Anna Denning Mystery Series Box Set: Books 1–3

by Karin Kaufman

  “It’s the storm.” Esther backed into a chair and dropped to the cushion. “Hear that?” she said at the roll of thunder. “That Sadler roof leaks every time it rains. I’m glad I’m not responsible for it anymore. They’re trying to avoid redoing the entire roof, doing spot repairs instead.”

  “Replacing every shingle while trying to remain historically accurate would be expensive.”

  “I don’t much care for historical accuracy.” A look of pain swept over Esther’s face. “When Clovis returns we’ll have some refreshments,” she said hastily, clearing her throat and moving on. “In the meantime, Esther says you have something to tell me about my house.”

  Face to face with Esther, Anna was at a loss how to begin. Don’t sell your house or you’ll be murdered sounded preposterous, though that was exactly the warning she wanted to deliver. But she couldn’t risk sounding like a madwoman or a crook with her own designs on the house. She had to start smaller. “Clovis told me that Zoey Eberhardt offered to buy your house.”

  “Yes, and it’s a very good deal, I think. Zoey would buy the house and pay the mortgage and any repair and remodeling costs. I would pay the property tax and get to stay in my home.”

  “But then . . .”

  “When I die. Don’t be shy about saying it, honey.” Esther smiled sweetly. “I’m only seventy-one, and I’m not near ready to go.”

  Anna crossed her legs and laced her fingers around one knee. “Do you know Zoey? Is there any reason you can think of why she’d do this?”

  Esther lifted her shoulders. “She likes the house?”

  Anna realized then that Esther hadn’t even thought about it. She didn’t want to. Examining Zoey’s proposition would raise obvious suspicions, and all Esther wanted was to see a light at the end of her financial tunnel. “Anyone would like the house. It’s lovely, Esther. But why would Zoey agree to pay everything but property taxes for years, decades, without any idea of when she might take possession of what essentially would be her house?”

  “My house,” Esther said. Her eyes fell to one of the threadbare arm covers on her chair. She fingered it roughly, refusing to look up.

  Anna knew she’d taken the wrong tack. It wasn’t just money on Esther’s mind. She had lived in this house for twenty-four years, and she meant to die in it. “Esther . . .”

  Esther raised her eyes.

  “There have been two unsolved murders, and both victims were connected to the Elk Valley Historical Society.”

  “Ruby? She wasn’t.”

  “I think she was in a roundabout way.”

  Esther looked skeptical.

  “Could you wait a week or two?” Anna continued.

  “What if Zoey withdraws?”

  “If she’s interested in the house, she won’t.”

  Esther frowned, her eyes narrowing. “It’s Zoey you’re concerned about, not the others.”

  Anna released her knee and leaned back in her chair. “She’s the one who wants to buy your house, so yes, I do wonder about her.”

  At the Harvest Festival, Zoey had been persuasive, but now Anna wasn’t sure. If Zoey were to be believed, she left her home in North Cliff, enrolled in a master’s program in Fort Collins, and joined a historical society in Elk Park, all to avenge her father. And even if all of that were true, the extent to which the woman was willing to go to get her revenge was astonishing. Yet in spite of that, of the Gang of Four, Zoey was the only one who seemed to have a grip on reality. She wasn’t interested in demons, astral projection, or bees.

  “Now, Paul and Maddy Gilmartin,” Esther said with a curl of her upper lip. “I’m telling you, if they wanted to buy my house, I would never.”

  “Why is that?”

  “They’re involved in the dark arts,” Esther said matter-of-factly. She paused, looking intently at Anna, studying her reaction.

  “I wasn’t sure you knew about that.”

  “Oh, yes. I told everyone in the group, watch out for those two, don’t let them in. Russell wouldn’t listen. All he could see was Paul’s money.” She sniffed in disappointment.

  “In the end, he knew. He cared about you and your house.”

  Esther responded with a smile. “He wanted to hire you.”

  Mystified, Anna spread her hands. “But I still don’t know why.”

