Death in the Park (Firefly Junction Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by London Lovett

  My foot crunched some loose gravel, letting them know they weren’t alone. The guilt in each expression assured me I’d just caught Greer at something that had nothing to do with the duties of class president.

  I leaned over and grabbed the sticker and held it up with a triumphant smile. “Caught it. It tried to get away from me.” I laughed again, but they didn’t join in.

  I tried to stick the pass back on, but its time as a sticker was long gone. It was covered with grime and grit. I held it in my fist and headed out of the school to the parking lot. I walked to my jeep. It was hard to know for certain, but my gut told me that the class president had something to do with the missing yearbooks. Was it possible that he was selling early copies for his profit? And if he was, did his black market business have anything to do with Alder’s death? Or was the secret yearbook sale another story altogether? One thing was certain, Carter Greer had at least casual access to Larson’s Pawn Shop. He was dating Belinda Larson. But where on earth did all the threads connect? And more importantly, did they connect or was I just chasing a bunch of loose ends?

  I was still deep in thought as I pulled out of the driveway of the school. A sharp honk from the car passing by the exit, snapped me out of my trance. The angry driver sped past in her green compact car that was loaded down with boxes. They were piled up high enough to block the back window. But I could see clearly into the driver’s side. It was Ms. Mills, the kitchen manager.

  I pulled out onto the road and quickly made the decision to follow her. Victor Hanson had mentioned that Mills and Alder had a big fight over something. Victor thought it might have something to do with Ms. Mills filling her car with what seemed to be stolen food from the cafeteria. If nothing else, I might get to the bottom of the mystery of what the kitchen manager was doing with all the food. It sure seemed there were more than a few side businesses going on among the students and staff.

  Ms. Mills traveled along Bear Road. I stayed back a good distance, trying to be inconspicuous in my olive green jeep. Instead of turning right onto the Colonial Bridge, Mills forked left toward the Birch Highlands, a small town that was at a higher elevation than Firefly Junction. Her sedan zipped up the hill toward the town. She was in a hurry. School was still in session, yet the kitchen manager was out cruising the hillside with a car full of canned goods. Was it possible that Alder had discovered her side business, and he threatened to tell Principal Morely? Was that what they’d argued about? Had Ms. Mills then made some fabricated or even real complaint about Alder Stevens to stop him? But why kill him? Unless that was the only sure way to stop him?

  I’d gotten so caught up with my mental list of questions, I nearly missed the quick right turn Ms. Mills had taken. I suddenly found myself on a short, dead end street, which made me quite obviously out of place. So much for my skills at secretly tailing people.

  Ms. Mills seemed undeterred by the jeep rumbling up the street behind her. Her car tires chirped as she pulled into a driveway. The loaded backseat made the rear fender scrape the asphalt. She pulled up to what looked like a warehouse. The massive metal door on the warehouse rolled up, and two people, a man and woman, walked out. They smiled and greeted Ms. Mills warmly. Were these her connections? And since when did canned peaches and green beans become a hot commodity on the black market?

  I watched with keen interest, certain I’d caught the Smithville High kitchen manager in a sinister plot to siphon off canned goods from the school kitchen and make herself some extra cash, until another person came out to help. It was a young woman with braids. She was wearing a t-shirt that read Highland Food Bank. I’d followed Ms. Mills right into her nefarious side business of feeding the needy. And on top of the deflating and embarrassing end to my secret mission, I’d been discovered. It wasn’t too difficult since it was a street with no other cars or businesses.

  Ms. Mills had been watching me over the top of her sedan as the food bank workers unloaded the boxes of canned goods. I decided it was too late to just turn and leave, so I climbed out of the jeep and headed across the street.

  Ms. Mills recognized me as I got closer. Her expression soured as she walked around the car to meet me. “It’s you. Don’t try and tell me you’re still looking for empty boxes because I’m not buying it. I didn’t buy it the first time either. I just didn’t have time to waste figuring out why you were digging in the trash.”

