Murder Makes it Mine (Masters & McLain Mystery Book 1)

by Christina Strong

Samantha turned to go and picked her way carefully out of the flower bed, thinking, There! I’ve done my duty to the new arrival. The ancient and sacred law of Virginia Hospitality has been upheld. She firmly ignored the calm inner voice that gently chastened her for not actually providing food—or even wanting to.

  She set off briskly for the house, hoping to get away from her new neighbor before he could make any request of her. Now I just hope that he leaves me alone!

  On his side of the fence, McLain guessed things were looking up, she wasn’t hanging around. Then to his disgust she stopped and turned back again, saying, “I wasn’t aware anyone new had moved into the Stoddards’s place. Forgive me for being such a poor neighbor.” She spoke the required words over her shoulder, then was ashamed that she’d deliberately neglected to infuse them with the warmth of true hospitality. Turning to face him, she asked, “Has your phone been hooked up yet?”

  “Tomorrow or the next day.”

  “If you should need one before then . . .” She let her words trail off as she turned away again. With a casual wave of her hand, Samantha turned her back on him and walked briskly to the house. Colonel John McLain certainly looked old enough to be able to finish the sentence for himself.

  Chapter Two

  Promptly at two the next afternoon, Laura Fulton, Samantha’s best friend, pulled her Mercedes into Samantha’s driveway. Samantha grabbed her big wicker purse and her dog’s leash from the entry hall table and dashed out to the car. “Thank you for doing this, Laurie. It’s nice to have an able assistant to drive when one’s handling a wild beast.”

  Though picking up Rags from the groomer where she’d taken him early that morning was Samantha’s own errand, Laura had said that she preferred to drive. She’d flatly refused to just ride along to hold Samantha’s ‘wild beast of a Yorkshire terrier.’ Now, Samantha couldn’t resist teasing.

  Laura fixed her with a level gaze and instructed her darkly, “Put your seat belt on, Samantha, and keep it firmly in mind that just one set of tiny little tooth marks in my nice leather upholstery and our friendship is at an end.”

  “I didn’t ask you to drive, you know. I only wanted your company. We could’ve taken my Buick.”

  “Ha! Then I’d have been stuck holding the wild beast. Tiny tooth marks on my very own personal anatomy count, too, I’ll have you know.”

  Samantha chuckled. Laura always pretended she didn’t like Rags, and he pretended to take advantage of her. They were like old friends who kept up seemingly disagreeable banter to cover the depth of affection they felt for each other. Samantha got a big kick out of watching the two of them.

  They were silent past the Yacht and Country Club and as Laura pulled out onto Hampton Boulevard. As they crossed the bridge and swept past what used to be—and always would be to long-time Norfolk residents—the old Marine Hospital at its foot, Laura said, “Our new neighbor is a retired Marine Colonel, Samantha. Have you met him yet?”

  “I sort of ran into him at the back wall.”

  “What did you think of him?”

  “Laura.” Samantha’s voice held a warning note. “Don’t go getting any ideas. I do not—repeat not—want a man in my life.”

  “Not even to escort you to the Symphony?”

  “Why?” Samantha shot her a glance. “Are you and Bob getting tired of having me tag along?”

  “Of course not. It’s just that it would give you a different arm to cling to when we cross those blessed uneven bricks around Scope Arena when the underground parking’s full and we’re parked out on the street. And you’ve always said . . .” Belatedly, Laura realized that the light at Powhatan was red. She slammed on the brakes. Cars swerved around both sides of them as two University students ran the light.

  “Careful,” Samantha warned as the signal was about to turn green. Laura was the dreamy artist in their group of friends, and was sometimes a little disconnected. A trusting soul, she actually drove forward when her light turned green. Unfortunately, the kids from Old Dominion University—often late by virtue of not being able to find any place to park—were a little cavalier when it came to obeying traffic signals.

  Samantha felt strongly that defensive driving was a must in Norfolk traffic. Between the rushes to and from the Naval Station Norfolk at one end of Hampton Boulevard and the shipyards and downtown Norfolk at the other, traffic was a nightmare. Laura, however, never worried about such things. She solved the problem her own way. She simply didn’t drive then.