  “He couldn’t find Paul or Zoey’s family history. He thought it very strange, two mysterious people in the same small group. He found Alex’s history, though. That was easy enough, with Walter Root being the head honey maker for the Sadlers.”

  “Walter is Alex’s grandfather?”

  “Head honey maker from 1948 to 1970.”

  Anna sat straight. She had wanted to hear more about Alex’s grandfather, and she’d asked Liz about his time at the Morgan-Sadler House, but with Ruby Padilla’s murder keeping her busy with ElkNews.com, Liz had never told her. “What else do you know about Walter?”

  “He made Emerson Sadler’s fortune for him. His honey operation was bringing in about three hundred thousand dollars a year by the late 1960s. That was real money back then.”

  “Was he paid well for his work?”

  “No,” Esther said, shaking her head at Anna’s naiveté. “And as thanks, he was fired in 1970, at the age of fifty-four.”

  “Why?”

  “To my knowledge, Walter never told anyone why. But it’s very strange, don’t you think? Firing the man who’s making you so much money?”

  The front door banged open, and Clovis, loud but incoherent, burst into the living room.

  “It’s that awful house again,” Esther said. “Gets on her nerves.”

  Shaking with anger, Clovis pushed the door shut. “Those two,” she said, tossing her purse to the floor. “Why we ever . . . why we let them in . . .” She marched to an armchair and sank into it, her body making the lightest of dents in the cushion.

  “Who are you talking about, Clovis?” Esther asked.

  “The Gilmartins, of course. They stood there, plain as day with the rain pouring in, and told me the roof only needed spot repairs.” She began counting off on her fingers. “They won’t restore the wood floor on the second story, they won’t repair any sandstone you can’t see from the street, they won’t repair—let alone replace—that ugly walkway to the house.” She came to a stop, dropping her hands into her lap. “Have you got any pop?”

  “I’m fresh out.”

  “Anna, you were right,” Clovis said. “I need to start a new organization, even if it means giving up that house. Let them keep the Elk Valley Historical Society.” She ceased talking, her eyes shooting to Esther and then back to Anna. “I’m interrupting. I’m sorry, you came to speak with Esther.”

  Anna heard a thud from somewhere inside the walls.

  “The pipes,” Esther explained. “Anna and I have already talked, Clovis. But I’ve yet to hear of another way to stay in my house. I’m going to accept Zoey’s offer.”

  “Esther, no.”

  “I’ve made up my mind.”

  A look of resignation spread across Clovis’s face. She rested an elbow on the arm of the chair and lowered her chin into her hand.

  With a tiny squawk, Esther crossed her legs. Her swollen feet hung over the sides of her small shoes and rose like dough around the strap across her instep.

  Breaking the silence, Anna said, “Do either of you know that Alex owns much of the land behind this house?”

  Clovis looked like she’d been struck. “What? How on earth?”

  “My friend, the one who runs ElkNews.com, found out. It’s public record, actually. He owns more than twenty acres, some of it touching Esther’s back yard.”

  “Isn’t it a small world?” Esther said.

  Clovis made fists with her hands as she contemplated this revelation. “Let me get this straight. Alex owns the land behind the house and Zoey wants to buy the house itself and the land it’s on. What is going on around here?”

  Again Anna was torn between telling and keepin
g Zoey’s secret. Didn’t Esther have a right to know Zoey’s identity before she closed on the house? She was tired of hidden identities and buried pasts. She still hadn’t told Clovis that Paul was Raymond Toller. If he was, that is. She exhaled, puffing out her cheeks. She didn’t even know that for certain.

  “You must be as frustrated as I am,” Clovis said. “Are you getting anywhere with those family trees?”

  “I’m making progress, but I need proof in the form of primary documents before I fill in any missing branches.”

  Clovis relaxed her fists. “Progress? Such as?”

  “I can’t say more than that until I’m certain. I’m sure you understand why.” Half of that was a lie, Anna thought. She did have proof about Zoey—her identity at least. Not her real motive or her plan. But there was one thing she could tell Clovis. “Did you know that one of the county commissioners who approved the Gilmartins’ wind farm was Raena Starke, Ruby Padilla’s sister?”

