A Misty Morning Murder (Myrtle Grove Garden Club Mystery Book 4)

by Loulou Harrington

  “At home.” Misty’s expression turned rebellious. “And I’m not going back. He’s going to marry her.”

  “Who?”

  “Cyn-thi-a.” The name came out in a sneer, in three distinct syllables with emphasis on the first. “She’s already calling herself my mother.” Misty snorted in disgust. “As if.”

  “Well, sweetie, it’s not going to matter in another year,” Jesse said reasonably. “Next year you’ll be eighteen and a senior, and then you’ll be heading off to college. Whatever has you so upset isn’t worth jeopardizing your future for.”

  “You don’t understand, Jesse. She’s got him wrapped around her finger. He’ll do anything she wants.” Misty’s voice dropped to a raw whisper. “He’s already told me to call her ‘Mother.’ I hate her. And I hate him.” Pink and white hair went flying as she tossed her head in defiance. “I’m staying here. I don’t care what he says.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Jesse wrapped her arms around the girl. Cradling her close, Jesse forced herself to say what she had to. “You can’t do that. And I can’t let you. This isn’t your home, and I don’t have any right to you. Not legally. You know that.”

  “But you would if you could, right?” Misty lifted a tear-streaked face to Jesse. “I wouldn’t mind calling you Mother.”

  And that was when Jesse started to cry.

  They were still standing on the front porch, arms wrapped around each other and bawling like heartbroken babies when Sophia appeared in the doorway with a tray bearing tea cups, tea bags, and a teapot filled with hot water.

  “Oh, good grief, I knew this was going to happen. Get upstairs, both of you. Jesse, help me with this tray. I’m too old for this foolishness, and tears aren’t going to solve a problem this messed up. Misty, upstairs, now!”

  Still sniffling, they did as ordered. Misty turned and raced up the staircase. Jesse took the tray and hoped she didn’t trip while climbing the steps that she couldn’t see for the tears clouding her vision.

  At the top of the stairs, they crossed the landing that separated Jesse’s apartment from her mother’s and exited onto the expansive veranda. Eight feet deep, it ran corner to corner across the back of the Victorian and provided an oasis of calm in their usually busy schedules.

  Gas lights cast a soft glow from the courtyard below. Crickets murmured in the garden. The low croak of a frog preceded a splash in the fountain as Jesse set her tray on the wicker coffee table in front of a comfy settee. Two high-backed wicker chairs occupied the space at either end.

  Sophia lit the candles on the side tables, then settled into one of the chairs. Choosing the corner of the settee next to Sophia, Misty fluffed a pillow behind herself and draped an afghan over her legs. A flurry of tea making followed, and when they were done, everything went silent.

  At the other end of the settee, Jesse also had a pillow at her back and a fleece throw tucked around her, but she wasn’t relaxed. She stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her orange-spice green tea and tried to calm the warring emotions inside of her. But the peace that was so much a part of the time spent here with her mother was nowhere to be found.

  Glancing toward Sophia, Jesse saw a look of understanding in her eyes. She also saw that her mother had no intention of interfering. Whatever happened next was up to Jesse alone.

  After a long, fortifying drink of tea, she set her cup on the coffee table and turned to the girl who seemed in no hurry for conversation. “How long have you been here, Misty?”

  The teenager shrugged. “I don’t know. Couple of days? Something like that.”

  Jesse raised her gaze to her mother again.

  “Friday,” Sophia said without inflection. “In the afternoon.”

  “And your father?” Jesse addressed the girl again. “Does he know where you are?”

  “I haven’t talked to him.” Misty stared sullenly into her tea cup. “I’m not going to talk to him. And I’m not going back.” She flicked a defiant glance toward Jesse, then returned her gaze to her own lap. “I’m old enough to make my own decisions, and I’m staying here with you. I don’t care what he says.”

  Again Jesse looked to her mother, and again Sophia filled in the gaps. “I called him.”

  Misty gasped. “You didn’t! I asked you not to!”

  “Dear, he’s your father,” Sophia said gently. “He would be worried. I had to let him know you were safe.”