  Laura got through the intersection and past the University safely, and it was clear sailing the rest of the way. There was a space right by the door of the Pet Palace and Laura slipped her Mercedes into it.

  Rags must have recognized the sound of her engine. It was more than obvious he was ready to go home and then some by the time Samantha put her hand on the door of the groomer’s. She could hear his occasional inquiring bark. The minute she entered, Rags went wild. Yipping and flinging himself against the bright chrome bars of his cage, he let the world know he’d been ready to go home long before now. There was no mistaking his ‘where have you been and what kept you’ attitude.

  Samantha paid the groomer in the silence imposed on them by the incredible volume of sound from his tiny pair of lungs. Suzette, as she styled herself—she worked primarily with French poodles, after all—freed the indignant Rags from his captivity and handed him to Samantha with a flourish. Into the instant silence she said, “As usual, no bow. Sorry.”

  Samantha laughed. “It’s all right, Susie. I don’t like bows on boys anyway.”

  “Good thing since he won’t tolerate one.” She gave Rags a last pat. “See you in two weeks.” Susie waved gaily and turned back to the dignified gray poodle standing patiently on the grooming table.

  As the door closed behind them, Samantha murmured to the Yorkie, who was frantically clawing the front of her linen suit in his effort to lick the skin off her chin, “Susie’s a saint, you little brat. She’d have to be to put up with you.” She twisted her head aside to see the handle on the car door.

  Laura eyed Rags warily and told Samantha, “If you say one nauseating thing to that mutt, you walk home.” And to the dog, “Hello, Rags.” She made her tone resigned and unwelcoming.

  “Weerf!” Rags was in no way deceived. His stump of a tail beat a greeting.

  Samantha settled him in her lap and smoothed her hand over his back before beginning to scratch gently behind his ears. “Since you won’t let me buy you gas, Laurie, how about some lunch?”

  “What’ll we do with Rags? We’re certainly not leaving him in my car, I can tell you.”

  Samantha grinned. “I’ve brought my largest purse.”

  “You’re on!”

  Rags took one look at Samantha removing her wallet, handkerchief and cosmetics from her woven wicker handbag and started growling. He was still ‘percolating,’ as Laura called his low, continuous growl, when she slid her Mercedes into the last parking space behind the restaurant. “How in the world are we going to manage this if he keeps that up?”

  “Hush, Rags. Be quiet.” Samantha was stuffing him into her large wicker contraption. She’d already taken out the money to pay for lunch and shoved it into the pocket of her linen blazer along with her handkerchief and lipstick. “Don’t worry. He’ll stop.”

  True to Samantha’s word, the Yorkshire settled down in the bottom of the oversized purse the minute they entered the restaurant. He was sniffing audibly, trying to separate and identify the wave of cooking smells that inundated them. Fortunately, his sniff was lost in the sounds of cutlery and conversation from the busy crowd of diners. Only the two women accompanying him were aware of the bright glitter of his black button eyes through the spaces between the wickerwork of Samantha’s purse.

  The feisty Yorkshire had stopped sniffing by the time the hostess led the three of them to a table. As a result, she didn’t suspect a thing.

  “Well,” Laura muttered, “Will wonders never cease?”

 
Samantha just laughed at her.

  They’d barely given their server their drink orders when suddenly Laura stiffened. “Oh, dear.”

  “What is it?”

  “There. Over against the window.”

  “Why, it’s Alison.” Samantha’s voice held a note of delighted surprise. “I thought she was working down in Chesapeake. Wasn’t she selling condominiums over there for Herb Talley?”

  “Yes, she was. She is. That’s why I’m surprised to see her all the way up here on Twenty-first Street.” There was an edge to Laura’s usually pleasant voice. “There are plenty of good places to eat lunch in the Greenbrier area.”

  Samantha raised an eyebrow at her friend’s testiness. Looking toward Alison’s table, she studied the young man sitting with Laura’s niece. Slender to the point of being wiry, he had a narrow face that was a little too intent to be pleasant. It was crowned by a wealth of carefully barbered and combed blond hair. She was too far away to see what color his eyes were, but she could easily tell by its fit that his suit was expensive.

