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

by Christina Strong

  In the flower bed, everything that had come up had been lopped off at ground level and shoots and leaves lay strewn about the yard. Even Emilee’s prize rose bushes had been hacked back, removing all the fresh, new growth.

  Anger flooded Samantha. “How could anyone do such a thing?” Emilee worked so hard on her yard. She didn’t have the money to hire anyone to help her. Emilee’s income, which had seemed a very generous provision when her husband had been alive to make it, was a mere pittance in today’s economy. Emilee was barely scraping by, and she was working herself to the bone to do that.

  Because Emilee was trying so hard to make ends meet, all the neighbors conspired to get her to accept their ‘leftover’ lawn fertilizer and rose food, and shared new plants with her so that she didn’t have to spend a cent on her garden and lawn. If Emilee happened to mention wanting a new flower, one of them ‘just happened’ to have a spare that needed weeding out, and gave it to her. If it was something that had to be ordered from a nursery, to gain the time to do it, they told her they’d be separating said flower clump soon and promised her one.

  The conspiracy went beyond Emilee’s magnificent garden, too. When it was Emilee’s turn to host a meeting of any sort, they were careful to see that it always fell in the spring or summer, so that there’d be no chance that anyone would discover that Emilee did without heating except when it was so cold it endangered the plumbing of her huge house. And the Bridge group always scheduled Emilee’s day to coincide with the bake sales the Garden Club put on to finance the landscaping and mowing service for the two entrances to their neighborhood. That way everyone could bring leftovers to Emilee’s to keep her from having any expenditures. They couldn’t stop her from making iced tea or they would even have done that. If anyone present had ever said they’d prefer a coke the others would have murdered them.

  Looking after Emilee had long ago become a neighborhood project. And now some vandal had ruined it all! Samantha could just howl! “Oh, Emilee.” Samantha’s voice was husky. “I’m so very sorry.”

  Sympathy was more than the tiny woman could bear. She stopped twisting her hands and put them over her face instead. Quiet sobs shook her frame. “Oh, Samantha. I try so hard. So very hard . . . and now this.”

  “Let’s go in and have a cup of tea.” Samantha put an arm around Emilee’s frail shoulders and shepherded her into her spacious kitchen. Leading her to a chair at the kitchen table, she asked, “Where do you keep your tea?”

  “There in the canister beside the stove.” She pointed wearily to the spotless appliance. “I’m so tired, so very tired.” She sagged in her chair. “Oh, Samantha, what am I going to do?”

  “You’re going to have a cup of tea and relax. That’s what you’re going to do.” She limped over, filled the kettle at the sink and placed it on the stove. “Laura and I will alert the Garden Club, and they’ll all come over and make the garden lovely again. After all, it’s still early spring. Most of the plants will just come up again. And if they don’t, all of us have enough to give you some to fill in any blank spots.”

  Emilee stiffened. “I don’t like charity, you know, Samantha.”

  No, Lord, she doesn’t. She likes working herself to death to keep up the illusion that she can manage this great, hulking house and the acre lot it sits on with nothing more than what her long-dead husband provided for her. And she can’t. Nobody could. Inflation had changed all that.

  Now, all of us just want to keep her from killing herself, and I’m not sure we can do anything to stop her! All of that Samantha said in her head, as she walked around the kitchen with her knotted calf making her tiptoe on that side.

  Out loud, she asked quietly, “Emilee, dear, what do you like in your tea?”

  “Just sugar, please.” Then she relaxed and let Samantha comfort her.

  ***

  Genius! Samantha congratulated herself as she limped homeward. She’d been a positive genius to talk Emilee into looking into the condominiums Alison was selling. Herb Talley and his Greater Tidewater Realty could get top dollar for the expensive corner Emilee owned. The little dear could buy her condo and invest what was left over from the sale of this property. She’d be able to live very comfortably once she’d moved. She’d even be able to afford the gas to drive back to the neighborhood to play Bridge! Yes, and a good many other things, too. Why, invested properly, or in a good annuity, Emilee’s money would make it possible for her to take a garden tour of Europe every year or so and still live well.