  Clovis’s blue eyes widened as Anna chronicled the suspiciously rapid approval of the wind farm and topped it off with Raena’s congressional ambitions.

  “That’s a tangled web,” Clovis said. “Very tangled.” She stared across the parlor, a faraway look in her eyes. “What does it suggest to you?”

  Clovis was no fool. She had come to the same conclusion. “Backroom deals. Maybe blackmail.”

  “Oh, Ruby,” Esther said. “Why?”

  “Was Russell involved?” Clovis began. She shook her head as if to clear it of such heartbreaking thoughts.

  “I’m not sure Ruby’s death had anything to do with Russell’s,” Anna said.

  “Two murderers?” Clovis said. She was eager to believe it for Russell’s sake, not wanting his memory blackened by political dirty dealings, but two knife-wielding murderers in the same small town carried a horror of its own.

  “Not necessarily,” Anna said. Two knife murders in the space of two days committed by two different people—how likely was that? Still, Russell’s murder had been planned, down to its location and the carved pumpkin on his head, and the arrangement of his body—how it mimicked the murder of Jennifer Toller—was meant to be a message. Ruby’s body had not been similarly staged, and although she too had died of knife wounds, she’d been stabbed five, not eleven, times. Surely that meant something. “Could be there’s one murderer with two motives.”

  Clovis considered that for a moment, then said, “Or two murderers working together.”

  Esther gave a theatrical shiver. “This is all too much. One murderer or two, I want this over. It’s like Elk Park is the scene of some awful Halloween movie come to life.”

  “Which is why you should wait to sell your house,” Clovis said.

  “Halloween or not, I have to pay my mortgage, Clovis.”

  “This house,” Clovis said, flinging her arm from one end of the living room to the other, “means nothing if you’re dead.”

  Esther rolled her eyes and turned her face to the fireplace.

  “Speaking of Halloween,” Anna said, doing her best to lighten the tension between the two, “do either of you know what Alex or the Gilmartins have planned?”

  Clovis jumped at the chance to change subjects. “Oh, they go all out. It’s like Christmas for those three.” She threw her head back and stared at the ceiling. “Last year I heard they had some sort of conjuring in the Gilmartins’ back yard. Twenty people chanting about a demon. Ridiculous.”

  “You knew about them last year?” Esther said. “Why did you let them into the group?”

  “After Russell insisted we let Paul in, I didn’t have any choice. Paul was free to nominate Maddy and so on. Those are the bylaws, Esther.”

  It was the second time in Anna’s presence that Clovis had blamed the downfall of her group on Russell and his love of Paul’s money.

  “You should have told me,” Esther said, bristling with indignation.

  “You’re right.” Clovis looked at her apologetically. “You’re sensitive to these things, and I should have said something.”

  “I’m not sensitive, I’m sensible.” She flung a finger at Clovis. “You warn me I’m not safe in my own home, but you think nothing of meeting devil worshippers in an old, empty house. Clovis Fleming, you’re being very foolish.”

  “I don’t believe in the devil or his worshippers.”

  “What does that matter? They believe in you.”

  It was clear that while Clovis viewed Alex’s and the Gilmartins’ extracurricular activities with scorn, to Esther they were a source of terror.

  “In fact, I thought long and hard about meeting them alone, Esther,” Clovis said. “I don’t trust any of them, so I took a friend with me this time.” She directed Esther’s gaze across the parlor to her purse on the floor by the door.

  “You mean the purse you threw on the floor?” A look of horror passed over Esther’s face. “You put your loaded gun in that?”

  Suddenly aware of the dangerous error she’d made, Clovis gritted her teeth. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking clearly. It won’t happen again. You were saying, Anna?”

  “About Halloween,” Anna said. “Alex and the Gilmartins get together?”

  “They did last year,” Clovis replied. “Why do you ask?”

  “I think they have another conjuring planned.”

  A small sigh escaped Esther’s lips.

  Aware of her friend’s growing unease—and finding it irrational, Anna thought—Clovis brought the discussion to a swift end. “Anna, you never saw the Sadler beehives. Would you like to?” She scooted to the edge of her seat, waiting for Anna’s answer.

