Marion Mysteries: Books 1-3 (A Cozy Mystery Bundle)

by Amy Andersen

  “I’m not mad at you. Take a deep breath.”

  Nodding, Ruth collected herself and wiped her face. “I should have told Carter at the station. I don’t know why I didn’t. I’ll talk to him as soon as I get back.”

  “We can go together. I want to see if anything more has happened with his investigation.”

  At the station, Carter had a smug smile on his face. The sight of his two key witnesses made it even bigger. “Hey! You’re just in time. Our first suspect in the Burr murder is on his way.”

  Just then, the doors banged open and three officers led in Christopher with his hands cuffed behind his back. At the sight of his two recent visitors, Christopher’s face went slack and pale.

  Marion’s jaw fell open. “Carter, what happened?”

  “The guy left an angry message about the business sale on Angela’s machine just before she died. Flat out told her, “You’re a dead woman, Angela.” Apparently, that job meant the world to him. We applied for the warrant as soon as we heard it.”

  Not far away, the doors to Christopher’s holding cell clanged shut. The sound made Marion jump a little, but what really disturbed her was the absolute conviction she had that the police had made a mistake. While he was guilty of bad taste and poor baking skills, this guy definitely didn’t kill Angela.

  “Carter’s made a huge mistake,” she said, looking at Ruth. Her friend thought for a moment, then nodded.

  “He definitely has.”

  Chapter 6

  “But he’s innocent!”

  Carter pushed past his sister for the hundredth time and threw his house keys into a shell by his front door. “I can’t listen to this anymore! The man has motive and no alibi. A woman was murdered in your salon, Sis. I’m trying to get this resolved so we can mourn her death and life can go on.”

  Marion shook her head, tears pricking her eyes. She had no proof to back up her claim, but she felt deep inside, she knew Christopher was the wrong guy. Maybe he overreacted to hearing his job was going to be taken away from him, but that didn’t mean he was a killer. On top of that, Marion felt certain that Stephanie and Michael had a lot more to do with this crime than anyone believed.

  “Carter, I can’t explain it, but I am telling you it’s not him.”

  Her brother fell into his lounger and let out a loud sigh. “Look,” he rubbed his face, clearly hurting, “if you are so certain that someone else did this, give me a lead. Any lead.”

  “Stephanie Browne!” Ruth’s voice burst out of her. She was positive she was right and she wanted to see that woman taken down.

  The outburst stopped Carter’s words in his throat. She didn’t say anything else, just stood in front of him with her arms crossed, waiting.

  “Stephanie? Ruth, really? The woman who just happens to be married to your competitor. That’s a little low, don’t you think?”

  “Did you question her?” Carter’s eyes weren’t able to stay open after that. They closed heavily and stayed that way for a moment. Ruth stood waiting. “Well?”

  “You mean did I do my job?” He blinked his eyes open and focused on his sister. “Ruth, when a dead body is left in a salon, we look at who might benefit from such a thing. So yes, obviously we talked to Michael and Stephanie. She has an ironclad alibi. It wasn’t her or him.”

  Now it was Marion’s turn to be shocked; he’d already looked into the Browne couple? She shook her head a little. Her certainty that Michael and Stephanie had a hand in Angela’s death was suddenly a huge stretch. She sat slowly in Carter’s sofa, the wind taken out of her.

  “Where was she when Angela died?”

  Carter’s tone shifted to a softer one as he leaned forward, feeling a little more empathetic toward his sister. “A show. She and her mom went to the theater and they were there the whole time.”

  Marion sat up, excited again. “She, she could have snuck out during intermission.” Carter’s sigh made her desperate; surely they were missing something. They had to be.

  “Way too complicated. She would have to have an accomplice with a car waiting, and a million excuses to slip out and back in without anyone seeing her. It’s just not feasible.”

  Face in her hands, Marion fell silent. What could all of this mean? Ruth sat next to her, put her hand on her friend’s back. “It could still be someone else,” she offered. “Maybe a different waiter from the shop.”

  Marion nodded and let her hands drop down, defeated. “Sure. Why not?”

  At Angela’s funeral, the decorations were tasteful; small bouquets and lots of portraits with her and her family strewn across tables. Everyone was draped in black and Marion almost felt like she was a little girl playing dress up with friends whose mothers all had the same cheap, black dress in their closets. A session of make-believe would have been preferable to the open coffin with Angela lying inside, her eyes closed and her neck heavily made up. The urge to scrub off the foundation and photograph the marks on her throat kept creeping up on Ruth, and several times she found herself reaching for a tissue, only to put her hand back in her pocket.