  “You were right all along.” I quickly sized her up as someone who liked to be right and to be told she was right.

  Her sour face unscrewed some. “You were following me. I thought I saw that jeep tagging behind me. What do you want? That’s right. You’re a reporter. Well, I’ve got nothing to add about the summer work program.”

  “Actually, I’m writing a story about Alder Stevens.”

  That revelation didn’t seem to shock or anger her as much as I expected.

  “Alder? What kind of story? He was a good man, so don’t believe any of those rumors.”

  “Rumors?” I asked. Unfortunately, that made her seal her lips shut.

  “I don’t have time to talk to you. I’m just waiting for them to unload my car and then I have to get back to the school.”

  I looked into the back of the warehouse. Boxes of food were piled high on tables. “So the school donates cans to the food bank?”

  “Yes, when food gets closer to the expiration date, we bring it here so it can be handed out to those in need.”

  “That sounds like a good plan.”

  “The school board president, Mr. Greer, set it up for us. He’s a distributor for Bounty Foods.”

  “I see. His son Carter, he’s the student body president, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “All done, Candace,” the man said as he shut the back door to her car. He tapped the top of the sedan. “Until next time.”

  “Yes, I have some canned corn that I won’t be needing.” Ms. Mills turned back to me. “I just hope your story helps flush out Alder’s killer. He shouldn’t have been forced out like he that. I think he knew something that someone wanted to keep secret.” The way she said it seemed as if she was well aware of the secret too.

  My journalist’s intuition told me that Ms. Mills was willing to talk, but I knew she was in a hurry and I didn’t want to waste time. I had to get straight to the point. “Forgive me for being forward, but I’ve heard that you and Alder had a fight shortly before he was forced to retire.”

  Her expression turned to a glower, and I was sure I’d just blown my chance. But it turned out the glower was for someone else. “That was that nosy Victor Hanson, wasn’t it? Ugh, that kid is not only clumsy, he’s a snoop. Yes, Alder and I had an argument.” She moved closer, even though I was sure the food bank volunteers weren’t interested in our conversation, especially since they’d gone back into the warehouse. “Alder walked in on Principal Morely and one of the teachers … well … they were being affectionate. Alder was very distraught about it. He came to me for advice on what to do. When I told him he needed to let the superintendant know, he told me he couldn’t. He thought it was none of his business. We argued about it. In the end, he decided to keep it to himself. Since he told me it in confidence, I didn’t feel I had any choice except to keep his secret.”

  “Until you told a journalist for a local paper.”

  She nodded and looked straight at me. “Like I said, I hope your story helps uncover the killer.” The ominous tone she used, assured me that she considered the principal a suspect. Then her expression changed again to one of fear. “But please don’t use my name in your story. I can’t afford to lose my job.”

  “I understand. No problem. Thank you, Ms. Mills, you’ve been very helpful.”

  Chapter 32

  I was starved after my adventurous morning. Lana had told me about a great diner in Smithville that served a delicious cobb salad, layered high with garden fresh tomatoes, chopped hard boiled eggs and curls of bacon. According to my phone, it was just a block east of the high scho
ol. I decided to head back toward Smithville for some lunch and cobb salad.

  As I headed down the street past the high school and on my way to the diner, I drove past a park. It was one of those shady little corner parks that offered picnic tables and a swing set and slide. The picnic benches were half hidden by a row of white rose bushes planted along the sidewalk. As I glanced past the big, snow white blooms, I glimpsed a flash of red. It was red hair and more specifically the red haired boy I saw sneaking out from behind the girls’ locker room.

  I pulled over and decided it was time to take pictures of the beautiful white roses. The boy had been warning his friend not to tell Greer that he knew about the peep hole. It seemed there was a lot of secret, suspicious stuff going on at Smithville High, and it all seemed to point back to one key figure, Carter Greer, the student body president.

