by Dale Mayer
Bones in the Begonias
Lovely Lethal Gardens, Book 2
Dale Mayer
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
About This Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
About Corpse in the Carnations
Author’s Note
About the Author
Copyright Page
About This Book
A new cozy mystery series from USA Today best-selling author Dale Mayer. Follow gardener and amateur sleuth Doreen Montgomery—and her amusing and mostly lovable cat, dog, and parrot—as they catch murderers and solve crimes in lovely Kelowna, British Columbia.
Riches to rags. … Chaos continues. … Murders abound. … Honestly?
Doreen Montgomery’s new life in Kelowna was supposed to be a fresh start after a nasty split from her husband of fourteen years, plus a chance to get her bearings and her life back on track. Instead her first week in her new hometown was spent digging up dead bodies, chasing clues, and getting in Corporal Mack Moreau’s way.
But now that the old cold case has been solved, and the murderer brought to justice, Doreen believes things might go her way this week. When Mack hires her to whip his mother’s garden into shape, it seems like a second chance, both for Doreen’s new beginning in Kelowna and for her budding relationship with Mack.
But, instead of digging up Mrs. Moreau’s struggling begonias and planting them in a better location, Doreen discovers another set of bones … and another mystery to solve. As the clues pile up, Mack makes it abundantly clear that he doesn’t want or need her help, but Doreen can’t resist the lure of another whodunit. As she and Mack butt heads and chase red herrings, Doreen’s grandmother, Nan, sets odds and places bets on who solves the crime first.
All while a murderer is watching …
Sign up to be notified of all Dale’s releases here!
Chapter 1
In the Mission, Kelowna, BC
Thursday, Not Quite One Week Later …
Doreen Montgomery stood in the open doorway to her kitchen. Her kitchen. There was just something about settling into this house finally, with the chaos under control and something like normality entering her life … Well, as long as “normality” could include her three very unique and personable pets. It was weird, but the phrase, settling into this house, to her, meant having a cup of coffee or tea whenever she wanted it, going to bed when she was ready, and sitting in the garden because she wanted to. And, boy, did she want all that. Even better, somedays she could take a step out her front door without being accosted by somebody wanting more details on the recently solved murders.
Somehow she’d become a celebrity in the small town of Kelowna. But she really didn’t want that role. At least it took the townsfolk’s focus off her status as a penniless thirty-five-year-old almost divorcée, living in her grandmother’s home.
Yet Doreen was determined to handle her new life, sans chefs and gardeners and maids and chauffeurs. Doreen could handle most of that herself, except for one thing. Doreen couldn’t cook. Which was why she had to face down this most terrifying thing of all things in her kitchen. She strode forward to fill Nan’s teakettle and placed it on the stove—the appliance she had a hate-hate relationship with. She turned the dial to light the gas, but, of course, there was no blue flame. However, immediately she could smell gas wafting toward her nose.
She snapped off the dial and glared. “You’re not a stove. You’re a diabolical demon. I don’t understand how you work, what makes you work, and why the hell anybody would want something like you in the house,” she announced to anyone nearby. The only ones listening were Mugs, her pedigreed basset hound—content to lay on the floor out of the way—and Thaddeus, Nan’s huge beautiful blue-gray parrot with long red tail feathers, currently walking on the kitchen table, hoping for food scraps. “I’ve already fed you this morning, Thaddeus.” Doreen shook her head. She should have never let him eat there. Now she’d never be able to keep him off her breakfast table.
Goliath took that moment of calm to appear, racing around the kitchen, through Doreen’s legs, and out again into the living room area.
“Goliath!” Doreen yelled, righting herself. “Stop doing that, or you’ll end up hurting me and you too.” Goliath was the gigantic golden Maine coon cat—the size of a bobcat—that came with the house. Goliath, being Goliath, was disruptive, picking any inopportune moment he could possibly find, yet sleeping the rest of the time. Initially Doreen had considered Goliath’s races through the house were in pursuit of a mouse—heaven forbid—but Doreen had never seen one or any evidence of one inside. She decided this was Goliath’s “normal” behavior.
Sighing, Doreen glared again at her stove. Is it too much to ask for hot water for my tea? Other people managed to produce incredible meals by using one of these things.
And then there was Doreen.
Her stove was a black gas-powered devil. Yet she was determined to not let it get the better of her. Again she reached forward to turn on the gas and then froze. She couldn’t do it. What if something was wrong with the gas line? What if something really was broken? At least that gave her an excuse to stop her half-assed attempts at cooking. She grinned at that thought.
Feeling like it was a cop-out but grateful nonetheless, she picked up the electric teakettle she’d found in the back of Nan’s pantry when Doreen had first arrived, filled it with water, and plugged it in. Then she pushed the button on its side and waited for the water to heat up. That’s the best way to make tea anyway. She comforted herself with that thought as her gaze returned to the stove. “Damn thing.”
Right behind her popped up a voice. “Damn thing. Damn thing.”