  Samantha felt as if a weight had been lifted from her. Herb Talley would be glad to help. Not only was he a longtime neighbor and friend, he owned one of the most successful real estate firms in the Hampton Roads area and he was always saying that people wanted places near the Norfolk Yacht and Country Club. It was the perfect solution.

  If her calf hadn’t decided to turn to stone, her walk would have been absolutely vivacious as she left Emilee’s. It had, though, and as she approached the giant Formosa azalea that had overgrown its proper place and spilled over onto the asphalt of the street, she limped to the curb and sat down on it with a plop. She refused to let it enter her mind that this was where the poor murdered man had been found.

  Kneading the tight muscle in her calf just brought tears to her eyes. Oh, bother, Father! Unless she could get the darn knot out, she was going to have a very painful hobble the rest of the way back to the house. How aggravating! Clenching her teeth until the back ones grated, she swiped the sleeve of her sweater across her eyes. Dealing with frustration had never been one of her strong points.

  The Colonel chose that moment to trot around the big purple azalea. He was still moving with undiminished energy and still not breathing hard, drat him. Lavender petals swirled to the black asphalt of the street in the wind his passing created.

  “What the devil?” He danced lightly to a halt and looked down at her.

  Samantha glared up at him.

  He took that as a good sign. If she’d been lying in wait for him, she’d look up helplessly, not scowl at him like that. “What’s the problem?”

  Samantha just rubbed her calf and ignored his growled inquiry. Nothing her mother or aunt had taught her covered the situation. She decided that surely she could be rude if she were in excruciating pain and she was. “I’m fine. Go away.”

  McLain brightened perceptibly. Surly. Great. She could hardly be trying to impress him if she was surly. Nor hardly be trying to attach him if she was sending him away. Maybe he was going to be safe from this one, after all. He knelt and grabbed her calf.

  “Ouch!” She didn’t even know this . . . this person and he was holding her leg as if he had a God-given right to touch her! Samantha was outraged.

  The Colonel gave her calf a squeeze, firmly holding on to it when she tried to pull it away. Charley horse. She really had a knot in her calf. And it was as big as one of her fists. He was feeling better all the time. “Shut up and hold still. I’ll have this out in a jiffy.”

  Samantha could think of a great many things to say in response to such a rude order. She couldn’t speak calmly and evenly when she wanted to whimper with the pain his kneading of her calf was causing, however, so she obeyed him and ‘shut up.’

  ‘Shut up.’ That left her seething. No one had ever told her to shut up in her whole life. Never. Insufferable man.

  After a minute, the pain decreased. So did the size of the knot. Now she began to resent the fact that she was going to have to be grateful to this overconfident jerk.

  “Better?” He knew very well it was. He could feel the difference.

  “Hmmmm,” Samantha kept her answer to the minimum.

  “You tried to do too much for your first day.”

  Samantha’s gaze shot to his face. How did he know this was the first time she’d walked? He’d just moved in to the Stoddards’s last week. How could he know how often she walked? “Why do you think this is my first day out walking?”

  His laugh was an insult. “Oh, for Pete
’s sake. If you’d been out before, you’d have proper gear.”

  “Proper gear?” She said it frostily, one eyebrow lifted.

  “Yeah. Tennis shoes aren’t for walking. You need pro walkers.” He gestured at her. “And nobody but a nitwit would come out in their good clothes.”

  “Am I to assume from that remark that you consider me a nitwit?” She gave him her most saccharine smile.

  “Look, lady. I’m just trying to play Good Samaritan here. I’m not up for character evaluation.”

  “Good.” She tried to say it repressively, but the relief she felt at his having worked the knot completely out of her calf ruined the effect.

  John McLain pulled her to her feet, turned her in the direction of her house and told her, “Go home. And don’t come out here again without a decent pair of shoes and some sweats.”

  She knew she ought to say, “Thank you for your help.” It had to be said. To her credit, when she finally got it out, she didn’t say it through clenched teeth.