  I climbed out of the jeep and walked around the roses bushes looking for just the right angle, or at least the one that would let me see what the kids were up to. The boy with red hair was sitting on the picnic bench talking to a girl, while another couple were sitting on the swings, dangling their feet and looking at books. Yearbooks to be exact.

  None of them paid attention to the lady taking pictures of the roses. I waited for my moment to move in on my target, and it happened when the girl on the picnic bench got up to join her friends on the swings. The boy was looking at his phone when I walked up.

  “If the yearbooks are delayed, then how come so many students have them?” My question nearly made him drop his phone.

  He nervously brushed aside his long bangs. “What? Who are you?”

  I decided to try a little power of the press intimidation. I pulled out my press pass. “I’m Miss Taylor with the Junction Times. I’ve been at your high school interviewing people about the summer work program.”

  A laugh shot from his mouth. “Hey, guys, she’s interviewing people about the summer work program.”

  “Boo,” the other’s shouted back. “We hate that program.”

  I waved back to them. “Thanks, I’ll add that to the story.” I turned back to the boy. “So while I was at the school, I saw many flyers that said the yearbooks had been delayed, some sort of problem with the printer shorting the order. And yet, everywhere I look, kids are reading their yearbooks.”

  He pushed his phone into his pocket and pulled out his car keys. “Not sure what you mean, but we’ve got to get back to campus.”

  “Of course, I don’t want you to be tardy. Although I don’t know if that tardy will be a problem once I let Principal Morely know about the peep hole you’ve been using to spy on the girls’ locker room.”

  His mouth dropped open, but no words came out.

  “I saw you coming out of that maintenance room today.”

  He peeked over at his friends, it seemed not for moral support but to make sure they were out of earshot.

  “Why don’t you tell me about the yearbooks.” I felt guilty as heck about my game of blackmail, but I had nothing else in my arsenal. It had been quite a few years since I was a teen, but if there was one golden rule in the teenage world—it was never rat out a friend. Unless, of course, it meant saving your own hide in the process. And from the look on his face, he was definitely worried about his own hide.

  “I didn’t drill the hole, and I’m not the one selling the yearbooks.” He looked close to throwing up, but it seemed now that he’d started, he was ready to talk.

  I took a chance. I had sort of pieced together the yearbook story but just needed my witness to confirm it. “I know Carter Greer hid boxes of the yearbooks in the maintenance room to sell on his own.”

  He relaxed some, deciding that since I already knew that took him off the hook. He was no longer the snitch. “The school was charging a hundred bucks for those books. Carter sold them for fifty, but you had to pay cash. And he only let certain people know about it. Some of the kids are narks.”

  I held back a smile, thinking how quickly he’d blabbed out the whole scheme. “I guess Carter drilled that hole too?”

  The boy laughed nervously. “He heard the girls laughing and talking through the walls. It was just for fun.”

  “Uh huh, well just so you know, Coach Irwin already knows about the hole.”

  Some of the freckles on his nose lightened in color as his face turned pale. “Did you tell her it was me?”

  I shook my head. “No but that doesn’t mean she won’t investigate the matter. I’m not sure you’re off the hook yet. And it’s not fun. It’s wrong. Do you have a sister?”

  He seemed confused by my question. “Yeah but she goes to the junior high.”

  “In a few years she’ll be at the high school. Tell me, what would you do if you found out some boys in her class were spying on her in the locker room?”

  The color loss spread farther, and his mouth drew tight as my point came across. “I’d clobber them.”

  “Right.”

  His friends had left the swings and were heading back toward him.

  “You’d better go. You don’t want to be tardy.” I walked back to the jeep and climbed inside.

