Dangerous Curves Boxed Set 1: 3 Cozy Christian Mysteries

by K L Montgomery

  Right? I mean, this is only the most powerful couple in Bryce Beach. I’m sure I have absolutely nothing to worry about.

  Despite my constant reassurances that all would be well, I decided a walk on the beach would soothe my soul before it was time to meet Molly and go on our mission. We would have invited Evangeline to join us, but she hated sand. Hated the beach. Hated being around people. So this little outing was a no-go for her.

  The late April chill in the air went right into my skin, raising goosebumps all along the backs of my arms, my legs, and my neck. It was brisk, but it instilled a sense of invigoration that I desperately needed. Almost as good as a cup of coffee. Almost. I looked out across the water at the rolling waves, each topped with a white, lacy crown as it cascaded toward shore.

  For just a split second, I imagined what it was like for Nathaniel Bryce and the other founding fathers when their ship crashed offshore. They were swimming and treading water for days before they finally caught sight of land. Can you imagine how absolutely ecstatic they were? It must have been the most wonderful sight they’d ever seen.

  If I found the Founders’ Bible and the missing donations from the gala, it would probably be the most wonderful sight I had ever seen. Hands down.

  Glancing down at my watch, I realized it was time to meet Molly. I headed for the dune that separated the boardwalk from the beach and saw her standing there, holding what looked like a bakery box by the strings. She waved and bounced the box up and down on its elastic cord like it was bungee jumping. It looked like she’d gotten us a treat, and I was down with that. She really was the best.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I kicked the sand off my shoes as best I could but sent it flying onto her legs. “Oops, sorry.”

  “Thanks a lot! Here, hold this.” She handed me the box and reached down to brush the sand off her legs and smooth out her skirt. She was still wearing the same clothes she’d worn to work today, just like I was. We couldn’t exactly go to the mayor’s house in casual attire, not when Camille had a habit of overdressing for every situation. She probably wore a dress, jewelry, full makeup and heels just to bum around the house.

  “What’s in the box? Something chocolate, I hope!” It felt loaded with calories, just from the weight of it.

  Molly’s blonde ponytail flew in the wind when she tilted her head. “It’s for the mayor and his wife. To thank them for all their support of the library!” She gave me a wink.

  “Oooooohhhhh!” My friend was pretty smart. I still wished the treats were for us instead, but her plan was better.

  “You know which house is theirs, right?” she asked as we started down the boardwalk toward the street where the mayor lived.

  “The one with the ginormous American flag and the stone monument that spells out their last name.”

  “Okie dokie.” We sped up our pace as the wind began to pick up, pushing us along the weathered wooden planks. The sun was setting now, and I was beginning to wish I’d listened to that “mom” voice inside my head that urged me to bring a jacket.

  My heart pounded as I rang the doorbell, and then we waited. I heard dogs barking in the distance, the sound growing louder before the door handle turned. And there Camille stood, still looking as put-together as she was at the gala—not a hair out of place and her makeup perfectly applied. Just like I imagined she would be.

  She made it soooo difficult to like her! Not to mention the terrible stuff Evangeline heard her say about the library.

  “Sunshine?” she stammered as her eyes met mine. “Is everything okay?”

  Oh… I flashed Molly a “Did you hear that?” look. Molly flashed back an “I most certainly did!” look.

  “Here!” Molly lifted the box of treats. “We brought you and Mayor Steyer a gift.”

  “Oh, you did?” The puzzlement on her face quickly faded, and sheer delight took over. “Well, come on in! The mayor is at a town council meeting tonight—they’re discussing what happened over at the library. But I can tell him you stopped by.”

  She opened the door and stepped back so we could enter. Two small dogs, one black, one white, flanked her as she ushered us into a sitting room. Their house was an old Victorian-style with a formal parlor anchored by an antique grandfather clock and a time-weathered grand piano decorated with a dozen or so sepia photos in ornate frames. Everything about the room was grand, in fact, from the heavy velvet drapes to the oiled bronze lamps with fabric shades trimmed in matching fringe and beads.