  “You don’t like the young man she’s with,” Samantha skipped the preliminaries and stated the obvious, “Why?” She and Laura had been friends forever, and over the years, their style of communicating had evolved to a shortened form.

  Laura glowered. “I don’t like the fact that she’s come this far from her job to have lunch with him. He could at least have met her halfway.”

  Samantha regarded her friend steadily.

  “Oh, all right.” Laura gave up. “I think he’s trying to talk her out of going back to finish college.”

  “Alison is far too intelligent to let anybody do that, Laura. You’re worrying needlessly.”

  “I’m not sure anymore.” Now a frown marred Laura’s usually serene brow. “I hope you’re right.”

  “Oh, Laura.” Samantha put her hand on her friend’s arm. “Trust me. You really are worrying needlessly.”

  Laura’s soft brown eyes met Samantha’s. “Talk to her, will you? She always seems to listen to you.”

  “Of course I will.” She smiled to take the sting out of her next remark. “But I still think you’re making mountains out of molehills.”

  The waitress came just then to take their order. Both women were occupied for a moment, and when they looked up again from their menus, Alison and her companion were getting ready to leave.

  As they turned toward the door, Alison saw them. Her face lit up.

  Samantha waved a greeting.

  Pulling her young man along behind her, Alison charged over. “Aunt Laura! Samantha! Hi! What are you all doing here?” She pecked each of them on the cheek.

  “Having lunch, of course.” Samantha laughed up at this girl she considered her honorary niece.

  “After collecting Rags from the groomer.” Laura’s somber tone made it sound like they’d made a trip to the guillotine.

  “Then Rags is here!” Alison bent down to look for her four-legged favorite. “Rags! Where are you?”

  Simultaneously her real and her honorary aunt shushed her. They needn’t have bothered. The place was still noisy enough to cover the sharp sound from Samantha’s purse.

  Alison had heard the single, imperious yap Rags had given, though. She bent down to greet the little Yorkshire.

  Samantha used the distraction to study the intense young man in front of her. There was a faint look of disapproval on his face.

  Samantha hoped she wasn’t being influenced by Laura’s dislike, but she didn’t think she was going to warm to him, either. She didn’t like the cold expression in his pale blue eyes. It was plain he was bored at being dragged over to meet her. Clearly she held no interest for him. Odd. Alison usually chose nice people for her companions. Of course she and Laura were over thirty, and in the good old U.S. of A., youth lacked the respect for their elders with which other countries treated those older and wiser. She couldn’t help thinking that perhaps it was because the countries themselves were older and, one hoped, wise.

  Alison was unaware of her escort’s disapproval or Samantha’s perusal, however. She’d swooped down on the capacious wicker purse. “Oh, what a wonderful purse!” The girl held it to her smooth cheek and crooned, “Nice purse. Lovely purse. Oh, aren’t you the good purse.”

  The wicker vibrated with the pleased wriggling of the dog it contained. She rocked it a moment more, gave it a kiss and gently placed it back on the floor at Samantha’s feet. She told it, “There, there. Be a good purse,” and gave it a final pat.

  Laura rolled her eyes and muttered, “Oh, Good Lord.” Above all things, Laura detested a scene. “Stop that, Alison.” She tugged at her niece’s short linen skirt. “If you keep that up, they’re going to hear you.”

  Samantha patted Laura’s arm. This was a gathering place for young people. Except for a college boy ogling Alison, nobody was noticing them—they were obviously over thirty and therefore invisible. For her part, she was watching Alison’s escort. He looked distinctly annoyed. Coloring, he told the girl, “Stop being silly, Alison. You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

  Alison straightened, cheerfully ignoring his comment, and tugged him a little forward. “Samantha, I’d like you to meet my friend, Randal Hale. He’s our latest addition at Greater Tidewater Realty. Randal, this is my honorary Aunt, Samantha Masters.”

  “How do you do,” Samantha tried to speak with her customary warmth and nodded to the young man.