  Marion gave her condolences to the family, offering her hands to Angela’s mother and father. Both looked so dejected that the sight of them broke Marion’s heart. She’d once heard her mother say that the greatest tragedy for a parent is to outlive their own child, and now that she was here she saw just how much tragedy had been inflicted by the murder. She could see the pain in their eyes that no amount of casseroles or church services could ever erase. Her throat started to close up and she walked away from the family to sit down and collect herself.

  Later, she stood by the coffin alone. Again, she wished she’d known Angela, really known her. How sad to die in a place where Angela had no friends or family. “I didn’t know you and you didn’t know me, but we’re connected now,” Marion laid a flower on her chest and then felt a hand on her back. Whispering, she added, “And I’m going to find the person who did this to you. I swear it.”

  A hand landed gently on her back and made her jump a little. She turned to see Glenn looking down at Angela’s face. “You were a good woman, Angela. We’ll miss you.” He stared at the body for a long moment, then gave Marion a little hug and then the two of them stepped outside together.

  “Why are you here, Glenn?”

  He shrugged. “Wanted to give the family my condolences. I met Angela a few times. We weren’t close, but I remember her being very friendly, very kind. We lost a good person the other day.”

  “And to die in a little salon she didn’t even patronize. It’s truly tragic.”

  Glenn looked at her with pinched eyebrows. “Where did she go to get her hair done?”

  “Michael Browne’s.”

  “Oh, right!” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t see how anyone can go there. It’s so pretentious. Besides, just a few days ago I saw the owners through the window. They were having one hell of a fight, both of them just out for blood. I wouldn’t go near that place.”

  Chapter 7

  “I’ve got to get in there.”

  Glenn started at Marion’s conviction. “In where?”

  “Michael Browne’s place. He’s got his reservation book under lock and key.” Realizing she had some fellow mourners standing nearby, she motioned with a head tilt for Glenn to walk with her. The two strolled over to the pond where a family of ducks glided across the water, honking at their visitors.

  “If I could just get to that book,” Marion continued, “I could find out if Angela was one of their clients. I’m suspicious that ...” she glanced over her shoulder, checking for anyone who might be listening.

  Glenn bumped her shoulder with his. “Suspicious of what?”

  “That Michael was having an affair with Angela. I just don’t have any proof.”

  He nodded, working his jaw around in a little circle. “I have an idea.”

  At the big, booming salon, the two of them stood out terribly in their modest clothes and standa
rd haircuts. A woman with an insanely small waist, a fake mole on her cheek and the most perfectly made-up lips Marion had ever seen raised an eyebrow in greeting. Marion decided to get attention by admitting defeat.

  “Hi.” She stepped a little closer to the front desk. “I’m in need of a new style and I’m not quite sure what to do. Can you help me?”

  The wispy receptionist stepped away from her station and gave Marion a full assessment, top to bottom, with her eyes. “Angelique, could you help us a moment? We have an emergency.”

  Angelique was a pixie with short, choppy black hair highlighted in touches of blue. Both girls wore all black and were equally silent as they walked around Marion, highly concerned at her current state.

  As they circled her, she gave Glenn a discreet wave over to the locked desk. “So,” she asked her new stylists, “what are you thinking?”

  “We have to chop off all this hair. And I’d really like to shave one side. I would also like to see …” the girls kept going and Marion just kept nodding, but over the pixie girl’s shoulder she saw Glenn pop the lock on the drawer with a pair of nearby scissors. The whole operation took about three seconds. She held her breath as he whipped through the pages, then stopped on one of them. Was she right? He looked up and made eye contact with her, then shook his head no. Angela hadn’t been in that day. Her breath came out in a long, disappointed gust.

  After a hasty escape, Marion was shaking her head and sorting through her thoughts. How could she have been so wrong?

  Glenn reached over and touched her hand gently. “Sorry your hunch was off. It was a good theory.”

  “It’s okay. Hey, how did you get so good at picking locks?”

  “It’s a long story.” His mouth seemed to clamp up after that. Marion filed the comment away, but she never forgot it.

  Later, when she was back at home, Marion’s phone rang. The Carter’s name flashed on the screen.

  “Hey, big brother.”

  “Hi, Sis. I need you to come down to the station for a bit. I’m re-opening your salon and I’ll need you to sign some things. Are you available?”

  Marion gave a little leap of glee. They were back in business! She couldn’t wait to tell Ruth.

  “Hey, great. Let me call up Ruth and we’ll come together.”

  Just as he hung up, Ruth called to see how the search at Browne’s had gone. Marion told her it had been a bust, but they were needed at the precinct. “Can you pick me up?”

  On the way to see Carter, the two friends chatted excitedly about new promotions they could use to promote their salon again and win back all their clients. Ruth turned up the radio on their favorite station. The song “Pink Dress,” by Tiny Tina, their favorite, came on and the two started singing together.

