Small Town Spooky (Cozy Mystery Anthology)

by Anisa Claire West

  “Never,” Penny replied.

  “Then it will be next to impossible to find her,” I grumbled. “All we know is that she lives in the state of Kentucky. That’s not enough. Her last name might not even be Fitzsimmons! She could be married,” I pointed out as the fudge deepened.

  How could I plot the next move in a game where the odds seemed so stacked against discovering the truth? For a moment, I thought about driving by Mr. Fitzsimmons’ house again to see if an arrest was in process, but I couldn’t take that risk. If the sheriff saw me near the property, he would deduce that I had been the one to make the anonymous tip and know that I had been trespassing. But sitting still and twiddling my thumbs wasn’t an option either. I needed to take action. Penny and I spent the next few hours running background checks on the shoppe staff and a few shady customers. But every single person came up squeaky clean; we couldn’t even find a speeding ticket or personal bankruptcy on any of the folks.

  “What do you say we pay a surprise visit to some of our co-workers? Maybe they can help us crack this eggshell,” I said as the idea suddenly struck me.

  “You mean just barge in on them on a Sunday afternoon? Oh dear, we can’t do that,” Penny protested with all the propriety of her refined generation.

  “This is not an ordinary Sunday,” I retorted. “If you knew that Mr. Fitzsimmons had a daughter, then the others might have some facts to spill as well.”

  “Alright, I suppose we could try. Who do you want to go see first?”

  “Marjory. She’s the most likely to be home. Probably baking up a storm and experimenting for the Blueberry Festival.” I shut the computer down and hustled down the stairs with perky Penny at my tail.

  Marjory’s apartment was located in downtown Des Moines near a hip sculpture park and a peppering of museums. Catching my breath at the top of the four story building, I hesitated before ringing her doorbell. What would I say to the woman?

  “Maybe you were right, Penny. This is pretty rude!” I whispered.

  “Rude? Who cares? You’re her boss!” Penny chuckled, jabbing me in the shoulder and ringing the doorbell herself.

  A beet-faced Marjory opened the door as a billow of flour breezed from her apron. “Betsy! Penny! What are you ladies doing here?”

  “Did we catch you in the middle of baking?” I pointed to her flush cheeks and messy apron.

  “Of course! The oven is giving me hot flashes like I’m 50 again!” She joked as Penny laughed.

  “Can we come in?” I asked gently.

  “Yes! I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to keep you in the hallway. Come in,” she opened the door wide and shook the flour off her apron.

  “Mmmm, it smells delicious in here!” Penny murmured, sneaking a peek at a batch of blueberry muffins that were cooling on a wire rack.

  “Thank you! Actually, I’m glad you came by. You two can be my taste testers. Tell me if you taste anything different in those blueberry muffins!” She proudly offered a fresh muffin to Penny, who took an ardent nibble of the treat.

  “Oh I do! Is that some sort of cream cheese?”

  “It’s Neufchâtel, the French version of cream cheese!” Marjory said excitedly as Penny smacked her lips.

  “Sublime! Here, Betsy, try some!” Penny broke off a piece of her muffin.

  The atmosphere felt light, casual, and comfortable…the perfect time to drill Marjory on what she knew about Mr. Fitzsimmons. Seizing the moment, I blurted out, “So Marjory, did Mr. Fitzsimmons ever mention his daughter to you?”

  Marjory’s features set in a pensive line. “No, he didn’t. Why do you ask?”

  “Because he mentioned her to Penny one day, but no one seems to know anything about this mysterious daughter. He certainly never mentioned her to me,” I replied.

  “Well he was always wrapped up in the garden, wasn’t he? Mr. Fitzsimmons didn’t seem one for chit-chat,” Marjory reasoned.

  “He wasn’t very talkative,” Penny concurred. “He was completely focused on his work.”

  “But didn’t you ever have a conversation with him, Marjory? I mean, anything at all?” I prodded as she shrugged nonchalantly.

  “Not really. Like I said, he was always in the garden. And you know me, I’m always in the kitchen! We were like passing ships,” Marjory explained as I deflated with disappointment. The woman was no help at all.