  It wasn’t exactly what I was expecting, but I didn’t hate it. Especially since the back wall of the room was dominated by a marble fireplace and, on either side, massive bookcases rising nearly to the ceiling. And they were filled with books. FILLED. My eyes swept over the shelves in abject awe. My breath hitched when I realized I should be looking for the Founders’ Bible…just in case. Then I noticed something on the floral-patterned settee and nonchalantly scooped it up.

  Molly’s sharp elbow poked into my side, bringing me back to reality. “Uh, we wanted to thank you for all your support of the library over the years,” I told her, gesturing toward Molly, who was still holding the box of candy by its cord. “It’s just a small token of our gratitude. Hope no one in the house has any allergies.”

  “Oh, you’re so kind, ladies. Thank you so much. Of course, the library is very important to me. It holds a special place in my heart, and I was just devastated to see what happened there on Saturday night.” She laid it on thick, her lips pooched out in a sad pout as she took the box from Molly and set it on the table.

  “Yeah, I just don’t know what we’re going to do without that money,” Molly said. “I think they might need to let one of our staff members go. Either that, or we won’t be able to add to our collections this year.”

  “Our boss says that if our budgets continue to be slashed, our doors will be closed within five years,” I added. She hadn’t said that, but you know, embellishing the truth is okay when you’re trying to solve a crime. Right, Lord?

  “That’s a horribly sad thought.” Camille sighed as though it was a possibility completely outside of her control. “Well, I certainly do appreciate you ladies stopping by. I’m sure Bull will be thrilled to have some treats in the house since I don’t buy that sort of thing.” She trailed her fingers down her trim figure, the earlier traces of sympathy vanishing into thin air.

  “Hey, I have a question for you,” I stopped her mid-stride as she was beginning to make her way toward the door to usher us out.

  Her eyebrow rose as she glared at me, but she didn’t say a word.

  “Where did you go during your husband’s speech?” I asked. “You know, when we were in the workroom counting the money, you said he needed you by his side to make the announcement, but then you slipped down the hallway when I handed him the Post-It note with the final tally on it.”

  Her cheeks flushed ever so slightly, and her body stiffened. My gaze darted over to Molly to see if she caught the reaction. Her narrowed eyes proved she had.

  “I had the fish for dinner,” she said after sucking in a deep breath. “It didn’t agree with me…”

  “So you were in the restroom?” Molly questioned.

  Camille let out a humorless chuckle. “Not that it’s any of your business, but, yes.”

  Though Barbara’s husband Stanley also had some…uh…challenges after eating the fish, I didn’t buy Camille’s story for a second. But how could I prove she’d taken the money? And the Bible? I was sure her little clique stole the Bible to create a distraction while she absconded with the money. I strained every cell in my memory, trying to recall how long she was gone. She had reappeared at her husband’s side by the time the police arrived. So she had stashed the Bible and money somewhere? But where?

  “I’m just curious…do you have any idea who might have done it?” I switched tactics. “Stolen the Bible and money, I mean?”

  She scoffed, her caramel-blonde waves rustling around her shoulders. She gathered her hair in her fist,
raked her fingers through it, and smoothed it to one side. A couple of strands floated to the floor. “It’s not my job to speculate about suspects. That’s the police’s job.”

  “But surely you have a theory,” I pressed. “Everyone does, you know.” Would peer pressure work on someone like the mayor’s wife?

  Camille straightened her spine and looked from me to Molly and back again, then she leaned forward as though she was going to let us in on a big secret. “Actually, I do have some concerns…”

  “Concerns?” I stared at her. It seemed like a strange, benign word to use for the tragedy that occurred Saturday night at the gala.

  “Yes,” she continued, “about Willa.” She pursed her lips and nodded as though the whole situation had kept her up at night.

  “Willa Bryce Monroe?” Molly clarified.