Talking parrots should require an owner’s manual—and circumspect owners. She turned and shook her finger at Thaddeus. “Don’t you repeat that.”
“Damn thing. Damn thing. Damn thing.”
She stared at the African Grey parrot with her hands on her hips, worried that now Thaddeus would swear at the most awkward moments. Like with every other terrible thing he’d learned to say since she’d arrived.
Another first. Doreen was free to swear now. Free to say anything she wanted. Throwing off the shackles of her marriage had also freed her tongue. Maybe not such a good thing. She did have an image to uphold. She wasn’t exactly sure what that image was yet, but it was here somewhere, and she was supposed to uphold it. Nan’s image had been tarnished for a little bit with the recent murder cases. But Doreen had cleared Nan’s name, and that was what counted.
Such a sense of peace flowed through Doreen now, as if she’d somehow successfully passed a major test, probably one of many as she made this major life transition.
Mugs waddled over and rubbed against her thigh, giving a bark.
“I haven’t forgotten you, you silly boy.” Doreen bent to give him a quick ear rub. When he barked again, now sitting at her feet, giving her that woeful look, she reminded him, “I’ve already fed you too.”
As the teakettle bubbled beside her, she opened the kitchen’s back door and stepped onto the long flowing veranda along the rear of the house. The dark slash beside the second set of veranda steps at the far end, where one of the bodies had been dug out, was still a raw insult to the garden that should have been here. And, of course, the rest of the garden was even worse. She wanted to wander and plan and design how and what she could do with this space, but, since she had no money, it was hard to imagine any workable options at this time. At least she had no pressure to do all of it now.
That brought back memories—when she had been only a decoration on a rich man’s arm—how she’d directed gardeners to do what she wanted, regardless of the cost. As she stared at her massive backyard space, nonstop ideas filtered in. She smiled with delight, then walked back inside, grabbed her pad of paper and a pencil, and was about to step outside again when she realized the teakettle was still on.
That had never bothered her before, but now she couldn’t leave the house while any appliance was running. The thought of having this house—her home—burn to the ground was too unnerving. She’d only recently settled into having something of her own and couldn’t bear to lose it.
Making tea for herself over the past couple days had been an eye-opening experience. She used to get fancy lattes with beautiful patterns on the top without realizing they came from a five-thousand-dollar machine and a skilled barista. What she could do with five thousand dollars right now. … She cringed every time she thought about the seemingly insignificant cost of one of those fancy lattes that she’d consumed on a daily basis when married. A humble cup of home-brewed tea was a simple pleasure now, those fancy coffees an indulgence. Something she could no longer afford.
She waited until the teakettle fully boiled, then dropped a tea bag into a large chipped mug Nan had left behind and poured the boiling water atop it. Checking the fridge, she was relieved to find a little bit of milk left inside an open carton.
She opened the top, took a whiff, and grinned. It was still sweet. She poured a splash into her tea, put the carton back into the fridge, picked up her cup, and said to Mugs, “Are you ready to go outside?”
Mugs barked joyfully at the trigger word.
The door was already open, but she propped it to stay that way with one of the chairs off the veranda. Mugs ran forward, his great big saggy facial jowls wobbling and shaking with every step. Thaddeus flew overhead—although how the bird could fly, Doreen didn’t know. When she had first arrived, he didn’t fly much. Now he did a half-soaring and half–free fall to the ground. But he did it very elegantly. Or at least it would be elegant if the words pouring out of his mouth weren’t “Damn thing. Damn thing.”
Why did he have to repeat himself? She had heard him the first time … unfortunately.
Goliath raced past again, his tail in the air.
Apparently this was a family outing.
She chuckled. It was a beautiful day, and everything felt … right.
She wandered the far back area of the property, her entourage in tow. The paperwork still had to be processed to legally transfer the house, compliments of her grandmother, into Doreen’s name. Nan had chosen to move into a nearby seniors’ home and had left her house to Doreen. She’d been absolutely stunned and heartened by Nan’s generosity at a time when Doreen had been desperately in need of a place to call home and a pillow to lay her head on at night.
Thaddeus flew down and landed on her shoulder. Doreen stroked the beautiful bird’s head. “Good bird.” But Thaddeus didn’t repeat that. Figures.
Now she wandered the backyard, taking delight in the garden, knowing it was hers forever. Even though overwhelmed with weeds, the garden held so much potential. Seeing several small trees in the mix, Doreen walked closer and gasped. “Fruit trees,” she cried out in joy. Bending down to avoid the unruly branches, she studied the leaves and identified an Italian plum, maybe an apricot too, and one she wasn’t sure of—possibly a cherry tree.
Fruit trees were a delightful addition to her garden. This place could shine with a little effort—everything outside came alive in her mind as she contemplated the improvements she could make.
Doreen heard muffled grunts and stopped to see what Mugs was digging up. Thankfully it was just dirt this time.
