Dangerous Curves Boxed Set 1: 3 Cozy Christian Mysteries

by K L Montgomery

  “Mrs. Monroe had decided to change her heir after she made this discovery. She was planning to divide her estate among her three children: a third to Nathaniel, a third to Matilda, and a third to Carlton Boxbury II, who had his name legally changed when he became an adult—it still says Bryce on his original birth certificate. But once she learned about Knox, she cut Carlton Boxbury II out. Carlton II and his father were both pressuring her to nix the memoir, so she replaced him with her great-grandson, whom she never had the opportunity to meet. She was working on getting things arranged so she could meet him, but she was having trouble with the courts, legal system and the foster system. Plus, she knew she couldn’t take care of him herself. His inheritance would go into a trust for him that he could access when he turned eighteen.”

  “So…this explains it all, doesn’t it?” Evangeline’s lips thinned as she looked around the room to see if anyone had any other theories.

  “Almost all of it,” Chief James said. “But we’re going to figure out a way to prove it. Aren’t we, Sunshine?”

  I looked at Vincent, absolutely flabbergasted by his statement of solidarity. So discombobulated, in fact, Molly had to reach out to smack my leg and pull me out of my stupor.

  “Yes, sir. We sure are!”

  Eighteen

  “So what are we going to do about Knox?” I asked Chief James the next morning when we met in his office. After we finished our book reports on Mrs. Monroe’s memoir, The Honey Convention, the girls took me out for my belated birthday dinner. We invited Vincent to come along, but he’d had his fill of estrogen for the day.

  “I’ve been thinking about it since last night,” he said. “I don’t want to put him in danger.”

  “Do we have enough evidence to arrest Carl now?” Boy, he and his wife had both turned out to be big steaming piles of excrement, hadn’t they?

  “I ran his gun registrations to see if any of them match the murder weapon,” he answered. “Also, ‘we’?” A deep chuckle rumbled up his throat.

  I chose to ignore that. He is the one who said “we” yesterday, after all. “And?”

  “No match, but it did match someone else’s weapon…”

  “Who’s that?”

  “His dad,” Chief James said. “But I really don’t think he did it, do you?”

  “That medallion I found,” I mentioned. “I think the red ribbon came from one of Mrs. Monroe’s rhododendron honey jars. The honey that’s making the old man crazy.”

  His nostrils flared. “The medallion is circumstantial, of course. It could have washed up from anywhere.”

  “But it washed up right where her body was found!” I argued.

  “I know, but a jury wouldn’t put that much weight on it.”

  Way to get all technical on me. “Well, what’s the plan, then?”

  “Well, we have to protect the kid, of course, but we could use him as bait.” Chief James’s eyes narrowed, and his chest moved up and down with a deep breath.

  “What do you mean?”

  Vincent steepled his fingers together. “The kid is standing in the way of Carl’s inheritance…”

  “No,” I insisted, “I don’t want to bring Knox into this. He’s suffered enough. I think I know what Willa’s kids were talking about when they said they were going to take care of ‘the honey convention.’”

  “What’s that?”

  I was just hypothesizing, of course, but the story weaving itself together in my mind went a little something like this: “I’m guessing her kids are planning to break the contract with the publisher. What if they did that, rewrote the will to exclude Knox, and then used his share of the estate to pay the penalty for breaking the contract? Harrington Publishers likely gave her an advance, so they’d have to pay that back, plus whatever the penalty was. They’d still end up making a lot more money, and then their family’s dirty laundry wouldn’t be aired in public. I’m guessing Carl’s biggest concern is the book, though I’m sure he’s money-hungry too, what with his wife’s recent legal troubles.”

  “Does Matilda know who Knox really is?” Chief James asked.

  “Good question. But one way or the other, we might be able to use her to lure Carl into confessing…”

  It hit me just then. I knew what to do. It was Saturday, and I didn’t know if Matilda was still at the house sorting through her mother’s things, but I could certainly go find out.