  “But you knew that he was 73, right? Aren’t you the one who told me his exact age or was that Janine?” I asked, suddenly remembering the little detail.

  “No, that was me. But he went around telling everyone his age, I think. He was proud to be a gardener in his 70’s! You know how male pride is!” She snickered and rolled her eyes. “That’s why I’ve stayed single all these years.”

  “You’ve never been married, Marjory?” Penny sounded incredulous.

  “Never. And never wanted to be,” Marjory said with an air of haughtiness as she picked up a wooden spoon and stirred a thick batter.

  I was only mildly surprised to learn that the sixty-something woman had never taken a husband. In my circle of girlfriends, there was a handful who had chosen the same independent path. Sighing, I turned to Penny and shot her a look that screamed, ‘Marjory is a dead end! Let’s move on to the next one!’

  Catching my drift, Penny said breezily, “Well, it’s been lovely chatting with you Marjory and thank you for the muffin. But Betsy and I need to get going.”

  “Since when are you two bosom buddies?” Marjory snorted.

  “Since a murder investigation fell into our laps,” I replied tersely.

  “I’d go after Ellison if I were you. That boy is a misfit!” Marjory bristled.

  “He’s on the top of our list,” I admitted.

  “Alright ladies, I’ll see you tomorrow at the shoppe bright and early. Good luck with your search.” Marjory walked us to the door.

  Slipping outside, I glanced at Penny and said, “Next stop, Ellison Misry’s house?”

  “You read my mind.”

  Boarding the Jeep, I navigated towards the outer edge of Des Moines as goose bumps formed on my skin at coming face to face with the young man who very well might be a cold blooded murderer.

  Chapter 8

  Deliberately parking a few doors down from Ellison’s house on Orchard Street, I put on a brave face as Penny tightened her features resolutely. But it was obvious that we were both nervous ninnies. “Do you carry a can of Mace in your purse, dear?” She asked.

  “No, do you?”

  “No…but hopefully Ellison’s parents will be home.”

  I nodded optimistically as we got out of the vehicle and trudged up to the front door. The grass in the front yard was overgrown while a tool shed on the side of the house revealed cobwebs and grime. “Looks like the boy could do some garden volunteering right here! This house is disgusting,” Penny whispered disdainfully.

  “Nasty,” I agreed as I reluctantly rang the doorbell.

  A hefty, unshaven man in his late forties appeared at the door an erratic heartbeat later. “Yes?” His voice was like a gravel pit.

  “Hi, I’m Betsy Bonnet from the Green Garden Shoppe…”

  “Oh yeah, that’s where Ellison’s been doing his community service! Sorry to hear about what happened to Patrick Fitzsimmons. What a shame. I’m Clyde Misry, by the way, Ellison’s father.” He outstretched a soot-coated hand that I limply shook.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Misry. Is Ellison home at the moment?”

  “Yeah, unfortunately he’s been home since Friday when he came down with the stomach flu,” Clyde Misry revealed as my eyes bulged like saucers.

  Ellison was sick and hadn’t left the house since Friday? Was it true? The startling information turned my entire investigation on its head and left me without a viable suspect. Penny appeared equally blindsided by the news and a little suspicious as well.

  Arching a slender brow, she said, “Really? He wasn’t at the shoppe at all on Saturday?”

  “No ma’am. But his feve
r is starting to go down, so hopefully he’ll be at the shoppe tomorrow after school,” Clyde Misry stared at us expectantly as though he didn’t know what else to say. “Is there a message you wanted me to give to Ellison?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “Just tell him to be at the shoppe tomorrow at 3:30 if he’s feeling better.”

  “Sure thing.” Ellison’s father offered a rough semi-smile before shutting the door.

  “Rude man,” Penny observed. “Like father like son.”

  “He wasn’t so bad. I feel like we’re the bad guys now!” I said as we hurried off the property.

  “I don’t know about that. I’m not buying that Ellison has the stomach flu. Who knows? Maybe Clyde is involved in the murder too. Maybe he even put his son up to it so he could grab Patrick’s cash! Bad parents can use their children in unthinkable ways, you know,” Penny said.

  “That’s all speculation, Penny. We have no evidence at all. None.”