Gardening was Doreen’s one and only talent. But designing a garden that somebody else would implement was a whole different story than making it happen by her own elbow grease. She didn’t know the last time she’d held a shovel in her hand. She wasn’t at all sure how much physical strength would be required to clean up this backyard. Plus she’d signed on to do some gardening for Mack’s mother, hopefully for some much-needed money. Just the reminder of the local detective who’d helped her navigate the nightmare of finding several bodies in her garden last week made her chuckle.
He was a very interesting man …
And likely thought she was nuts. Then it had been a crazy week, her first week living in one of the oldest neighborhoods in Kelowna Mission, so she could hardly blame him.
Mack had helped her through this trying time. He had been a godsend when the bodies had showed up at her place. Not that the dead bodies were her fault by any means, but somehow she happened to trip over them. Or maybe she should blame Goliath. Or Mugs. They had both helped … or hindered. Then there was Thaddeus …
She frowned as she watched her brood, especially the dog sniffing deep into the brush. “Mugs, don’t you dare find any more bodies,” she warned. “We’ve had more than enough corpses in our world.”
Mugs gave a heavy woof and continued to waddle forward, the grass splitting wide to let his girth through. She grinned. He had been with her for five years already. She had inherited both Goliath and Thaddeus from Nan, as part and parcel with her house. Goliath had an attitude. He came and went on his own and still demanded that she look after him when he did show up. Kind of like her soon-to-be ex-husband. Only Goliath had had his tomcat ways fixed, and her almost ex-husband had not.
She chuckled at that. “That’s what we should have done. We should have had him fixed. Then he wouldn’t have brought home another arm ornament and booted me out.”
Regardless, she was better off without him. Now all she had to do was figure out how to make money. At least enough to keep the electricity on in the house and food in the fridge. It was proving to be a bigger challenge than she’d realized.
But that wasn’t today’s problem. She walked over to the dilapidated fence, built out of several different materials, each of them finding their own unique way of partially crumbling to the ground. It might keep out some people, but it sure as hell wouldn’t keep out anybody who didn’t want to stay out.
She wished she could afford brand-new fencing all the way around the property because that would be the place to start. Structural work first, then do the prettier stuff. In this case, she wasn’t sure how to do the structural stuff, especially on a shoestring budget.
She walked to the rickety, now-broken gate—Mugs behind her, Thaddeus still on her shoulder, Goliath off somewhere—unlooped the wire from the post, and pulled it open. She stepped outside to the path and the pretty creek that ran behind her property. She didn’t want the fence along here at all. Most of it was past saving anyway.
About 140 feet of the creek’s footage area was a beautiful sight to see from her backyard, much more so than a dilapidated fence. She looked closer at the creek, not sure to call it a creek or a river. Right now it was more of a babbling brook. But she imagined, later this spring, it could get a little bit uglier. Still, the creek’s bank had a decent slope, so flooding shouldn’t be much of a problem. She spotted a place where she could set up a little flagstone patio to sit and to enjoy the water.
Thaddeus flew from her shoulder to land near the water, strutting around, looking hopefully for fish and bugs.
No defined pathway was on this side of the creek, and everybody else’s property was fenced off from the creek too. She tho
ught that was such a shame. The creek offered a beautiful, peaceful view.
She walked back to her rearmost fence, put her pad of paper and teacup down on a rock, then grasped a fence post and shook it to see how strong it was. Instantly the fence made a low groaning sound and bent over sideways. She jumped back, crying out, “Oh, no.”
But whatever she’d done had been too much for the old wood. Several of the fence panels toppled to the side, creating a bigger mess than she’d intended. Mugs came closer, but she shooed him away. “No, Mugs. Stay back. You could hurt yourself on a nail.”
As she retreated into her backyard, coaxing Mugs with her, and stared toward the babbling brook, she laughed. “It might not be the way I had planned to do this, Mugs, but the end result is beautiful. It really opened up the view.” She took Mugs’s silence to be acquiescence.
Some really nice overhanging willows were on the far side of the brook, and her property had other trees dotted along the remains of her back fence. She had a small bridge just at the other end of the property that she could access. In fact, it was a beautiful scene.
Enthused by what she’d accidentally started, she returned to the remainder of her fence and gave it a shake. And, sure enough, three-quarters of the rest of the creekside fence fell to the ground, almost grateful to give up the effort to stand any longer.
With a big smile, she walked to the last piece of this section, all wire fencing with iron rods deep into the ground. She pushed and pulled on the first iron rod, hoping it would be loose too. The first one was, but the second one wasn’t. She managed to lift up one and watched as most of the wire fencing fell into a big snarly mess around the next pole still standing. What she really needed was a handyman to finish pulling out the fence and to haul it off, but she didn’t have one. That brought back unwanted memories of last week’s events. The only handyman she had known of in town had been murdered.
With a shake of her head, she returned to the problem at hand. She wasn’t sure how much yard debris she could transport in her small Honda. A truck would be helpful to make a trip to the dump. She wondered what it would take to get somebody big and strong to come give her a hand.