  “You’re not thinking of doing something that’ll end up with you at gunpoint, are you?” Chief James teased me.

  I looked him dead in the eye. “I hope not.”

  The rental car parked on the street in front of Mrs. Monroe’s house boded well for my plans. I really hoped to speak with Matilda in person. I could possibly pull this off by talking to her over the phone, but in person would be so much better.

  “Hello?” I knocked on the door, then rang the bell. The door was shut this time but not locked.

  I saw her figure sweeping toward me through the lovely beveled glass. She pulled the handle and swung the thick wood and glass door open, her face pinched in what looked like a slightly annoyed expression. “Hey, I’m just packing up to leave. My flight is in two and a half hours.”

  The airport was about an hour away in the capital, so I knew she didn’t have much time to spare. I’d have to make this quick.

  “Do you know who killed your mother?” I asked, just trying to gauge her reaction.

  A flicker of something that looked like fear or nervousness crossed her face. “Uh, that mafia guy, I thought?”

  “Well, maybe,” I answered, “but we’re starting to wonder if it has something to do with the memoir your mother is having published.”

  “Oh,” was all she said as she stood with her hip cocked and her foot tapping. “Look, I have to finish packing. Can you come upstairs with me?”

  I followed her up the curved staircase, which creaked in the exact same spots I remembered from my last ascent. Thank God she’s willing to talk to me, I thought as she disappeared into one of the bedrooms. I wasn’t sure what I’d have done if she wasn’t willing. Then I prayed she wouldn’t clam up.

  “How do you know about the memoir?” She headed toward the suitcase splayed open on the bed. She began to toss some clothes in, not bothering to fold them and not bothering to look at me while she awaited my answer.

  “It’s a long story, but it sounds like your mother made a change to her will right before she sent the manuscript to her publishers.” I was hoping to goad Matilda into saying something about it, to gauge what she knew about Knox.

  “Yeah, she cut my brother out of it and put some distant relative of my dad’s in there instead. It makes absolutely no sense. She didn’t even bother to tell us. We didn’t discover it until reading the will for ourselves.”

  “Your brother,” I repeated. “Which one?”

  “Carl,” she said. “I know, it sounds crazy, but Carlton Boxbury II is my half-brother. Long story. My mother made a long, rambling confession over the phone at Christmastime, and as crazy as it is, it’s not any crazier than what happened to my baby by the other Carlton Boxbury II.”

  “Carlton Boxbury Jr,” I confirmed. “Yeah, I’m already aware. He disappeared after college.”

  “How do you know all this?” She stopped tossing clothes into the suitcase and turned to face me, her eyes narrowed into slits.

  “I read the memoir,” I told her. “I know everything. Including who the killer is.”

  “It wasn’t my brother Nathaniel,” was all she said.

  My nose wrinkled. Why would she say that?

  “We need your help to get her murderer to confess,” I told her. “And it has to happen before the memoir is published.”

  “We already promised Carl we’d stop publication of the memoir,” she said. “Nathaniel told him we’d take care of it. So there’s not going to be a memoir.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. This is where I dig my heels in and don’t take no for an answer. “We nee
d you to make him think you’ve changed your mind.”

  Her eyes were wild with fear. “What? I’m not going to do that. He’s completely off his rocker. Between him and his dad, they go through a jar of my mother’s crazy honey every month. The rhododendron stuff I told you about. They’re obsessed with it.”

  She was scared of him—and I didn’t blame her. “Do they know what’s in it?”

  “I’m sure they do by now!” she fired back. “But who cares? I don’t give a you-know-what about either one of them. I want out of this crazy family. I am going to find Carlton Jr., and we’re going to live happily ever after.”

  “What if I told you I know what happened to your baby?” It seemed evident she didn’t know, based on what she’d said so far. She claimed Knox was some distant relative’s kid.

  She stopped again and stared at me, her mouth parted, and her chest heaving. “It’s in the memoir?”

  I nodded.

