Juniper Grove Cozy Mystery Box Set 2

by Karin Kaufman

  “After I take a peek at the library.”

  Julia gave me a withering look.

  “I’m missing something obvious, Julia. I have that feeling. I’ll know what it is when I see the library again, but I need to see it.”

  “You do realize Juniper Grove is blessed with a very competent police chief, don’t you?”

  I took a long drink of tea. “I can’t help it. I’m a mystery writer and it’s in my blood.”

  “This is not a novel, Rachel. This is real life. And real death.”

  “I see clues and I need to put them together and solve the puzzle. And Gilroy knows that.”

  Julia started twirling a strand of gray hair around her finger. I recognized the expression on her face. She didn’t want to be left out of the adventure, to have to hear secondhand the exciting things that had happened. “The only puzzle is which of those people murdered Arthur Jago,” she said. “You know one of them did.”

  “I don’t think the Swansons killed Arthur, and neither does Gilroy.”

  “That’s something, I suppose. Of course, the Swansons could be murdered too, just like Arthur. In fact, they could be dead right now.”

  “With the radio people there? They’re not all killers, Julia, and I think Arthur was the only target. Come with us. You know you want to solve the puzzle. I can see it in your face.”

  “If I go with you and something happens, there’ll be no one left alive to tell Chief Gilroy the foolishness we’ve been up to.”

  “If he finds our bodies up there, he’ll figure it out soon enough.”

  Julia waved her hand impatiently. “You know I can’t say no. I hate being left behind.”

  “I promise we’ll all stick together. We’ll drop the pastries off, go to the library, then come straight to my house and listen to the show. Shane promised to rave about Holly’s bakery.”

  “I must be out of my mind. We all are.”

  “You don’t believe in ghosts, do you?”

  “I believe in bad people, Rachel. I’ve seen my fair share.”

  Realizing she was genuinely worried and not simply chiding me in her Julia Foster way, I tried to reassure her that we would be careful. “We’ll keep our eyes open and get out quickly, I promise you. We’ll never be alone with any of them.”

  “Shane looks strong enough to fight off all three of us at once,” she said.

  “Yeah, but he likes you. That’s why he calls you Miss Julia.”

  “Stop,” she said, biting back a grin. Two seconds later, her face fell. “Arthur never saw it coming, did he? You and Holly said he had a shocked expression on his face when he died. Someone took advantage of his trust.”

  “I know that, but the only advantage-taking tonight will be Holly taking advantage of an opportunity she desperately needs.” I scooted to the edge of my seat and drank a last sip of tea.

  “Could Holly and Peter lose the bakery?” Julia asked.

  With my attention focused on two murder cases, the possibility that the Kavanaghs might lose Holly’s Sweets hadn’t entered my mind. “If they don’t quickly make back the money they have to spend on a new oven, it’s possible. They’re using their credit card, and the interest on that has to be outrageous. But we’re not going to let that happen. People will be driving to Holly’s Sweets from all over northern Colorado after they listen to Shane tonight.”

  TWO HOURS LATER, with the sun setting behind the foothills, the three of us drove to the Grandview with thirty-two assorted pastries in pink boxes. Probably more than the Swansons and radio crew could eat in one night—even Conyer—but Holly wanted to err on the side of too many. Peter stayed behind to close the bakery, but he wasn’t happy about Holly heading to Murder Hotel again. He’d said something about putting his foot down and taking the pastries himself, but Holly told him she could get more on-air accolades out of Shane herself. He knew her, not Peter.

  This time we parked right in front of the hotel’s main door. Connie Swanson greeted us there and walked with us to the kitchen, where Ian was making sandwiches for the evening.

  “Are those pastries just for the crew?” he asked.

  “They’re for everyone,” Holly said. “Though I want to save at least two of each for the radio guys. I’m hoping to get their endorsement.”

  Connie brought out napkins and platters and set them next to the boxes. “I was wondering, Holly. Would your bakery be interested in catering special events? Like Easter, the Fourth of July, weddings, conferences?”