  “Yes.” She let out a long, dramatic sigh. “I overheard Bull talking on the phone with her the other day, and it appears she’s not doing as well financially as she would have everyone believe. Something about stocks…or…I don’t know…” She waved her hand through the air as though apologizing for her vagueness. “I know it sounds crazy, but I think she passed off a bad check—she gave a pretty sizeable donation, did she not?”

  I nodded, remembering the look of her signature scrawled across the line. It was shaky, like that of a frail, elderly woman. She had to be nearing her eightieth birthday, if she wasn’t older. How in the world would she have pulled off the greatest heist in Bryce Beach history?

  “So, let me get this straight,” I said as my hands involuntarily flew to my hips, “you think the richest woman in town—a descendent of the folks who signed the Bible that’s been revered by our community for hundreds of years—stole the gala donations and the town’s most valuable piece of history to cover up the fact she wrote a bad check?”

  Camille shrugged. “Stranger things have happened. Why? What do you think happened?” she snapped.

  Molly grabbed my arm, undoing my indignant propped-hip pose that was starting to feel rather powerful and self-righteous, and tugged me toward her. “We should get going,” she hissed in my ear.

  “Sorry, we have to go,” I stated as though Camille hadn’t heard my friend’s stage whisper. “Hope you enjoy the treats. Thanks again for your support!”

  I threw a glance over my shoulder at the mayor’s wife as Molly rushed me through the foyer and down the porch steps to the sidewalk. “What?!” I shrieked as soon as we were a couple houses past the mayor’s.

  “I was afraid you were going to accuse her of stealing the funds!” Molly admitted. “It was on the tip of your tongue; I could just feel it.”

  I scoffed, “Whatever. I’m way smoother than that. I’m super smooth.”

  “Is that so?” Molly stopped and pinned her gaze on me. The streetlights had come on, and we were standing right in their spotlight. We were definitely not nailing the “keep a low profile” thing.

  “Yes…because I got this.” I held up a strand of hair that I’d plucked off the settee.

  “What is that?” Molly scrubbed her hand down her face like it had been the longest day of her life. Next to Saturday, this day was probably a close second. “An invisible clue?”

  “You might not be able to tell in this light, but it’s a strand of Camille’s hair.” I wanted to add “so there,” but I refrained. Because I’m smooth.

  “What’s that going to prove?” she asked as we started to walk again.

  “Well…you know as well as I do that Camille didn’t count any of the money.”

  “True…”

  “So how would she know about Mrs. Monroe’s donation?”

  “Ohhhh…”

  “And have you noticed she has a habit of touching her hair? Running her fingers through it?”

  I could tell the moment it dawned on my friend where I was going with this line of questioning. Her mouth opened in a perfectly round O shape as a little gasp slipped out. “So if there’s a hair in the workroom…”

  “Exactly. I’ll check tomorrow first thing in the morning. I just hope they haven’t vacuumed in there yet.”

  Molly looked thoughtful for a second. “Frieda vacuums the office area on Thursdays, so you should be okay if you get in there tomorrow. Do you think the police found any fingerprints or hair at the scene?”

  “I don’t know, but if I find a hair, and it matches this sample…I might need to go have a little chat with Chief James…”

  Eight

  My worry about not being able to sleep due to thinking of the case became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Wednesday morning, after my second cup of coffee, I finally gathered the strength to pull myself out of bed, but not before scouring my notepad and taking a fresh look at my list of suspects.

  I had been able to eliminate some of the townsfolk after looking them up on social media to verify who they were and their roles in the community. It wasn’t a very scientific process of elimination, but Ruth Painter, the Sunday school teacher, and Dr. Schulz, the pediatrician, didn’t seem like very likely suspects. There were a few others I nixed as well. I could always revisit them if my leads didn’t pan out.

  I was still stuck on Camille—and possibly Jada, I needed to find out more about this alleged vacation she was on—but then what Camille said about Willa Bryce Monroe was buzzing around my head like a pesky bee after your soda at a picnic. The only thing I couldn’t get past was how.