  Penny pointed to her belly. “I have a gut feeling.”

  “Let’s just put Ellison on the backburner for now and see if we can track down Janine,” I suggested. “Let’s go, it’s only a 5 minute drive to Hawk Crest from here.”

  Penny shrugged and conceded, “Okay boss. But you shouldn’t doubt Granny’s gut feelings!”

  I giggled as we plopped into our seats and cruised out of Lemondrop Hills. The neighboring hamlet of Hawk Crest was even more rural than my hometown. Houses were spread acres apart and woodland creatures thrived at every corner. Janine’s rustic house was located at the end of a deserted cul-de-sac framed by ancient oak trees. Parking across the street, I glanced into the driveway, noting that it was empty.

  “Either Janine’s not home or her car is parked in the garage,” I said.

  Undeterred, Penny sprinted forward towards the house as I swiftly caught up to her. As my finger pressed the doorbell, a pair of heavy footsteps approaching from behind made me jump with primal fear.

  Chapter 9

  Afraid to turn around, I huddled closer to Penny as my heart thrust against my sternum. The footsteps became louder until I could hear the person’s ragged breath. The rasp of the breathing told me that it was definitely not pretty little Janine standing behind us. A man had crept up, effectively cornering us at the closed door of Janine’s house. Licking my lips nervously, I forced myself to turn around.

  A barrel-chested man wearing a pair of bifocals stared at me as I recoiled. Penny also dared to turn around and immediately frowned upon locking eyes with the intimidating stranger. Though the man appeared to be somewhere in his seventies, he was by no means frail. Unlike Mr. Fitzsimmons, this man had the physique of a retired football player.

  “You looking for somebody?” He demanded in an accusing tone.

  “And who are you?” Penny snapped as I shot her a warning look. Tangling with this linebacker was not a smart idea.

  “Janine isn’t home,” the goon said, ignoring Penny’s question.

  “Are you her grandfather?” I asked hopefully.

  “Grandfather?” He scoffed. “See that house over there?” He pointed to a sprawling property across the street. “That’s my house and that’s your truck parked in front of it!”

  “So what? You don’t own the road, do you?” Penny asked pertly as I cringed at her boldness.

  “Listen lady, I want you to move your truck right now before I call the police!” The man huffed, stomping a massive foot on the concrete.

  “Sure, no problem,” I appeased.

  “We don’t have to move,” Penny said stubbornly. “It’s not against the law to park in front of someone’s house. We’re not blocking your driveway.”

  The frightening stranger gritted his teeth menacingly but said nothing. “We’re leaving right now!” I assured, grabbing Penny’s hand and dragging her towards the Jeep.

  “Don’t let that old fool scare you!” Penny scolded.

  “You’ve been the sensible one up until now, but I think your brain just flew out the window!” I said frantically as we climbed into the Jeep. “That man could be a lunatic. He could have a weapon on him! What were you thinking talking to him that way?”

  “I know his kind. Just a windbag,” Penny said defiantly before screaming as a large fist knocked on the passenger side window.

  “Don’t open the window!” I shouted, locking the automatic feature to make sure she wouldn’t do anything stupid.

  From the glass barrier, the man yelled, “Don’t let me see you two round here again! I’m warning you!”

  He was still rambling as I careened away from the curb and sped towards the main road. “Windbag, huh? He sounded pretty serious to me!”

  “He’s probably one of those nosy neighbors who sits at home all day waiting for the mail to come and makes everything his business,” Penny insisted. “Really, I think his bark is worse than his bite.”

  “Well, I’m glad we didn’t find out,” I muttered. “Listen, do you want to call it a day? I think we’ve done all we can for now. Let’s just continue the investigation tomorrow at work, okay?” I said wearily. My nerves were completely frazzled. I needed a full night’s sleep before I could even attempt to coherently solve a homicide.

  “Okay, dear. Yes, drop me off and I’ll see you tomorrow at the shoppe. First order of business: find out what Janine knows.”