  Randal Hale’s irritation disappeared the instant he heard Samantha’s name. He smiled at her winningly, the voltage so high she blinked. “I’m so glad to meet you, Mrs. Masters. You’re that property just before you go into Laura’s gate, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” Now Samantha was amused. She’d never thought of herself as a piece of real estate before. Usually it was, ‘Oh, Samantha Masters! You’re the one who does the column for Gardens for Today,’ or, ‘Oh, yes. ‘Whoever’ has told me so much about you!’ Now, suddenly, she was the property just outside her best friend’s gate. It made an interesting change, she had to admit.

  “Someday I’d like to drop by and talk to you about . . .”

  It was Alison’s turn to look disapproving. She scowled and yanked his arm. “Come on, Randy, I’ll be late getting back to work.”

  Turning a smiling face toward Samantha, she leaned down and gave her Aunt Laura another quick peck on the cheek. “See you two later.” Bending a little lower as she moved away, she hissed, “Be a good purse,” waved and was gone.

  Laura settled back in her chair with a sigh.

  “She’s just young and full of life.” Samantha offered. “You wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  “She isn’t the one who upsets me. Do you realize Randal Hale would have made a play to list your house just now if she hadn’t dragged him off?”

  “Well, she did, so no harm done.” Samantha let her gaze go to where the young couple had exited. “He certainly is an intense young man.” She was careful not to add that she didn’t like him.

  “I don’t like him, Samantha.” Laura looked mulish.

  In spite of the fact that Laura had just voiced her own sentiment, Samantha tried to be fair. “Are you sure you wouldn’t feel that way about any young man that Alison was enthusiastic about?”

  “You didn’t like him either.”

  Samantha wrestled with that for only a moment. Laughing, she gave in. “True.”

  “Then don’t try to get me to like him, or I’ll make you walk home.”

  Samantha threw up her hands in surrender. “Please. Not with my heaviest purse!”

  Chapter Three

  First thing in the morning the next day, Samantha began her new walking program, determined to regain some measure of fitness. Swinging along at a brisk pace, she was soon sorry she hadn’t listened to her housekeeper. Jasmine Johnson was right again. She usually was. As Samantha was trying to beat Rags out of the door, Jasmine had scooped him up and said, “Now don’t you go out there in those good slacks and tha
t pretty matching sweater. You know perfectly well you’re gonna sweat ‘em up somethin’ terrible!”

  And she was. Her mother might have drummed into her that ‘horses sweat, gentlemen perspire, and ladies glow,’ but there was no denying that she, Samantha Eugenie Swann Masters, was glowing so hard that there were patches of just plain sweat under the arms and in the middle of the back of her expensive sweater.

  Over her muttering about it, she heard an evenly cadenced tattoo of footsteps, then a hearty, “Good morning!” Her new neighbor, Colonel McLain, breezed by, running easily and not even breathing half as hard as she was. Drat the man!

  Well, at least he hadn’t stopped. Thank the Lord for small favors.

  Churlishly, she didn’t answer him. He was almost out of sight around the corner half a block ahead anyhow. Immediately she felt guilty.

  “Oh, spit.” Sometimes being born a Virginian was a thorough pain in the neck. Maybe if she’d been born elsewhere, or even born here later when conscience had become less of a burden, she might have been able to ignore him without the least twinge of remorse. How nice that would have been. But no, she had to get the guilties.

  Probably as punishment, an ache was developing in her right calf. It was an ache that was getting impossible to ignore. Almost immediately, she began limping. In another minute she was hobbling. She couldn’t help it. “Oh, shoot.” She paused to rub her calf and discovered a huge knot in the muscle.

  “Samantha!” A reedy voice called out to her. “Oh, Samantha, is that you?” A tiny woman with a frantic look on her face hurried across her immaculate lawn toward Samantha. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here. The most awful thing has happened. You must come and see!”

  Samantha forgot her aching leg and limped to meet Emilee Twiford. “What is it?”

  “Come. You’ll have to see. You won’t believe it unless you see it for yourself. You simply won’t believe it.” Emilee turned and led the way around the back of her huge house to the spacious backyard. There, havoc met Samantha’s gaze. Emilee’s garden, the garden she spent all her time on, lavished all her attention on, was a shambles.