Motto for Murder (Merry Wrath Mysteries Book 6)

by Leslie Langtry

  * * * * *

  FREE EBOOK OFFER

  Sign up for our newsletter to be the first to know about our new releases, special bargains, and giveaways, and as a bonus receive a FREE ebook!

  Sign up for the Gemma Halliday newsletter!

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  MOTTO FOR MURDER

  a Merry Wrath Mystery

  by

  LESLIE LANGTRY

  * * * * *

  Copyright © 2018 by Leslie Langtry

  Cover design by Janet Holmes

  Gemma Halliday Publishing

  http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  FREE BOOK OFFER

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BOOKS BY LESLIE LANGTRY

  SNEAK PEEK

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER ONE

  "Is that a dead body?" I asked Philby as I looked out the garage window.

  Philby didn't answer because 1) she's rude like that, and 2) she's a cat. Still, she could flick her tail or something to show she agreed with me.

  Next door, in the darkness, I saw my neighbors carrying what looked a lot like a body from their detached garage to their back door. It was quite a coincidence, really. I was taking the trash out and found my cat throwing herself at the small window as if a giant mouse made of albacore tuna was dancing just out of reach on the other side.

  Philby gave me a long look, implying that I was an idiot for stating the obvious. But then, she looked like Hitler, so she wasn't allowed to judge me. The lights came on inside the neighbors' house, but I only saw two people silhouetted on the shade.

  "Well," I said to my cat, "obviously they aren't going to lift the body and use it like a puppet just so we can see it."

  Philby looked at me as if to say that normal people would do just that. Kind of like she does when she catches and kills a mouse. Cats think they know everything.

  I pulled out my cell and called my fiancé, Detective Rex Ferguson, who lived across the street.

  "Merry?" he asked. He sounded sleepy. I could've walked across the street and woken him up in person, but that seemed a little inconvenient to me.

  "I think the neighbors killed a guy and carried him into their house!" I kept my voice quiet and my eyes on the window.

  "What time is it?" Rex replied as though he heard this kind of thing all the time from me.

  "I don't know." I squinted at the phone. "One o'clock. In the morning."

  I'm not sure why I added that last bit, because obviously it was in the early morning, and Rex was a detective capable of determining that on his own.

  "You're dreaming," he mumbled. "Go back to bed."

  "Why would I be dreaming in my garage? Besides, I don't have neighbors on the other side of my house where the bedroom is. I'm wide awake and looking at them right now."

  I pictured him rubbing his eyes. "Maybe whoever they were carrying was sick. Or inebriated. Do you have anything else to go on?"

  "I think I know a dead body when I see one," I replied.

  I regretted those words as soon as I said them. Why? Because I'd been found with a number of dead bodies over the last two years—bodies that had no connection to me. And no, I didn't kill them.

  "Is this a formal complaint?" Rex asked.

  I could tell he was debating whether it was worth getting out of bed to investigate.

  "Yes!" I insisted. "They're probably cutting the dead guy up in the bathtub right now. You can catch them red-handed!"

  "You do realize that if I go over there, the Fontanas are going to know it was you who tipped them off."

  "You know their name?" How did he know them? I'd lived here longer than he had, and I didn't know them.

  "Mark and Pam," he said. "They borrowed an egg from me a month ago. Nice people."

  My spy-dy senses went haywire. "Don't you think that's suspicious? Two people borrowing one egg?"

  "No, I don't." This conversation was finished as far as he was concerned. "I'll send a squad car over."

  "What? No! You're the detective! You should go."

  "I'm not going. For one thing, it isn't an investigation. An officer will suffice. And secondly, they're my neighbors. I don't want to freak them out with a full-on investigation of a murder when the only witness is…unreliable."

  "Unreliable? I was a spy for the CIA for eight years! I'd say that makes me pretty reliable."

  I could almost hear him shaking his head. "And you haven't slept in days. That means you could be hallucinating."

  He's right. I haven't slept well for weeks. For some reason, insomnia had set in a month earlier, right before Valentine's Day. I'd been so tired I'd almost left the house in a red dress and combat boots.

  "I don't think I'm hallucinating," I muttered. Just to be sure, I pinched Philby, who hissed and ran away. Nope, not asleep.

  "Go to bed, Merry," Rex said firmly. "I'll send someone over."

  He hung up before I could say anything else.

  Now, a normal person might have gone to bed like their significant other said. But my adrenaline was spiking, so I ran to the living room, turned out the lights, and hid behind a curtain, waiting for the squad car to arrive.

  There were several theories about my insomnia. Kelly, my best friend and co-leader of our Girl Scout troop, thought I was having pre-wedding jitters. I told her that technically, it couldn't be pre-wedding jitters since we hadn't even picked a date yet.