  ***

  My sleep had been intermittent and restless, leaving me hardly refreshed to face the next day. In front of my vanity mirror, I smeared on some extra blush and a few whisks of black mascara to disguise my lack of sleep. But the circles under my eyes couldn’t be hidden, even with several layers of beige foundation. Frowning at my image, I tried not to dwell on my upcoming birthday. Once again, I shifted my attention away from myself, to Patrick Fitzsimmons, the murder victim who would have no more birthdays.

  Opening up the store and breezing through routine tasks proved to be therapeutic. As soon as the cash registers were up and running, I strolled outside in search of Marbles. Petting the sweet animal always eased my tension. “Psst, kitty, I have a treat for you,” I called, opening up a packet of aluminum foil and retrieving a wedge of Cheddar cheese. “I packed this just for you this morning.” I held the cheese up as a gentle wind blew its potent fragrance across the property. Before I could blink, Marbles was rubbing his tubular body against my feet and purring.

  Bending down and tossing a few chunks of cheese onto the ground, I glanced at the cordoned off crime scene. Two police officers were skulking around, most likely scoping the area out for undiscovered clues. The sheriff strode up to them, carrying a cup of coffee in his hands and barking orders that I couldn’t understand.

  Marbles mewed for more cheese as I obliged the cat and offered the remainder of the special snack pack. While Marbles nibbled on the Cheddar, I spotted Marjory and Janine in their aprons walking towards the bakery. “Hi!” I greeted as they waved and smiled. Marbles looked up from his snack and hissed as Marjory and Janine came closer.

  “What’s wrong with you? You’re a strange kitty,” I said as he hissed again.

  “Oh boy, he really doesn’t like us!” Janine exclaimed.

  “Janine, before you go to the bakery, do you have a moment?” I asked as Marbles darted away.

  “Sure,” Janine said as Marjory left us in privacy. “What’s up?”

  “Penny and I have been trying to solve the murder and we stopped by your house yesterday…”

  “Ugh, that was you guys! Mr. Lindner told me all about it! Sorry you had to run into him! He acts like he owns the whole street,” Janine said scathingly.

  “He scared the heck out of me,” I admitted.

  “Sorry. He’s pretty harmless, though. I’ve been living there for 6 years and all he’s ever done is yell,” Janine said.

  “Okay, well anyway, we wanted to ask you if there’s anything about Mr. Fitzsimmons that you might know…anything at all that we could use to help lead us to the killer,” I probed.

  Janine exhaled h
eavily. “Betsy, believe me, if I knew anything I would say so. The sheriff and all his minions grilled me on Saturday, but I really didn’t have anything to contribute. As far as I’m concerned, Mr. Fitzsimmons was just a nice old guy who worked too hard.”

  I searched her eyes for some proof of sincerity, but all I perceived was hollowness. Janine was an excellent baker, but I couldn’t speak for her character. Marble’s hissing as she and Marjory walked by had set off strident alarm bells in my head, but I had no right to accuse her. Besides, what would Janine’s motive be? If ever the term “senseless murder” meant anything it would be in the case that Janine killed Mr. Fitzsimmons.

  The young woman gave me a sideways glance and cocked her head towards the bakery. “I better get to work now, right boss?” She winked in a playful, inappropriate manner given the morbid circumstances.

  “Sure. We all need to get to work,” I said as she scampered away.

  “Big plans for the Blueberry Festival!” She hollered over her shoulder before disappearing into the bakery.

  The day plodded by with a sprinkling of customers. Mondays were generally the slowest day of the week, but with less than $50 in sales generated by 3:00 pm, I was worried that Mr. Fitzsimmons’ murder had tarnished my business’s reputation. And why wouldn’t it? I couldn’t imagine shopping at a store where a man had been killed 48 hours earlier.

  Penny stood with glazed eyes behind the cash register, humming while filing her nails. Ordinarily, I would be appalled at one of my employee’s practicing personal hygiene during business hours, but these could hardly be called business hours. Stepping outside for a breath of fresh air, I went in search of Marbles. A little kiss and cuddle from the frisky feline would make me feel at least a tad better.

  The sheriff was still pacing around the crime scene and issuing directions to his underlings. Awkwardly, I waved to the sheriff as he gave a curt wave back. Bypassing the garden, I strolled towards the hothouse and stopped short, gawking at the sight before my eyes.