog settled with a thump and a tail wag onto the patio at her master’s feet. Looking up at Vivian with what seemed for the world like a smile, the petite spaniel gave one last swipe of its tail and lay its chin across its outstretched paws.

  “What a darling animal,” Vivian said as she relaxed once again into her own chair. “What breed is she? Is it girl? She certainly looks like a girl.”