  “Yeah.” His bright blue gaze held hers. “If I see you out tomorrow morning, I’ll start you on a fitness program.” With that he loped off.

  She supposed she ought to be glad he didn’t smack her on the bottom to start her walking towards home. Looking after his effortlessly moving figure, she told him what she thought of his offer to help her get fit. He may be fit as could be, but whether she was or not was her own business.

  Scowling, she considered his offer. Decision made, she muttered under her breath, “Fat chance!”

  Chapter Four

  Bridge on Wednesday was at Tyler Brokenborough’s. By mutual agreement the players had decided they wouldn’t discuss the murder. There were no new developments, and any talk would have seemed pointless.

  Tyler greeted each one of them with air kisses next to their cheeks. All the players were prompt. They didn’t dare not to be. Agnes Chamberlain was playing.

  While everyone was settling down, one of Samantha’s favorite partners, Olivia Charles, pulled her aside to introduce her to a lovely younger lady. “Samantha, I want you to meet my dear cousin.” She gave her companion a hug as she said, “This is my evil twin, Janet Wilson.”

  Samantha looked at the sweet face of the willowy blonde and laughed. “Evil twin, indeed. You should sue for slander, Janet. Besides, no twin of Olivia’s could be less than delightful.” Smiling she offered her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

  “How do you do, Mrs. Masters.” A radiant smile lit the young woman’s face. “Olivia has told me so much about you. I’m glad to meet you at last.”

  “Why, I’m flattered.” She glanced at Olivia, and found her frowning a little. Before she could figure out why, they were interrupted.

  Agnes Chamberlain was bearing down on them. “Would the three of you stop slathering butter all over each other and get to your places. It’s time to play Bridge if you please.”

  Turning obediently away, Olivia muttered, “And if you don’t please.”

  Janet Wilson giggled and followed Olivia. As she walked away, Samantha heard her tease her cousin with a whispered, “Now who’s being evil?”

  Half an hour later, Samantha put her cards up to her face and yawned behind them. She was paying for her grand experiment with aerobic exercise big time. Sticking with her walking program was good for her, she knew, but all that fresh air she’d gotten walking early this morning was making her sleepy now. Anyhow, she’d rather blame the exercise than the mystery she’d read until midnight.

  Lifting her coffee cup from the corner of the table, she took a healthy swallow, hoping she’d get used to her new exercise regimen before the Bridge Club met again next week. Last hand, she’d almost trumped her partner’s ace.

  Tuning in to what the others were discussing, she found that, with the subject of the murder forbidden, the table talk centered around the destruction of Emilee Twiford’s garden.

  “How awful,” Tyler said.

  “Things like this just don’t happen here in Riverhaven.” Brenda Talley was indignant. As the wife of one of the area’s most prominent realtors, the one who handled most of the transactions in Riverhaven, Brenda took a proprietary interest in everything that happened in the neighborhood.

  Understanding glances passed between the others. Then Janet Wilson said, “This is dreadful. Do you think there’s any chance that it’ll happen again?”

  Agnes Chamberlain’s comment was delivered in a scathing voice. “Well, what do you think we can do to stop it?”

  There were furtive glances. Even if they’d had a plan that had been worked out by a master strategist to stop the vandal, no one was going to offer it when Agnes thought there was nothing to be done. Disagreeing with one of Agnes’s pronouncements, or in this case one of her typically daunting rhetorical questions, simply wasn’t done. Not unless the brave soul who did so was prepared to carry her head home under her arm.

  “Has anybody notified the police about it?” Olivia Charles looked at Samantha. “Surely you did.”

  Samantha sighed. “I did, of course, and they came out and wrote a report. They were very sympathetic to Emilee.” She glanced toward the vandal’s victim, “Weren’t they, dear?”

  Emilee smiled mournfully and said, “Yes, they certainly were but I don’t expect them to do much.”

  Samantha gazed around her circle of friends. “Times have changed. I’m afraid the police have bigger fish to fry these days than our garden vandal.”