  She stood there for a moment like a statue; the only sign she was still alive was her shallow panting. And then her face darkened with a frown, making her look every bit of fifty-nine years old. “It’s not good, is it?”

  I gave a sympathetic headshake. “Your mother found out this spring from a family friend that your son, who went by the name Owl, and his wife were killed in an accident. It happened just an hour from here, actually. In Cherry Grove.”

  Matilda’s nostrils flared as she clutched at her chest. “What? How did she find out? She swore she had no clue what happened to my baby!”

  “The family friend told her. She wasn’t sure if Owl knew his true identity. He grew up thinking he was your cousin, from what I understand. Your father’s nephew raised him out in California.”

  A blank stare froze her face. “Why are you telling me this? Haven’t I suffered enough?” Her voice was scratchy, like it was being raked over gravel before coming out of her mouth.

  “You have suffered a great deal,” I agreed with her. “But you can help ease someone else’s suffering, and you can bring your mother’s murderer to justice.”

  “How? And why would I do that, anyway? I’m supposed to be leaving town!” she snapped and threw her hands up in the air, suddenly annoyed by it all.

  “The beneficiary your mother added to her will is your grandson. Owl’s son.”

  She teetered on her heels, looking like a pointed stare could knock her over. “What? How can you be sure?”

  “I saw your son’s and grandson’s birth certificates, and Owl’s birth name is Carlton Piers Monroe. He was born in Santa Ana, California, in 1978,” I explained.

  Her hand clasped over her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. “No…this can’t be. I…” She shook her head, making a teardrop slip down her cheek. “Where is he? Where is this grandson? How old is he?”

  “He’s sixteen,” I answered. “And he’s right here in Bryce Beach, living with a foster family.”

  She straightened her spine, her hands clenched into fists at her side. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

  “Field trip!” I announced with glee as we all piled into the unmarked van and headed to Moon Point. Chief James had briefed Matilda, and she was all wired up and ready to go. We went over all the possible contingencies again on our drive. Officer Harmon was following at a distance in Matilda’s rental car so she could drive up to the sprawling Boxbury residence. Jada confirmed they had a security system with cameras, not to mention a pair of German shepherds, so we’d have to park down the street.

  “You ready for this?” Chief James made a final adjustment to the body camera and mic she wore. “Any last minute questions?”

  “No.” She stared off into the distance, a look of resolution holding her features in place. “It’s just like acting, and I’ve done plenty of that.”

  I was glad she’d changed her flight, but it did take some convincing. At first she’d wanted to go back to California and do this over the phone, but, again, in person would be so much more effective. I watched her climb out of the van and into the rental car, start it up, and drive down the street toward the Boxbury mansion.

  We had the monitors ready to go, but for the longest time all we saw was the interior of the rental car. Finally, Matilda parked, stepped out and began to walk up the path to the house. My insides were on fire, I was so nervous. This could go south in a number of ways, and we already knew Carl’s mental health was compromised—and he had access to guns.

  The camera showed Matilda being let into the house. “Hi, I’m Matilda Monroe,” she told Amanda. “Is Carl here?” We heard the German shepherds barking ferociously in the background.

  I wasn’t sure if Matilda and her half-brother had ever met in person, but she had clearly never met her sister-in-law, Amanda. Carl was not at the funeral, only his father, so I was certain they hadn’t met there. Perhaps they only knew each other through Nathaniel.

  “I know who you are,” Amanda answered in a cold voice. “Let me get my husband.” She turned down the hallway and called for the dogs to be quiet, then she disappeared off the screen with a pronounced limp.

  Matilda paced in the spacious foyer, giving us a glimpse of some of the art and architecture of the Boxbury abode. There were stately columns on either side of the dining room, and urns filled with ivy trailing over the side. We could hear her breathing, deep breaths in and soft breaths out while she waited.

  “Matilda,” came Carl’s voice from down the hallway. “How nice to finally meet you in person! Thanks for stopping by on your way out of town.”

  We watched her take his offered hand and shake it, then follow him into a living room, where she sat down in an armchair facing him. The camera showed a huge window overlooking a massive patio and perfectly landscaped yard.