  “And is he here?” Misty demanded. “No! Does he care? No!” She put her cup of chai tea on the coffee table and crossed her arms in front of her. “He doesn’t care what happens to me as long as he’s got her.”

  “And what did he say?” Jesse asked her mother.

  Having spent quite a few years dating Ronald Bennett while living in Austin, Texas, Jesse didn’t have the greatest faith in his fatherly instincts. It wasn’t that he was a bad father. He was just a self-centered, career-driven man in general—traits which had led to the demise of Jesse’s own relationship with him. The only thing that had kept them together as long as they had been was his daughter, who had quickly become the child Jesse had never had.

  A widower with a busy career, Ronnie Bennett had been more than happy to delegate his daughter’s parenting to Jesse, who had gone from girlfriend to fiancée as much out of love for Misty as for Ronnie himself.

  Now that he was engaged again, Jesse could see him following the same pattern. Only this time, Misty wasn’t a lonely little girl looking for a new mother, and Cynthia had failed to take the place in her heart that Jesse had won.

  “He seemed surprised, frankly,” Sophia said. Her gaze flickered to Misty and then back to Jesse. “I believe that our runaway was supposed to be in school, and no one knew she was missing yet. He thanked me for calling and said he would handle it. I assured him that she was safe and would be taken care of.”

  No one mentioned that more than twenty-four hours had passed without any further contact.

  “I’m not being dramatic,” Misty insisted. “I had to do something. He wasn’t listening to me.”

  And there she was—that serious little girl Jesse had first met so long ago, mature beyond her years and knowing more about loss than a child should have to know. When Jesse had returned to Oklahoma years later to help care for her grandfather, she had promised the teenaged Misty that she would always be there for her no matter how far apart they lived or how old they got.

  Now Misty had left school and found her way across two states to show up on Jesse’s doorstep, asking for help. And she wasn’t going to let her down. Life had broken too many promises to this girl already, and Jesse wasn’t going to break another.

  “Well, you’re here now, and I’m ready to listen. So tell me what you mean by that, sweetheart.”

  Chapter Three

  “There’s something wrong with her.”

  “Cynthia?” Jesse asked.

  “Yes. And I don’t just mean that she’s phony, which she is. I don’t think she really loves Daddy. I think she’s just after his money.” The more Misty said, the more worked up she got. “And I know she doesn’t like me. I’ve already overheard her trying to talk him into sending me away to a private school for my senior year.”

  “You’re already in a private school,” Jesse reminded her.

  Misty gave her a withering look that combined disgust with pity. “Not that kind of private school. She wants a boarding school. In another state.”

  “Is there a possibility that she’s truly thinking of what’s best for you?”

  The look this time was less pity and more disgust. “She mentioned the name of the one she wants to send me to. I looked it up. Two girls committed suicide there just last year, and its academic rating is mediocre at best. The school I’m in has an excellent academic rating, and I have a ton of friends.”

  “Okay,” Jesse conceded, “she’s jealous, and she’s trying to get you out of the way. Surely your dad has more sense than to listen to her.”

  “She’s not a nice person like you, Je
sse. She manipulates him. I overheard him telling a friend that she was the best…” Misty stopped suddenly and glanced toward Sophia, looking guilty.

  “Let me guess,” Sophia said with a roll of her eyes. “It’s about sex, right? Well, here’s a hint, young lady. If it’s too graphic for someone my age to hear, then it’s too graphic for someone your age to say. And you shouldn’t be eavesdropping on your father’s conversations anyway.”

  Even in the candlelight, the pink stain creeping up Misty’s neck and onto her cheeks was visible. “Yes, ma’am,” she said in a grudging mutter.

  Jesse took pity on her and moved the conversation along again. “Have you tried talking to your father about this?”

  “And let him know I’m eavesdropping on his conversations?” Misty glanced toward Sophia again and then back to Jesse. “No. He’d make sure I couldn’t do it anymore. And then where would I be?”

  “So, is that why you’re here?”

