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

by Loulou Harrington

  “Great. Thanks. We’ll be back.” She took her mother by the hand and headed toward the door.

  “Airport?” Sophia asked as they hurried across the narrow parking lot in the direction of the empty highway.

  “In a minute.” Jesse paused to look both ways, then crossed the road and continued past their parked car toward Minnie’s Diner, still holding her mother’s hand.

  Sophia glanced at the wristwatch on her free arm. “I don’t want to be late,” she cautioned.

  “I thought we had plenty of time.”

  “I like to be there when the plane touches down. Couldn’t you do this later?”

  “Sorry, Mom, but my curiosity’s killing me. If you’ll stay with the car, I’ll go find Peg and help her with her bags.”

  Without slowing, Jesse led the way inside the cozy roadside diner. Booths with shiny red seats and Formica tabletops lined the front wall. A half-dozen round tables separated the booths from the counter where swivel stools covered in a glittery gray plastic formed a neat row of additional seating.

  “I suppose that would work if we need to,” Sophia conceded. “This place looks comfy, doesn’t it?”

  Jesse looked from the surroundings to her mother and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Why did Ronnie and Oscar Champion meet here? Here, of all places, instead of Austin where they live? Wouldn’t that be the sensible thing?”

  “I don’t know, dear, but…”

  “Hi, there.” A smiling waitress stopped in front of them, menus in her hand. “Ya’ll just take a seat anywhere. Can I bring you some coffee?”

  Jesse turned to the middle-aged woman and checked the name badge on her shirtfront before returning her cheerful greeting. “Hi there, Frances. We don’t have time to eat right now, unfortunately, but can you tell me if you were working here yesterday evening?”

  The woman bobbed her head. “Sure. We all were.” She waved her hand toward the other two waitresses and the kitchen staff visible through an opening behind the counter. “What can I do for you?”

  Jesse held up her phone with the photo of Ronnie on the screen. “Do you remember this man being in here yesterday? Around five or six maybe?”

  “Oh, sure.” Francis nodded her head again vigorously. “He and another man were here together. They sat in that back booth.” She twisted to point behind her at a corner booth with windows on two sides. “Shirley waited on them.” The waitress twisted further and waved toward another woman who was slightly older if her white hair was any indication.

  Shirley left the two customers she was chatting with and hurried over. “Yes? Can I help you?” she asked when she joined them.

  “Yeah,” Frances said. She turned to Jesse. “Show her the picture.”

  Jesse flashed Ronnie’s photo while Frances explained, “They’re wanting to know if we remember this man. I told her you’re the one who waited on him.”

  Frowning, Shirley leaned toward the phone and studied the picture. “Oh, yeah, sure, that’s Mr. Bennett. He was with another man. A Mr., uh…” She tapped her chin and appeared lost in thought, murmuring to herself, “What was his name?”

  “This man?” Jesse swiped to Oscar Champion’s image and held the phone out where Shirley could see it.

  “Yep, that’s him.” She grinned, obviously pleased. “He had a sort of funny name. What was it? Oh, yeah, Mr. Champion. I don’t get a lot of out-of-town business, and he was by here twice yesterday to have me notarize some paperwork for him.”

  “Paperwork?” Jesse said.

  “You’re a notary?” Sophia asked.

  “Oscar Champion?” Jesse clarified.

  “Yep, and you’d think I was the only notary in these parts as tickled as he was to find me. Called ahead on Friday to get directions from the Tulsa airport.”

  “You said that he had you notarize two sets of paperwork?” Jesse asked. “Were they both for the same men?”

  Shirley shook her head. “No, the first guy was younger. And he wasn’t all dolled up in a fancy suit and tie.”

  Jesse flipped to the recent picture of Tommy Stanton and extended her phone again. “Wouldn’t be this guy, would it?”

  “Sure was.” Shirley’s face lit up. “Hey, you’re good at this.”

  “Would it be out of line to ask what the paperwork pertained to?”