  “I’m sorry you weren’t able to attend the funeral,” she began. “It was a nice service.”

  “So I’ve heard. It doesn’t take word long to travel in these parts, you know. And…my father dropped by briefly. Just to pay his respects.”

  “Right.” She cleared her throat. “Carl, I need to talk to you about the memoir.”

  “Have you had any issues with the publisher? I know how much they hate breaking contracts. I can certainly get some of Marco’s guys to intervene, if you’d like.”

  “Marco?” she repeated.

  “Oh, you know, the developer. He’s a client of your brother’s, and he’s going to be building here in Moon Point. He’s been very helpful in getting my ducks in a row, so to speak. Now I just need to get this contract taken care of, and I’ll be golden.”

  I reached out and squeezed Vincent’s arm, and he shot me a pursed-lip nod. This was even better than we’d hoped for.

  “Helped you how?” Matilda pressed.

  She was good at this! I wondered if she’d ever played a role like this one before in her acting career.

  There was a wild, manic look in Carlton’s eyes. “Well, his goon is taking the heat for what happened. Your brother made all the arrangements.”

  We saw Amanda enter the room with a tray, which she placed on the coffee table between them. It was hard to tell if she stayed or left the room, but she was off-camera.

  “Oh, you have to try some of this honey!” Carl gushed. “It’s the best I’ve ever had.” He reached out for the tray, then laughed. “It’s your mother’s honey, so I guess you know all about it. She sends a jar every month. I suppose that’s going to end now that she’s no longer with us…”

  “You know that’s the rhododendron honey, don’t you?” Matilda asked. “It’ll make you crazy.”

  “Crazy and addicted,” he fired back. “Why do you think my dad’s so loony now?”

  “But you still eat it?”

  “I don’t eat as much as he does. Look, it was his idea to…you know…break the contract. We just couldn’t have all those family secrets out in the world. He’s going to die soon, so it wouldn’t affect him that much—but I’m going to be around for a while. And so is my son. Not to mention our compan
y. I had enough trouble getting out of the mess Amanda put me in.”

  Matilda softly chided, “But she was your mother, Carl.”

  “Mildred Boxbury was my mother,” he insisted, his voice rising in volume. “I don’t give a flying saucer what my birth certificate says. And if she’s going to cut me out of her will for some kid who isn’t even blood-related to her, just because he’s an orphan… What kind of person does that?”

  “How did you know she cut you out?” Matilda questioned as Carl stuffed a small biscuit coated with honey into his mouth.

  “My father told me, of course. He helped me with all of this, you know. ‘Have to destroy the memoir, Carl,’ he kept telling me. ‘Can’t let her publish it! Promise me you won’t let her publish it.’ Well, I did the best I could.”

  “But it’s already with the editor. There’s not much we can do now.”

  “Nate promised!” Carl’s voice thundered in his cavernous house as he leaped to his feet. “He promised me he could cancel it. He’ll revert the will to the old version, and we’ll use my share to pay off the publishing company and divide the rest between ourselves. And I’m also getting that property on the edge of Moon Point, the one with the woods and wildflowers. You guys can have the Bryce Beach property; I don’t care about that. Moon Point property values are about to skyrocket now that the council approved the developer’s bid. That was a little quid pro quo I came up with for Marco helping me with my alibi.”

  Carl seemed pretty proud of himself. And he said Marco’s name. Even better.

  “Well, the deal’s off,” Matilda announced, joining him on her feet.

  I was hanging on the edge of my seat when I noticed Officer Harmon and a few other officers rush out of the van and down the street. Oh my gosh! It’s about to go down! A wave of adrenaline crashed over me, making my entire body tingle with anticipation.

  “What do you mean, off?” Carl growled. “Nate promised to take care of this. He didn’t want the memoir published either. And he went to all the trouble to get Marco involved. It was the perfect cover-up, don’t you see? The timing was immaculate. We couldn’t have asked for—”