  “She said she went to that school she was talking about, but I searched its records back a decade older than she says she is, and she didn’t go to that school. I found her at another school in the same area, though. And nothing she’s told Daddy is true. I don’t know what to do, Jesse. She’s a liar. Maybe a con artist. Maybe worse. I can’t let her marry him, and I don’t know how to stop her.”

  When Misty began to cry, Jesse knew it wasn’t jealousy for her father’s affections or even fear for her own future that had driven Misty across two states. It was desperation. As if the last three years hadn’t happened, Jesse gathered the girl into her arms and rocked her gently.

  “It’ll be all right, sweetheart,” she crooned against the spikey head of tousled hair. “We’ll make it all okay. I promise.”

  Misty drew in a shaky gasp of air. “How?”

  “I don’t know. But I’ll think of something.”

  “Okay.” Misty lifted her head and scrubbed a fist against her eye, smearing mascara and eye shadow into a black and purple smudge from brow to cheekbone. “She scares me, Jesse. Whatever she plans for me, I’ll be eighteen next year and out of her reach. But once Daddy marries her, she can do anything, and I’m afraid he’ll let her. He’s not even planning to have a pre-nup.”

  “Did he tell you that?” Sophia asked. Her tone hinted she was pretty sure of the answer.

  “No,” Misty muttered. “I overheard him arguing with his attorney, who was insisting that he had to have one. Daddy flatly refused.”

  Jesse had signed one. Ronnie had insisted. He had blamed his attorney, but he had insisted nevertheless. Jesse was shocked that after so many years it could still sting to know that whoever this Cynthia was, she had to be pretty special to Ronnie. And that did not bode well for Misty’s fears.

  “So what do we do now?” Sophia asked, voicing everyone’s thoughts.

  “I don’t know,” Jesse admitted. She had been anticipating a bolt of inspiration, but thus far the problem seemed like a hopeless tangle.

  “Well, she can’t stay here,” Sophia said. When Misty sucked in a breath to protest, Sophia laid a calming hand on the girl’s arm. “I’m sorry, dear, but you’re a minor. As much as we’d like to keep you forever, until you turn eighteen, none of us have a choice.”

  “Jesse, no!” Misty flung herself across the settee and into Jesse’s arms. “I can’t go back,” the girl cried, her words muffled against Jesse’s flannel-clad shoulder. “Please, please, no!”

  “I’ll clear the tea things away.” Sophia began to gather the cups and saucers, setting them next to the teapot on the tray.

  Jesse held the sobbing girl, wishing she could wring Ronnie Bennett’s neck. At the same time she was grateful to her mother for voicing the hard truth that no one wanted to face.

  On the surface, Misty’s rebellion could be dismissed as an overreaction, willful spite, or just a spoiled teenager resenting the new woman in her father’s life. But the Misty that Jesse knew was none of those things, so while they couldn’t keep her here, they couldn’t just pack her up and send her home either.

  Smoothing the bleached locks away from the girl’s tear-soaked cheeks, Jesse hooked a finger under Misty’s chin and looked into her eyes. “If I got my laptop, do you think you could show me what you found out about Cynthia when you were checking on that school?”

  Misty blinked in surprise. Her lashes were spiked with wet mascara, and dark stains were now smeared across both sides of her face. Jesse was pretty sure the wet spot on her own shoulder was smudged with black.

  “You’re not going to lecture me for snooping?” the girl asked.

  Jesse laughed, thinking of how much snooping had become a part of her own life with the advent of the Myrtle Grove Garden Club, which only gardened by default.

  “I don’t see what’s funny,” Misty said.

  “No, you wouldn’t.” Jesse patted her hand. “And now’s not the time to talk about it. You stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  Minutes later Jesse emerged from her apartment with her laptop under her arm and a travel pack of makeup removal cloths in her hand. One for snooping, and one for solving Misty’s mascara catastrophe before it reached her chin.

  A knock at the front door caused Jesse to hesitate for a moment before deciding that whoever it was could wait another minute. She continued through the open doorway to the veranda, the arm with the makeup cloths extended.

  “Here, sweetie, wipe your face with one of these.”

  Misty covered her cheeks with both hands. “O.M.G., I must look awful.”