  As for everyone else, Rex thought I was just plain crazy, and the four Kaitlyns in my Girl Scout troop announced that I was obviously suffering under the delusion that I was a vegetarian, pink bald eagle with glittery wings.

  They were probably all right. When I did sleep, I imagined I was a pink eagle with glittery wings. I wondered how they knew.

  Kelly was right. I was avoiding plans for the wedding. Why? Because I wasn't sure I was ready for this huge step. I'd only been engaged for five months. And during that time, a close friend had betrayed me and my former handler had vanished into thin air.

  Thinking about Riley made my stomach drop into my knees. I'd made the right choice by choosing Rex. Besides, Riley hadn't proposed. Not that I'd wanted him to. Rex was my fi
ancé and I loved him. And I could count on him. And I trusted him. The same couldn't be said for Riley. Not after the stunt he'd pulled.

  Kelly said that once I picked a date, I'd feel better. I knew she was right. All this wedding stuff was too overwhelming. My best friend told me this was what I subconsciously wanted or I wouldn't have bought a minivan.

  By the way, I bought a minivan. My little sedan wasn't able to transport my troop, so I bought something bigger. And no, this wasn't because Rex and I were going to start having kids. It was for the troop. Besides, if I ever bought something big, like a moose head or dresser, I'd have a vehicle big enough to take it home.

  My parents thought I was freaking out over nothing. There'd been endless text messages from my mother in DC, who was more than thrilled to help me sort through all this wedding stuff. Since I was the only child of Senator Michael Czrygy and my glamorous mother, Judith Wrath Czrygy, they were excited to help. Maybe I should turn it over to her? Or let Kelly handle things.

  The squad car turned the corner in front of my house and slowly crept forward to my neighbors', the Fontanas', house.

  "No!" I whispered to no one. Philby and her kitten, Martini, were apparently done with me. "Not Kevin!"

  The officer in question stepped out of the car with all the speed of a lobotomized sloth in a coma. He wiped his Cheetos-stained hands on his shirt and walked up to the door of the house.

  Kevin Dooley and I had a history. And by history, I mean we'd gone to the same elementary school, where he'd been a well-known paste eater. The man never spoke. I'd always assumed he was hired because the police department had to hire a paste eater for diversity purposes.

  But the police department in a small town like Who's There, Iowa had to take what they could get. And Kevin's dad had once been the head of security at the local hospital. He pulled some strings and voila! A paste-eating cop. Not that he ate paste anymore. He mostly was found with cheese puffs or powdered donuts. He was always eating.

  I watched as he rang the doorbell. A few seconds later, a man in a bathrobe answered. The two men exchanged too few words to constitute an actual investigation. Then something surprising happened. Mr. Fontana invited Kevin inside.

  I ran back out to the garage and watched as three silhouettes talked to each other. Two people walked away, and five minutes later, they were back—just enough time for me to scrounge up some Pizza Rolls. Five minutes after that, I watched Officer Dooley leave, get into his car, and drive away.

  Why would Rex send Kevin? I guess he didn't believe me. This did nothing to help my insomnia, and I spent the rest of the night pacing the living room, trying to think of what to do. Part of me wanted to do some hardcore window peeping. But if the Fontanas spotted me and called the cops, I'd be busted.

  Instead, I had a glass of wine, a hot bath, and four sleeping pills. By some small miracle, with the image of a vegetarian bald eagle carrying a body away, I drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWO

  My name is Merry Wrath. Actually, it's Fionnaghuala Merrygold Czrygy. Two years earlier I'd been "accidentally" outed as a field operative by the vice president of the United States—as a not too subtle act of revenge against my dad, who's a prominent senator from Iowa.

  After receiving an amazingly huge settlement from the government, I'd changed my name and appearance and quietly come back to my hometown to sort myself out. Most people would take time to reflect on what they wanted to do next. Others would jump right into a new job.

  I'd started a Girl Scout troop.

  Unfortunately, over the past two years, dead bodies had inconveniently popped up around me. I hadn't murdered any of them but had discovered a knack for investigating that impressed my troop of 4th graders and frustrated my fiancé.

  "I don't suppose you know how to plan a wedding, do you?" I asked my cats first thing in the morning. Being that we were in the kitchen and I was in the middle of giving them breakfast—they refused to answer.

  Philby responded by belching, and Martini farted. I wasn't sure how to take that advice.

  "You have to set a date first." A man's voice made me jump and land in a defensive stance.

  Rex stepped into the kitchen from the living room. I relaxed because, in all fairness, he had a key to my house.

  "What are you doing here?" I ran my fingers through my hair in a vain attempt to look presentable.