  “Well now, I witness and notarize signatures. I don’t read the documents. They both looked like some sort of contract, though, and after the second one Mr. Champion handed over what looked at a glance like a cashier’s check.”

  “No check on the first one?” Jesse asked.

  “Naw.” Shirley shook her head. “But the younger guy, Stanton I think his name was, looked really happy. Oh, and he had a bunch of cardboard tubes tied up in a bundle that he gave to Mr. Champion. Real careful, like they were important to him. Then they shook hands. Both looked pretty pleased with themselves, too.”

  “Have you ever seen unstretched canvases rolled up inside protective cardboard containers?”

  “What?” The older woman sounded baffled.

  “Paintings,” Jesse explained. “But rolled up. Not stretched on a wooden frame.”

  “You can do that?” Shirley asked, sounding impressed.

  Jesse nodded. “It’s the safest way to transport them.”

  “Show her Cynthia’s picture,” Sophia suggested. “Just in case.”

  Locating Cynthia’s retouched photo, Jesse held it up. “Have you seen her in here sometime this weekend?”

  Shirley looked closely and grunted, “Hmm, yep, seen that one. A very unpleasant person, but then I felt kinda sorry for her after that younger fella made her cry. Looked like they were breaking up. Kind of a public place to do it, but some fellas do that so the woman don’t make a scene.”

  Resisting the urge to do a happy dance, Jesse tucked her phone back into her pocket, “What time was that?”

  “Mid-afternoon or there about. After he was in here the first time with that older fella. Then when I was leaving last night, I saw them, that Stanton fella and the same woman, arguing in the hotel parking lot across the street. Couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could tell she was yelling. Then she drove off and he went inside.”

  “Can you think of anything else that happened yesterday?”

  “Well, Sally Pearson was in here saying she got engaged and not a minute too soon according to Marsha Anderson because apparently she’s also pregnant. And I could go on. It was a busy day. But that’s not what you’re asking about, is it?”

  “Not exactly,” Jesse admitted. “I was thinking more about strangers passing through.”

  “Only ones I really noticed were the ones in the pictures you showed me,” Shirley said. “We don’t get a lot of strangers through here. At least not strangers like those. They really stood out, and none of them seemed to be interested in eating a thing. That’s not normal in a diner like this.”

  Jesse couldn’t help smiling. “Thank you, Shirley. You’ve been a great help.” She held out her card. “If you remember anything else, would you call me? Or if anything else happens with any of these people?”

  The older woman took the card and slipped it into her pocket with barely a glance. “Sure thing. And since I answered your questions, mind if I ask what this is all about?”

  Jesse debated and then decided the woman deserved to know. “The first man—Mr. Bennett—was killed last night,” she explained gently. “They found his car on the side of the road and his body in the ditch. He and I were friends, and his daughter’s staying with me. We’re just trying to figure out why he stopped here.” In a sweeping hand motion, she indicated the diner and the inn across the road.

  “Oh, my heavens.” Shirley covered her heart with her hand and tears filled her eyes. “I’m so sorry.” Then she put her hand on Jesse’s arm and leaned closer. A spark of real interest lit her gaze. “What’s your name, hon?”

  “Jesse Camden.”

  “From Myrtle Grove?”

&nb
sp; Puzzled, Jesse nodded. Maybe the woman had gotten a better look at the card than she appeared to. But why would it matter?

  Shirley’s hand squeezed and then released Jesse with a quick pat. “You wait right here.”

  The woman hurried toward the back and disappeared.

  “Jesse, we have to be going,” Sophia whispered. She held out her watch for emphasis.

  “I know,” Jesse agreed without looking at the watch. “But not until she comes back, Mom. That would be rude.”

  Shirley returned, brandishing a brown, padded mailing envelope big enough to hold a standard-sized document. “This is for you, I believe.”

  She looked pleased as she presented the hand-addressed package to Jesse, who reached out and took it as cautiously as if it were a snake. The weight of it surprised her, as did the solid bulk of whatever was inside.