  “It’s almost bedtime anyway. You don’t sleep with your makeup on, do you? And, here…” Jesse set the laptop on the coffee table and opened the cover. “I’ve already logged on. You should be able to get to anything you need. I’m going to run downstairs for a minute, and then I’ll be right back. Do you want anything else while I’m gone?”

  Cleansing cloth scrubbing at her face, Misty shook her head. “No, thanks. I feel better already.”

  Most of the tear-smudged makeup was gone. With her freshly washed face, she didn’t look any older than the day Jesse had pledged to always be there for her. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Jesse turned and hurried down the stairs. The knock at the door had become a pounding.

  Sophia swept into the foyer from the direction of the kitchen and pulled open the door. Halfway down the stairs, Jesse froze.

  A woman with hair too red, a dress too tight, and clunky heels that were too high stood in the doorway with her arm raised and her fist poised. Sophia shrank back, and Jesse surged forward.

  “I have come for Misty Bennett,” the woman announced in a strident voice that held no trace of Texas twang. “I demand that you turn her over to me, or I’ll be forced to call the police.”

  Chapter Four

  No wonder Misty didn’t like her. This woman would be hard to like. Jesse reached her mother’s shoulder just as Sophia demanded, “And who would you be?”

  “I’m Cynthia Bennett.” She gave her first name the same three syllable pronunciation Misty had given it, complete with the emphasis on “Cyn.”

  “Excuse me.” Jesse stepped up beside mother and together they stood shoulder to shoulder to bar the entryway. “But your name’s not Bennett yet.”

  “Very well, then,” the newcomer said as if Jesse hadn’t spoken. “You force me to call the police.”

  “If you don’t have paperwork from Ronnie giving you the right to act in his stead with regards to Misty, then you’ll be wasting your time,” Jesse answered without budging.

  As goading and obnoxious as this Cynthia person seemed, it just so happened that Jesse did have paperwork signed by Ronald Bennett. She hadn’t seen it since she had been the one engaging with Misty’s teachers and taking her to the doctor. But she hadn’t thrown it away when she left Austin, and unless Ronnie had bothered to rescind her authority, it was still official enough to muddy the waters until Ronnie showed up.

  “I don’t think you really want to fight me on this,” C
ynthia said in a tone sufficiently superior to enrage anyone with a spine stiffer than a jellyfish.

  “No, I think you’re wrong about that. I think I do want to fight you on this. I think I really, really want to fight you on this.” Jesse smiled then, a smile she hoped was smug enough to irritate but not enrage.

  There was no reason to make this worse than it had to be. After all, this was Jesse’s home, and Misty was safe within its walls. And regardless of the other woman’s bluster, there was nothing she could do about it.

  As if realizing that, a flash of anger twisted Cynthia’s pretty features into something closer to her personality. The anger quickly turned to a look of loathing, and Jesse could easily imagine how helpless Misty must have felt trying to battle this woman by herself.

  “There’s really no need for us to argue about this,” Jesse said, deciding it might be time to extend an olive branch. After all, Misty would have to go home sometime, and Cynthia would eventually be her stepmother. “I’m sure Ronnie will be here soon, and then we can all talk.”

  “I don’t believe you understand,” Cynthia snapped with an edge of country drawl slipping in. “I’m here to fetch her home.”

  “But surely her father’s coming,” Sophia insisted.

  “Why should he? He has me, and I assured him that I would bring her home.”

  “Why should he?” Jesse asked in a velvety soft tone that signaled anger strong enough to choke on. “Because he’s her father. Because she depends on him. Because she’s been without a mother since she was six years old.”

  Furious, Jesse wished she could throw Ronald Bennett on the ground and stomp some sense into him. Of course, she wouldn’t. First, because she was a civilized human being and, second, because it wouldn’t work.

  “In June, I will become her mother,” Cynthia said in a tone that had become reasonable. “She has to learn to accept that.”

  Her expression was almost pleasant, and she was once again a beautiful woman with hair that was far too red and questionable taste in clothing. Unfortunately for Jesse, she found Cynthia no less irritating in her newly reasonable guise.