  A black market for the school yearbook. Run by the class president, no less. And that class president was the son of the school board president, a prestigious and important position in any town. One thing was certain, that full football scholarship would be quickly withdrawn if the university found out just what their newest football star was up to. And losing the scholarship would be the least of his problems. I would think if the yearbook scheme was discovered, it would mean possible expulsion, and just weeks from graduation. I wasn’t a parent, at least not to humans, but I wondered just how desperate a parent might get to stop someone from ruining their child’s future.

  Chapter 33

  I was starved and the cobb salad lived up to its reputation, but I mostly picked at it. I had been far too busy drawing a graphic on my napkin that connected everything I’d learned so far. Carter Greer was clearly doing something that would get him expelled or arrested or, at the very least, suspended. No college would accept him after that no matter how stellar he was on the football field. From that startling revelation, I had to connect dots to the Alder Stevens murder. It turned out that was easier than expected, but to do that I had to think back to my visit to the pawn shop, the Larson Pawn Shop. The unusual murder weapon had been removed from a locking cabinet and the even more rare bullets had been taken from a storage cabinet in the back of the store. The only people with keys to the cabinet, and, I assumed, the back of the store were Dick Larson and his daughter, Belinda. And Belinda just happened to be Carter Greer’s girlfriend.

  Back to Alder Stevens. As head custodian, Alder was one of the few people on campus who had access to the hidden maintenance room or, even more likely, knew it existed. Carter might have decided it was a safe place to hide the yearbooks because it was a storage room that was rarely used. But what if Alder had discovered Carter’s secret stash of yearbooks and threatened to tell the principal? Carter needed a way to get rid of Alder Stevens. I would bet any amount of money that the student who called his office to let him know that a pipe had burst in the girls’ locker room was Belinda. It was a fairly elaborate plan but then a seventeen-year-old who organized and ran a black market yearbook sale right under the principal’s nose was nothing, if not clever. But was it under Principal Morely’s nose or right in front of it? After all, any principal might look the other way on matters that involved the school board president’s son. Either way, a burst pipe would mean Alder had rushed over, believing he was answering an emergency call. But instead of walking into an evacuated locker room, he walked straight into a room full of girls changing. In addition, Principal Morely might have been happy to force him out if he had his own secrets to hide. I had no doubt that the school board president had his hand in the retirement too. And very possibly his death.

  I paid my check and hurried out to the jeep. I pulled out onto the road and headed back toward Firefly Jun
ction. I was sure I’d get a lecture from Detective Jackson about meddling but I was bursting with information that he needed to hear. Whether he listened or not was his problem.

  Chapter 34

  The police station was at the intersection where Edgewood Drive turned into Butternut Crest. An unmarked police car was just leaving the parking lot in front of the station as I reached the intersection. It was easy to recognize the all-too-recognizable Detective Jackson with his thick head of hair and shoulders that seemed to span half the front seat of the car. He was heading toward Butternut Crest. It dawned on me he might have been going to the pawn shop. It seemed once again I was following someone. Only this time, it was a person who was professionally trained to tail people. I decided to stay back as far as possible. Which was easy because the man drove like he was in a formula one race car.

  I was a good few miles back and several cars had gotten between us, slowing my pursuit even more, but my earlier guess had been right. His taillights disappeared off the road as he headed toward the pawn shop.

  I took a deep breath and pulled the jeep in behind him. He was just finishing a phone call as he got out of his car. He was certainly on the phone a lot. I wondered if it was police duty or personal calls. It seemed he had a fairly well know reputation for being very social. I brushed off my silly mind tangent into his personal life. I couldn’t have cared less what he did in his free time. I was only interested in the murder case, a case that I might just have solved. And from the looks of it, long before Detective Jackson had solved it.

  Jackson hung up his phone and pushed it into his pocket. He looked up as I pulled my jeep up to the store. My mind was racing with all the things I needed to tell him. I worried I wouldn’t be able to get it all out in a comprehensible order before he waved me off again. I glanced down at the napkin with my murder chart but decided he wouldn’t take me too seriously if I walked up to him with a pen scribbled diner napkin.