  “I’d like to bring a friend,” Anna said. She had promised herself she would never again be alone in the house with anyone from the Elk Valley Historical Society, and she meant to keep that promise. “Her name is Liz, and she’s been helping me research Zoey and Paul.”

  “By all means.” Clovis slapped her knees and stood. “Esther, you get a buyer’s broker to help you with the sale papers.”

  “I can’t afford that.”

  “You don’t pay a broker, the buyer does.”

  Papers. Zoey would have to reveal herself to Esther before the closing, Anna thought. There were escrow papers and other bank documents. She felt better about keeping Emma Hollister to herself.

  “And the moment you sign, you tell me,” Clovis continued. “I’ll come get you and you’ll stay at my house until all this murder business has been sorted out.”

  “Now, Clovis—”

  “It’s settled. If you’re going to be stubborn, so am I.”

  “Sounds like a good plan,” Anna said, getting to her feet. “It can’t hurt, Esther.”

  “Fine, fine,” Esther said, feigning offense. She was glad to have such a good friend, and probably relieved. She too had her doubts about Zoey and her wildly generous offer.

  “Well,” Clovis said, rubbing her hands together. “Does your friend know the way to the house?”

  “Wait,” Esther said, working her way out of her chair. “Anna, before you leave, let me show you something.” She wagged her forefinger, inviting Anna and Clovis to follow.

  The three headed into the dining room then made a left into Esther’s kitchen at the back of the house. Rising to her toes, Esther reached for a small glass bottle on an open shelf near the sink. “A Sadler honey jar from 1970,” she said, passing it to Anna. “Walter Root’s last year as honey maker.”

  The bottle, filled with old pennies and nickels, bore a faded label. “Sadler’s Mountain Gold,” Anna said.

  “Gold, indeed,” Esther said. “It was so expensive I saved the jar. My husband loved that honey, but we could only afford to buy it five times in all our years together.”

  The jar was round and ribbed to look like an old-fashioned beehive. The black outline of a mountain range ran along the upper third of the gold-colored label, and on the bottom two-thirds were the brand name in red and a small hive, again outlined in black. Not an impressive label, th
ough the jar itself was inventive. “Do you remember how much this cost?” Anna asked as she returned the jar to Esther.

  “Ten dollars.”

  Anna sucked in her breath.

  “That would be twenty-five dollars today,” Clovis said.

  “More than that,” Esther said. She set the jar back on the shelf, turned, and backed against the counter, looking Anna squarely in the eye. “Ten dollars a jar and they sold every jar they made. I’ve always wondered why they fired the man making them all that money, and him being only fifty-four.”

  “Not old enough for retirement,” Anna said.

  “Not by a long shot,” Clovis said.

  “Then Sadler poured salt in the wound by not hiring Walter’s son,” Esther continued. “And he’d been trained to take over the facility.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Clovis said.

  “I was in the history society,” Esther said, her words tinged with amusement. “Anyway, Mountain Gold went downhill after 1970, to no one’s surprise.” She started moving for the front door, Anna and Clovis trailing her.

  “Then Sadler hires some kid who knew nothing about honey,” Esther said over her shoulder. “Replaces a man in his prime with a boy.”

  “Who was the boy?” Anna asked as they came to the door. “Was it Peter Toller?”

  “Yes, it was,” Esther said, her hand on the doorknob. “Word was, Sadler had his eye on Toller’s young wife, Jennifer.”

  9

  “So this is the Halloween murder house,” Liz said, her eyes rising to the second story and coming to rest on the plywood-covered windows above the front steps.

  “On the Colorado register it’s called the Morgan-Sadler House,” Clovis chided. “The Jennifer Toller murder took place outside, in the hive field.” Her eyes fell to the camera hanging by a strap around Liz’s neck.

  “It’s for research purposes,” Liz said. “I won’t publish any photo without your approval.”

  “Thank you. Now,” Clovis said, mounting the front steps, “it’s easier to go through the house and out the back door.”