  I can put on my pink dress,

  Step into my high heels

  Will that make you hold me,

  Love me, kiss me, thrill me,

  Will that help you forget her?

  You know I love to dress up for you,

  You make me feel like a princess,

  In my pink dress …

  Just as they belted out the chorus, Ruth’s car gave a jump and a loud pop that stopped them dead in the road. The two friends stepped out to see what had happened and wave traffic around their stalled car. Ruth bent down and looked a little closer to see a big, sharp nail in her front tire.

  “Oh no, I’ve got a flat.” Grimacing, Ruth moved to the trunk to get her tools to fix it and Marion moved closer to take a look. The nail sticking in the tire was a big one and the air was escaping fast. “I’ve got a spare in the trunk. Could you grab it?”

  “Sure.” Marion stood to take the keys from the ignition and felt how heavy they were in her hand. The spare was in the trunk with some tools and a couple of rags, so she left the keys in the trunk lock to carry it all back. Returning, she looked at the closely, then pulled out her phone. She sent a text and then waited for a response.

  “Do you need some help?”

  “No, thanks. Andy gave me a lesson in changing tires when we first met. Thank goodness he did. Hey,” she glanced up at Marion. “Who are you texting?”

  “Remember my friend, the receptionist? She called the other day and said she might have a clue. I’m just checking in.”

  Ruth went back to work and Marion put her phone away. She pulled the keys out of the lock and waited to for her employee.

  “Okay, that’s it.” Ruth stood, wiping her hands on the rag. “Let’s get to the police station. I’m anxious to get back to work.”

  She held out her hand for her keys and Marion looked at them and then at her friend. She’d solved the mystery of who killed Angela Burr.

  Chapter 8

  At the station, both women had to sit and wait for Carter to get back from a call. Neither spoke. Marion was zeroed in on her phone, sending and receiving texts, while Ruth was just bored. All around them were ringing phones, officers rushing in every direction. A local teenager was being processed for shoplifting and an older woman was ranting about her loud, partying neighbors. The two women enjoyed the cacophony, and at the same time were intensely bored by the whole scene. By the time Carter walked in they both perked up a little bit, happy to get started.

  “Ladies,” he sat down and pulled out some documents, “thanks for coming in. Great to see you. I just need you to sign here, here and here.” Ruth took her papers from his hand but Marion sat defiantly, not moving. “Sis? Something wrong?”

  Marion stood. “I want to talk to Christopher. Right now. With you in the room. I know he’s innocent.”

  “Aw, this again?” He slapped the papers down. “You know what? Let’s do it. Let’s go in there and listen to the message he left her. As soon as you hear it, you won’t be such an advocate for him. I am positive that after three minutes of conversation with that jerk, you will be convinced he’s guilty.”

  “I won’t, because I’m right. Ruth, will you go with us?”

  Ruth hesitated a moment, uncertain of what to say. “Well, sure I guess.” She stood slowly and followed her friends, wondering what had Marion so confident. They moved into a small room with a table and four chairs, then Carter brought in Christopher with his hands cuffed behind his back and looking like he hadn’t slept all night.

  When he saw Marion sitting across from him, he started a bit. “What’s going on?”

  “Christopher,” Marion said to him, “you’re going home tonight. You are an innocent man.”

  Chris’ face lit up and he looked over to Carter. “Is that true?”

  Ruth looked at Carter as well; was it? What had made Marion so certain?

  “Now look, Sis,” Carter yelled. “You can’t talk to my prisoner like that. You have no idea what’s going to happen in his case. Don’t make promises you can’t keep!” Daring to let himself feel a glimmer of hope, Chris leaned forward and silently pleaded with Marion. Carter glared at her, his arms folded and his whole body tense. Ruth looked away as if she wanted no part of the group whatsoever.

  “Christopher didn’t kill her,” Marion said, turning to face her friend. “Ruth did.”

  Everyone stared at her, but Marion held on to her composure. Ruth’s mouth opened in a perfect little O. For a moment, everyone waited for her to protest, but she couldn’t quite find her voice. Her face turned red and she glared at Marion, fists balled up and tense by her sides. Marion took a deep breath and prepared herself for the next part.

  “Ruth, the other day you told me you’d lost your work keys and that any that anyone could have picked them up and seen the name of the salon. But, you keep all your keys together on one key ring. And what’s more, the battery on your clicker isn’t working. If you had lost any keys, you would have lost all of them together and replaced your car keys within the past couple of months. A key with a new remote would be in perfect working order. You didn’t lose any keys, did you? You made that big, emotional confession to keep me from suspectin
g you.”