  The perpetrator of the crime needed motive, opportunity, and means. The motive might have been there for Mrs. Monroe, if she truly was having financial difficulties and didn’t want anyone to know, and she obviously had the opportunity to commit the crime at the gala, same as everyone else who was there. But what about the means? She was a little old lady who walked with a cane. I couldn’t imagine her breaking a glass display case. And how would she have stolen the money? I supposed she could have hired someone, or maybe she had an accomplice?

  After my third cup of coffee, I remembered that every morning, Willa Bryce Monroe took her Pomeranian for a little jaunt down her street. She went about two blocks, passing in front of the library, and then she made the return trip home. She was slow, anchoring herself with her cane, and her pup liked to sniff out every morsel of even remote interest along the way, so it was often a twenty- to thirty-minute endeavor. I passed her on my way into work all the time.

  If I hurried, I could catch her this morning.

  My energy was renewed by the prospect of interviewing the wealthy widow—or maybe it was just the caffeine finally hitting my system. I brushed my teeth, showered, and put on a lemon-yellow dress with little pink flowers. It just screamed spring to me, and with sunny, blue skies greeting us on this May the first, it seemed like the perfect outfit.

  Instead of parking in the library lot, I whipped into a space at the coffee shop on the corner about two blocks from the boardwalk. It wasn’t The Sophisticated Bean, which was actually on the boardwalk, but this one was my second favorite in town. Bryce Beach definitely had its fair share of coffee shops per capita, and I was more than okay with that. I had time to top off my tank with one more caffeine infusion before I was due at work, and besides, one glance down the block told me Mrs. Monroe hadn’t begun her morning constitutional just yet.

  After ordering a café mocha from my favorite barista, Jennie, I headed for the door, composing a little prayer in my head. Give me the right words to say to Mrs. Monroe, Lord. I just want to get to the bottom of this so the library can move on, so our whole town can move forward. And I want to get Your Word back too, of course…so any help you can throw my way would be most appreciated…

  I closed it out with my normal in Jesus’ name, amen—all in my head, of course—and the tinkle of the bells on the coffee shop door almost sounded like He was giving me an answer. I hoped it was the answer I wanted as I spotted the small, hunched-over figure; a roving, sniffing puppy on a leash; and a cane.

  Leaving my car in the lot—I could come back for it at lunchtime—I
strolled down the sidewalk trying to behave as normally and casually as possible. I’m just on my way to work, I reminded myself. Nothing suspicious or noteworthy about that!

  “Good morning, Mrs. Monroe,” I said from a few feet away as I approached her. Her little brown and white dog instantly reared up on his hind legs, trying to reach me.

  “You can pet him,” she assured me. “He’s friendly.”

  I bent down and offered my hand to the pup, who went wild sniffing Bond and Paige all over my skin. I patted his head. “Good boy! What’s his name?”

  “Natty.” Willa Bryce Monroe’s pale gray eyes crinkled with deep lines as she smiled. “He’s named after my great-great-great-great-great…well, you know, lots of greats…grandfather, Nathaniel Bryce.”

  She acted like I wasn’t aware she was the only known living descendent of our town’s founder. Only someone who isn’t from Bryce Beach or has been living under a rock their entire life wouldn’t know that!

  “That’s a great name!” I stroked the dog’s fur, and he licked me in appreciation. “A great name for a great dog!”

  She was beaming now, basking in the praise I’d given her little creature. Then she stopped abruptly, a scowl taking the place of the grin she’d worn. “Have you found my ancestor’s Bible yet? You work at the library, don’t you? You were there on Saturday night—at the party—weren’t you?”

  She threw so many questions at me, I wasn’t sure which to answer first. And it was ironic considering I was the one who meant to ask her questions. Maybe she was getting her Nancy Drew on too?

  “I do work at the library, ma’am, and no, we haven’t found the Bible yet. The police are investigating it.”

  “Police-schmolice,” she scoffed. “Chief James couldn’t find a hole on the ground if it was his own grave, and he was standing in it!”

  Wow, now that was a colorful remark. But, finally, someone who wasn’t gaga over the chief? Maybe I had more in common with this Willa Bryce Monroe character than I’d thought. And she was indeed a character!