  On the front, in block lettering were the words Jesse Camden, Myrtle Grove, and a phone number. Jesse’s phone number. What in the world? She curled her arm around it and hugged the package to her chest.

  “He brought it over to me a little before closing, Mr. Bennett did,” Shirley explained. “He said he’d be back for it today. And if he didn’t show up, he made me promise to call the number on the envelope and make sure it got into Jesse Camden’s hands. He acted like it was pretty important. So, here you go.”

  “I guess I should have introduced myself sooner.” Jesse felt stunned by the turn of events.

  The woman patted her arm once again. “I reckon you had other things on your mind, hon. Maybe I should have put two and two together a little quicker. I’m so sorry for your loss, dear. And I’ll be sure to give you a call if I think of anything else.”

  Without thinking, Jesse did something she never did. She reached out and gave a complete stranger a heartfelt hug. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much.”

  While Sophia drove off with gravel flying, Jesse forced herself to neatly pry open the envelope despite how badly she wanted to rip through the flap and dump everything out into her lap.

  “We’ll have to put the top up once we pick up Peg,” she said above the wind that was blowing by at sixty miles an hour.

  It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. The temperature was mild, and Sophia’s beloved convertible was where she let her wild child come out to play. She made a point of putting the top up only when it rained or the temperature dropped below forty degrees.

  “Maybe you should look at that stuff later,” Sophia said, casting a sideways glance at Jesse’s two-handed hold on the envelope.

  “Yeah, that’ll happen.” Jesse reached inside and carefully extracted an electronic tablet. She flipped it open and immediately encountered a request for a password.

  “What’s that?” Sophia asked.

  “His tablet. Password protected.” Jesse set the device in her lap and reached back inside the envelope to pull out what remained. Maintaining a good grip on the documents, she shuffled through the papers carefully.

  “I can’t slow down,” Sophia warned. “In fact, I’ll be on the expressway in a few minutes.”

  Jesse nodded absently while she studied what appeared to be a brief contract and bill of sale. They both contained a set of signatures and notary’s seal, plus two simple white envelopes that had the return address of the inn in the upper left side of the envelope.

  One envelope was blank except for the return address. The other had Misty’s name printed in bold, dark letters across the front. The back of it was sealed, putting a quick end to any struggle Jesse might have with her conscience. Whatever was inside was for Misty alone. Jesse could only hope that Ronnie had risen to the moment and put his daughter’s welfare first.

  She had heard of people steaming open an envelope in order to read the contents without anyone ever knowing. That wasn’t exactly a good thing, but it was one way to make certain Misty wouldn’t be emotionally scarred by some unpredictable impulse of her father’s. Of course, there was no guarantee that steaming even worked.

  “What is that?” Sophia asked.

  “An envelope addressed to Misty.”

  “You’re wanting to read it, aren’t you?”

  “With a burning passion,” Jesse confessed. “How did you know?”

  “You keep turning it over in your hands instead of opening it or putting it back in the envelope.”

  “What do you think I should do?”

  “Put it back in the envelope, Jesse, before the wind catches it and we have to go tromping around in some field trying to find it.”

  “You don’t think I should read it? Just in case?”

  “Is it sealed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Put it back in the envelope,” Sophia said emphatically.

  “You’re distressingly ethical, Mom. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “Normally, ethical is considered a compliment.”

  “Have you ever steamed an envelope open? It probably doesn’t even work, does it?”

  “No, I haven’t. And, yes, it does. But it’s still not anything you should be considering, dear. Now don’t make me have to go all motherly on you.”

  “Motherly doesn’t usually sound like a threat,” Jesse complained. “You’re not working up to a lecture, are you?”

  “Stop worrying about what’s inside that thing, Jesselyn Camden, and put the damned envelope back into the other damned envelope. And get those silly ideas out of your head. Misty’s almost a grown woman, and she’s mature enough to read whatever her father wrote to her without you trying to run interference. For once, forget about that nosiness that’s gotten you into so much trouble your whole life.”