  I explained to Holly that Arthur’s brother Raymond now owned the hotel, and that the Grandview would remain a hotel for at least a year.

  “Ian and I are good cooks,” Connie said, “but when it comes to baking—”

  “We stink,” Ian finished. “Connie and I were talking about it this afternoon. An Easter buffet, things like that. It would be a tall order.”

  “And we’d have to talk Raymond Jago into it,” Connie said, “but we thought if we could show him that this could be a destination hotel, he might keep us on past one year.”

  Holly didn’t hesitate. “I’d love to. I do savory baked goods too. Spinach and ham croissants, that kind of thing. But I could bring both—whatever you want.”

  “Fabulous!” Connie said. “You know, I think if Arthur had lived, he would have changed this place. He never said so explicitly, but I think he was growing bored with the whole Purdy ghost thing.”

  You weren’t bored with it, I wanted to say. I was thinking of adding my two contrary cents, but I clamped my mouth shut, not wanting to spoil Holly’s possible business relationship with the Swansons. It still irked me that they had driven everyone crazy with their late-night noise-making. “Where are Shane and his crew?” I asked.

  “In room 108,” she replied.

  Julia heaved a sigh.

  “Would you mind if we took a quick look at the library?” I asked, tossing my head in that direction.

  Connie and Ian exchanged sidelong glances. “If you really want to,” Connie said. “The police said we could use it again. I shut the door, but it’s not locked.”

  “Now we have two ghosts in this hotel,” Ian said as he put away the mustard and mayo.

  “Stop it, Ian,” Connie said.

  “One of these days we’re going to get a normal job,” he groused.

  “In the meantime, we still have to sleep here, so no more ghost talk.”

  “Are there other guests tonight?” I asked. “If I remember right, Arthur said the hotel was closed to guests last night only, for the show.”

  “We had six cancellations this morning,” Connie said. She chewed on the inside of her lower lip. “Three couples, two families with small children, and a single. No one has canceled yet for tomorrow, but we’ll see.”

  “Give it time,” Holly said. “It’s been less than twenty-four hours since Arthur died. People will start coming back.”

  “That’s what I keep telling myself,” Connie said. “I guess we should be grateful that Raymond won’t toss us out in two weeks, and I don’t think he knows anything about us digging up the fireplace. Chief Gilroy decided to let us off the hook.”

  Holly, Julia, and I made our way through the lobby to the library. For some silly reason, I knocked on the door before opening it. Then I flicked on the light switch and stepped inside.

  “What are you looking for?” Holly asked.

  “I wish I knew. I’ve never felt so strongly about something with such little evidence to back up my feelings.” I walked around to the armchair in which Arthur’s body had been found and then walked back to the door. “I wonder if the crime-scene evidence has come back yet.” I bent forward and examined the oriental rug. “Do either of you see blood anywhere?”

  “Oh my,” Julia said, taking a tentative step into the library. “If only murders didn’t have blood. I wouldn’t mind half so much.”

  Holly cast her eyes over the carpet. “There are stains on it, but it’s almost impossible to tell what they are.”


  I took a closer look at the chair and found what appeared to be drops of blood where the back met the seat. Exactly where you’d expect it if Arthur, his heartbeat slowed to a crawl, had taken his dying breaths in the chair.

  I went back and stood in the open doorway. If Arthur had been stabbed on the library threshold, why walk to the armchair? I moved to the shelves opposite the armchair and again tried to imagine what had happened. “This library is small and stuffed with furniture,” I said. “If someone came up behind me in this small space, I’d feel awkward. I don’t even know how they’d do it without the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. I wonder if he was standing in the doorway when he was attacked.”

  Three short strides and I was back at the door. “It’s too small,” I said, shaking my head. I inspected the door for a smudge of blood, like I’d seen above the doorknob on room 108. Nothing. Then I checked the doorframe near the knob. Again, nothing. But on the doorframe on the opposite side of the door, I noticed a strange indentation about an inch and a half wide.