  “Oh, dear,” their hostess, Tyler Brokenborough, voiced the general worry, “I just pray this is a single occurrence, and that we won’t have to worry about having a continuing threat to our yards . . . not to mention our peace of mind.”

  “Harrrump!” Agnes Chamberlain swept them with a gimlet eye.

  Tyler, after one look at Agnes’s tightening countenance, flinched visibly and took up her duty as Bridge hostess. For the benefit of all present, she closed the conversation with a quiet but firm, “But let’s keep our minds on the cards, shall we?”

  Play continued for a while in silence.

  “By the way,” Brenda Talley’s voice rose to carry to all those at the other tables. “I have something interesting to tell you.” She led to her partner’s ace and went on, “I got a phone call the other day from a young man asking about the Stoddards. He said he had learned the house was sold and remembered that Herb and I were such good friends with them that surely we would have handled the sale and would know where they were. He was devastated to learn they were killed in that automobile accident.” She looked around at them. “It took quite some time to calm him, but after I had, I asked him if he’d like to come back here and stay with us for a while.”

  Everyone watched her, puzzled; Agnes impatiently. Brenda smiled. “All right, I’ll get to the point.”

  Agnes muttered, “You always do. Eventually.”

  The Bridge group looked a little surprised that she hadn’t said ‘It’s about time.’

  Hesitating just one more second, Brenda told them with high excitement in her voice, “Young Ben Stoddard is coming home!”

  Her announcement had the desired effect. The entire room was thrown into a tizzy. Comments flew.

  “No!”

  “Really?”

  “You mean he’s still alive?”

  “How wonderful! I truly thought he must have met with foul play. He’d always been such a good boy, I couldn’t see him just running off and letting his poor parents worry like they did.”

  “Oh, dear.” Emilee’s face was stricken. “What a shame he’s too late to see his parents.”

  They all thought of their friends, the Stoddards. Ruled by anxiety for their missing son they could not trace, they had lost their health and, finally, lost heart.

  Two months ago, they’d sold a home too filled with memories of their missing boy and left Virginia for a luxurious retirement center in Florida. They’d been killed in an automobile accident on their way down the coast.

  The whole gr
oup mourned them. Mimi Stoddard had been a regular at Bridge and their very good friend. Ben Stoddard had been attorney for most of them. They’d been such a courageous pair, and pillars of the community. Greatly admired, sorely missed.

  Emilee sniffled.

  “But Benny’s coming home! Oh, I’m so glad.” Olivia Charles’s warm smile was heartfelt. There were quick tears of joy in her eyes. “How happy Ben senior and Mimi would have been to know that he was safe after all.”

  Agnes Chamberlain grunted, “Huh. Fat lot of good this does ‘em now.”

  The whole room cringed.

  Then Agnes demanded, “What’s his excuse for disappearing off the face of the Earth and never letting his poor parents know he was alive?”

  Brenda smoothed a hand over her sleek, fashionably blunt-cut hair and answered with relish, preening herself for being the one in the know. “He’s been in jail in one of those awful middle-eastern countries.” She looked around at the others, her eyes sparkling. “He was carrying a backpack for a friend, and it turned out to have some sort of dope in it. Marijuana, I think.”

  Agnes said, “Huh. I never before knew the boy was stupid.”

  Olivia jumped to Ben Stoddard Jr.’s defense, her throaty voice warm with compassion, “Oh please don’t say that. I know you don’t mean it. You know very well he was never stupid, Agnes. He was very bright and very dear. I was his Sunday school teacher for years, and we were the best of friends. He was always kind and obliging.”

  “Obliging. Yes, and it was certainly obliging of him to tote the knapsack with the dope in it for his friend. Look where that got him.”

  “Oh, Agnes.” Olivia wanted her to understand. “Benny would have trusted the person he carried the knapsack for. He was always quick to believe the best of everybody, always slow to judge.”

  Agnes had absolutely no intention of understanding. She had that sour look she got when she’d made up her mind to be unpleasant. Under her breath she growled, “More fool he.”