  “Wow,” Jesse said, putting the letter envelope back into the larger mailing envelope. “Sure glad you didn’t feel the need for a lecture.”

  “Is that other envelope sealed?”

  “No.”

  “Open it.”

  Jesse did and let out a whistle. “It’s a cashier’s check,” she said without waiting for her mother to ask. “Wow.”

  It wasn’t a fortune, but Ronnie hadn’t been a major shareholder in the gallery. But the amount reflected more than she would have expected the partial share in a small art gallery to be worth.

  “Speak,” Sophia ordered.

  “Since this would amount to a small part of his total investments,” Jesse said, “I’m thinking that Misty won’t have any problem affording college.”

  “That’s an understatement, right?” Sophia prodded.

  “Yeah. That’s an understatement.” Jesse put the check back into its envelope and returned that to the safety of the bigger envelope. Frowning, she added, “I’m glad her grandmother’s flying in.”

  “You don’t suppose Misty’s in any danger, do you?”

  “I keep asking myself that same question, Mom. And I keep getting answers I don’t like.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  While her mother hurtled toward the airport in her little blue bullet, Jesse huddled deeper into her seat, tucked the brown mailing envelope safely in between her seat and the center console, and focused her attention on the bill of sale. Ronnie had sold back his holdings in the Stanton Gallery of Fine Art to Oscar Champion for the original purchase price plus an additional bonus of ten percent, due upon signing the attached agreement, which spelled out the terms of the sale, and payable by cashier’s check. The agreement and bill of sale were signed by both parties and witnessed and notarized by Shirley Tucker.

  So Ronnie got what he had been asking for, plus an additional incentive bonus. Mission accomplished, and everyone was happy since Oscar Champion had suddenly become as eager for the deal as Ronnie. Which only left the question of why.

  “You’re awfully quiet over there,” Sophia said, raising her voice over the sound of the wind and the road noise.

  “Ronnie spent months trying to get Oscar to buy back his share of the gallery. And according to Misty, Oscar refused flatly. Now, suddenly, he gives Ronnie back every cent p
lus a bonus. So you have to ask yourself, what happened?”

  “I’m guessing that you’re ruling out the kindness of Oscar Champion’s heart.”

  “Yeah, I think we can rule that one out. In fact, I’m betting that money is the only true motivation he cares about. Which bring us back to—something changed. Recently. And we don’t know what it was.”

  “Something Ronnie didn’t know about, and Oscar did?” Sophia suggested.

  “Exactly,” Jesse agreed. “But Ronnie’s not stupid, so after he got what he wanted, plus an extra ten percent, maybe he got to wondering why.”

  “Are you thinking that he found something out last night?” Sophia turned to stare at her daughter. “You think that’s why he was killed?”

  Jesse pointed to the road ahead and Sophia refocused her attention on the increasing traffic as they entered Tulsa’s outskirts.

  “It’s a possibility,” Jesse said. “Everything comes back to why, and that’s the one thing we have no answer for.”

  “You’ve got to wonder how much Cynthia knows. And the real reason she showed up here looking for Misty.”

  “And how much of it she remembers after getting knocked unconscious last night,” Jesse added.

  Again, Sophia whipped her head around to stare at Jesse. “You think she has amnesia?”

  Jesse pointed to the road and waited until her mother was looking forward again before saying, “I think she genuinely didn’t know Ronnie was dead. And she genuinely believed they were still getting married. But short-term memory loss after a blow to the head like she got is not unheard of.”

  “Are you saying she could have killed him and then forgot that she did it? Forgotten he was even dead?”

  “I’m saying that we can’t rule anything out, and stranger things have happened. And for all that they would like to think differently, I don’t believe the police know any more than we do.”

  But what was obvious to Jesse was that Ronnie hadn’t come to Myrtle Grove simply to retrieve his daughter. He had also come to seal a business deal in what had inexplicably become a gathering place for everyone who circled in Cynthia Stanton’s orbit. And Cynthia Stanton had come for Misty. Did that mean something? And if so, what?