  “What is it?” Holly said.

  “This is such an old hotel,” I said, my frustration and impatience growing. “I don’t know what I’m looking at or when it was put there. No wonder the Purdy murder was never solved.”

  My mind flitted from Arthur to Purdy and back again. From the Purdy murder room to the library. From wood-handled knife to wood-handled knife. From drops of blood in an armchair to a smudge of blood above a doorknob. “Come with me,” I said.

  I raced down the hall for room 108, Holly and Julia on my heels.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Well, how about that,” Shane said. “I had no idea you ladies were here.”

  “I brought more pastries,” Holly said, giving me a private nudge with her elbow. “They’re in the kitchen.” She wanted to remind me what she had come for, to tell me to tread lightly with my sleuthing. I understood.

  “Seeing as how last night was so difficult,” I said, “Holly thought you could use some pick-me-ups.”

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Shane said. “Not that I mind. But I was going to talk about your bakery anyway. Now that you’re here, you’re all welcome to stay and listen.”

  “Thank you, but I have to get back,” Holly said. “We have to get back.”

  “I’ll go get the pastries,” Conyer said, already racing out the door. I was betting he’d devour at least one cinnamon-honey roll before he made it back to the room.

  “I just needed to, sort of . . . ,” I said vaguely, pointing at the room’s door.

  “Rachel Stowe,” Shane said with a sly grin, “you’re still investigating the Purdy murder.”

  “It’s an intriguing case,” I said as evasively as possible.

  “You should stay for the show and talk about it,” Maria said, pushing past Dustin into the room.

  “No, we have to leave,” Julia said.

  “Where have you been?” Dustin asked Maria.

  Maria glared at him. “Do I have no privacy? I’m the only woman here.”

  “That’s a fantastic idea,” Shane said. “Stay, Rachel. We can bounce ideas off each other on the air.”

  Dustin looked bewildered. “I’ll never understand the fascination. Whoever killed Purdy is probably dead now. It’s not like you can see justice done.”

  “His kids are probably still alive,” Holly said. “They’d want to know what happened.”

  “I’ll tell you the fascination,” Shane said. “It’s trying to solve an unsolvable crime.”

  “What if someone has solved it?” I said.

  Shane and his crew froze.

  “I didn’t say I solved it,” I quickly added.

  Shane laughed and slapped his leg. “Oh, yes you did. You just did. You can’t drop that bombshell and take off. Now you have to stay. You sit yourself down and talk to my audience.” He pointed his long forefinger at me. “I knew the moment you heard the facts of the case you saw something others didn’t.”

  “So did you, Shane,” I said. “Only in all these years, you’ve never let on.”

  From the corner of my eye I saw Holly and Julia, utterly confused, glance from me to Shane.

  “Telling wouldn’t be in my own best interest, would it?” he said. “Or the station’s.”

  “But things have changed. Arthur was murdered.”

  “Yes, his death changes things. Though I’m still not positive of my conclusion. Are you?”

  “What is going on?” Holly said.

  “I’m not positive,” I said. “Yet. But we’re not the only two who think they know what happened, are we?”

  “Seriously, you guys,” Holly said. “This is royally frustrating. What are you talking about?”

  Conversation stopped when Conyer and Connie entered the room with two platters full of pastries. Behind them, Ian carried a tray bearing a pot of coffee and four cups. Ian positioned the tray on the bureau, and Conyer and Connie set the platters on the bed, Conyer quickly snagging a cinnamon-honey roll for himself.

  “Connie, can I borrow a knife from your kitchen?” I asked.

  Understandably, she was horrified.

  “What on earth for?” Ian said.

  “I want to test a theory.”

  Shane stood. “Just you and me, Rachel.”

  “Holly and Julia come too,” I said.

  “Agreed.”

  “Goodness,” Julia said. “This is suspenseful.”

  “You guys stay here,” Shane said to his crew as he exited the room. Holly, Julia, and I trailed behind him, heading for the kitchen.