  The cats walked over to Rex and demanded to be petted. And because they'd trained him well, he did. A few seconds later, both returned to their tuna after giving me an angry look that implied they wanted me to get a move on too. Maybe they were angling to be bridesmaids.

  "You don't have to take his side," I protested.

  Rex pulled me into a very toe-tingling kiss. "There aren't any sides, Merry. The date can be tomorrow or a year from now. I'd just like to know."

  My fiancé was an unreasonably attractive man with a completely reasonable way of dealing with adult things. A few inches taller than my 5'9", he had short black hair, beautiful eyes, and a body most women would melt over. How did I get so lucky? I wasn't much to look at with my short, curly dirty-blonde hair and an affinity for junk food and sweat suits.

  "I think we should tell your parents first," I said.

  I'd only recently learned that his parents actually existed and lived nearby in the big city of Des Moines. He'd never mentioned family before, so I'd assumed he sprang forth, fully formed, from Zeus's head.

  My suggestion had the desired effect. "We will." Rex released me and sighed. "It just has to be the right time."

  "I'm outing myself for this wedding."

  Okay, by "outing" I meant my parents were coming for the wedding and people would find out I was really Finn Czrygy. Not Merry Wrath—a disguise I'd invented so no one would bother me after the media madness that happened when I was really outed.

  I was still going to use Merry Wrath because it sounded way cooler than an unpronounceable name like Fionnaghuala (which is spelled weird, since it's pronounced "finella") Czrygy. People would know who I really was when they saw my parents' names on the wedding program. I'd tried to argue that we didn't need programs but was shot down by Kelly, who insisted we did. Since she's smarter than me in these kinds of things, I'd acquiesced.

  "I know. And I never asked you to do that," Rex continued.

  Putting my hands on my hips in an attempt to appear intimidating, I said, "I've never met your parents. In fact, when you proposed, I had no idea they lived so close by."

  I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me that he'd never introduced me to his folks. "No wedding date until I meet the parents," I insisted.

  By demanding that, I was able to delay selecting a date. For now.

  Rex had heard this before. "You don't understand. My parents aren't like yours."

  I nodded. "You've said that at least fifty times, but you've never explained why. Are you embarrassed for them to meet me?"

  "No. I'm embarrassed to have you meet them," Rex said.

  "You're an only child like me." I started stacking the wedding magazines. "They're going to want you to be happy."

  Rex winced. "I never told you I was an only child."

  What? "You have siblings? Why haven't you told me that before?"

  "You never asked."

  Ah. The old you-never-asked trick. I'd used it many times as a spy and a few times as a troop leader. It was an excellent way to lie without truly lying. You just withheld certain intel. It was especially useful when you didn't want the Colombian drug lord you were partying with to know you're a spy. Technically, Carlos the Armadillo never asked if I was with the CIA, which meant it was his own fault when he was kidnapped at a convenience store in Bogotá by men in dark suits. He never should've told me about his midnight Slurpee cravings.

  "I suppose your sisters or brothers or whatever live in Des Moines too?" I accused.

  My fiancé had the good grace to lower his gaze. "Actually, no. They don't live there."

  I relente
d a little. "Fine. I don't know why you hid them from me, but now, before we set a date, I have to meet them too."

  "That should be pretty easy." Rex avoided my eyes.

  "How's that, if they don't live near your parents?" The city was only thirty minutes away. The only way it would be easier to meet them would be if…

  The man I love cleared his throat and suddenly became fascinated with his fingernails. "Because they live here."

  CHAPTER THREE

  After recovering from that bit of news, I grabbed my coat and keys. "Where? We're going to see them right now."

  Rex shook his head. "It's not that simple. My sisters and I haven't spoken in years."

  "You haven't spoken in years? Why do they live here, then? And why haven't you told me about them before?"

  I poured us each a glass of juice. It seemed like the right thing to do.

  Rex sat down at the breakfast bar and was again immediately assaulted by the cats. Philby head-butted his arm over and over until he scratched between her ears. I had to give her credit—she knew how to get what she wanted. Martini ran around in circles, pausing every few seconds to fall over with dizziness. She wasn't that bright.

  Rex began, "Randi and Ronni are…well, kind of strange."

  "Randi and Ronni?" I asked.

  He nodded. "Both ending in the letter i. Twins. They moved here last month. I just found out."

  "Can I call you Rexi?" I asked.

  "No." He gave me a threatening look.

  "Why don't you get along?" I wanted to add and again, why didn't you tell me, but my experience in interrogating told me that would lead to a dead end.

  Rex drank his orange juice, as if he was trying to stall. I folded my arms over my chest to let him know he wasn't leaving the house until he told me.

  "I'm ten years younger, so I was kind of their baby. They wanted me to be a doctor or lawyer, so when I became a cop, they disapproved." Rex shifted uncomfortably on the stool.