  “Are knives a good idea?” Connie called out. “Considering?”

  I glanced over my shoulder. Ian. Connie, and the others had stayed behind in room 108, which was just as well. I didn’t want to tip my hand on what I knew—or thought I knew—and neither did Shane, by the looks of it.

  In the kitchen I found a wood-handled paring knife and decided it would do. “What do you know about Purdy’s life?” I asked Shane.

  “Just what I read in the newspaper articles I collected. Maria told me she gave you the folder on the case. I’m afraid that’s the extent of my knowledge. I’ve never met anyone who knew him personally.”

  “Do you know the cutting edge of the knife that killed him was facing upward?”

  Shane’s eyes narrowed. He looked behind him, found another knife, and held it cutting edge up.

  Julia took several steps back.

  “I have no intention of hurting anyone, Miss Julia,” Shane said. “I just want to see . . .” He looked at the blade in his hand. “Who holds a knife like this? Cutting vegetables or stabbing someone—your natural inclination is to hold it like this.” He turned the cutting edge down.

  “That’s the problem.” I said. “There was no natural inclination here. It was well thought out, and not at all what it appeared to be. It’s very simple, really. Let’s go to a room on the second floor, away from prying eyes.”

  My friends were a little reluctant, but they followed us up the room-service stairs to the first room on the second floor. When we got to the room, I opened the door and the four of us stepped inside.

  “A witness heard a groan, and then a moment later, a door shut,” I said. “It must have been Purdy’s door he heard.”

  “I never read that,” Shane said.

  “It was in the official police report.”

  “How did you find—”

  “A friend,” I said.

  “You’ve had an unfair advantage.”

  “I suppose I have. So tell me, what killer would have knocked on the door—knowing other guests could look out their peephole—and then stabbed Purdy? The groan the witness heard was Purdy being stabbed, I’m sure of it. And the sound of the door closing was Purdy shutting his own door.”

  Shane grinned. “Like minds,” he said.

  “Everyone gets this but me,” Holly said.

  “Not just you,” Julia said. “Will you two please spill it?”

&n
bsp; “Purdy was about to lose everything,” I said. “Twenty-six years of marriage and a good job about to go down the drain. So instead of joining his wife and kids in Craig, trying to resuscitate his marriage, he spends a night at an isolated hotel. That’s the first oddity. He gets into his pajamas but doesn’t get into bed, and a stranger comes to the door and kills him without a struggle. Does any of that make sense?” I shut the door most of the way. Next I turned the cutting edge of my knife upward, stuck the handle between the frame and the hinge side of the door, and closed the door as much as the handle would allow. Then I let go of the knife and stepped back.

  “And there it is,” Shane said. He reached out to jiggle the blade, but it barely budged. “Firm enough to do the job, but not stuck in there. It would pop out when he walked forward.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Holly said.

  “Purdy bought a knife, or stole it from a restaurant, and brought it with him to the hotel,” I said. “That night, he got into his pajamas, jammed it in his own door, and backed into it.”

  “You’re joking,” Julia exclaimed. “He wasn’t murdered?”

  Shane rubbed his chin in wonder. “I have puzzled over this for years. I came to the same conclusion, but no one else ever talked about the possibility that Purdy killed himself. I thought I must be wrong.”

  “Purdy couldn’t help but groan when he backed into the knife,” I went on. “He backed up hard. He had to in order for his plan to work. That’s what the witness heard. And with the knife in his back, he walked forward and then reached back and shut the door all the way. The witness heard that too. I think Purdy reflexively touched his back, getting blood on his fingers, and when he shut the door, he left a smudge of blood above the doorknob.”

  “I didn’t know about a smudge either,” Shane said. “Was it in the official report?”

  “The police never mentioned it or tested it. I saw it in one of the photos in the album the Swansons put in the library.”

  “So after Purdy did this, he went to lie down on his bed,” Holly said. “That’s why there didn’t appear to be a struggle. There wasn’t one. But why was he wearing pajamas?”