Violets and Venom:: Book Two in the Black Orchid Mystery Series

by Pyper James

  Note from the Publisher: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead or references to locations, persons, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters, circumstances, and events are imaginative and not intended to reflect real events.

  Violets and Venom

  Book One in the Black Orchid Mysteries

  Copyright 2018 Pyper James

  Pyper James Presents

  All Rights Reserved and Proprietary.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, in any form or format without written permission from Publisher. Send all requests via email to

  allthingspyperjames@gmail.com

  Printed in the United States of America

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  Acknowledgments

  First things first! You all are amazing! You really supported my first release and I am eternally grateful for the love and support you have shown to me. I will never take your support for granted, and I wanted you to hear it here first. Thank you!! I also want to take a moment to thank my friends and family for always being there for me. Thank you to my literary team for the graphic designs, editing, beta reading and everything else you do for me, so I can focus on the writing. Go Team Pyper!

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to all the cozy mystery lovers!

  Chapter One

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  Vivica continued to backpedal even though there was nowhere else to go. Her back was against the cabinet, yet, her feet still moved. Vivica heard the operator but couldn’t formulate the words to respond. Her eyes remained wide just as Mr. Princeton Wyatt remained perfectly still. Vivica’s eyes raced across the room, flitting from the victim to the needle protruding from his neck, to the room itself. Her eyes seemed unable to settle on one thing as the operator spoke again.

  “911, what’s your emergency?” This time the operator spoke louder with more consternation in her voice.

  “Uh,” Vivica stuttered. “Uh, there’s a man, lying in the floor… I think he’s dead.”

  The words tumbled from Vivica’s lips once she was able to articulate.

  “You think he’s dead,” the operator repeated.

  “Yes,” Vivica answered.

  “Ma’am, where are you located? Can you give me the address?” the seasoned operator could hear the fright in the caller’s voice.

  The question stumped Vivica. She couldn’t remember. When the call came, because the area was so familiar, Vivica committed the address to memory. Clearly her short-term memory as for the life of her, the address to the Wyatt home was foreign.

  “I don’t know,” Vivica muttered into the phone, as much to herself as she was informing the operator.

  “Can you get the address, the operator encouraged. “We won’t be able to dispatch the ambulance or the police if we don’t know where to go.”

  What the operator said made sense even in the jumble that was Vivica’s current state of mind. But in order to get the address, Vivica would need to get past Mr. Wyatt. She’d never been around a dead body before; well, outside of where dead bodies belong like in a funeral home. And even then, Vivica had no fondness for them. Her heart rate stayed elevated and she could still feel the beat of her heart in her ears. Whether she liked it or not, to get out of this situation, Vivica needed the address.

  Leaning her head back against the cabinet, Vivica breathed deeply.

  “Hold on,” she mumbled, lifting herself from the floor and standing up on knees that felt too shaky to hold her. “I have to get it.”

  The operator said things that she intended to sound reassuring. Vivica heard her but couldn’t process what was said because she was too busy trying to figure out the fastest way to get the address without encountering Mr. Wyatt. Again, Vivica’s eyes scanned the room; the distance to the back door, stepping around Princeton Wyatt.

  …front door…

  Her feet moved before she fully processed the thought. If she went to the front door, she could avoid Mr. Wyatt altogether. The home was expansive but there was a corridor from the kitchen towards the front of the home. Vivica’s feet moved faster as she neared the entryway. With the click of the three internal locks set in the thick mahogany door, Vivica opened it and then the screen door. Turning on her heels, she locked around the screen to see if the house numbers were there. They weren’t. Vivica turned around again and trotted the distance of the porch and down the front stairs. Maybe the house numbers were on the mailbox. She couldn’t remember when she rode up on her bicycle where she’d seen them. Vivica was too busy trying to make sure she delivered the petunias on time. Where were the petunias Vivica considered as she made her way down the front walk? The telephone was still plastered to her ear and the operator droned about one thing or the other; biding her time until the caller provided the information she needed.

  Stepping down onto the street, Vivica checked the mailbox. It was as stately as the residence; matching brick with fanciful wooden trim work, balancing the box itself.

  “Have you found it, ma’am,” the operator inquired.

  “No,” Vivica replied, stepping onto the curb and making her way back down the walk. That’s when she saw the house numbers under the lip of the porch on the wall of the second to the highest stair.

  “8530 Remington Court,” she blurted, as excited to make the discovery as the operator finally getting what she needed.

  “Great. I’m dispatching the police and ambulance right now. If you’ll just stay on the line until they get there, okay?”

  Vivica nodded her head as though the operator could see her. Fortunately, the operator continued with what she needed to do, getting first responders to the scene. Once that was completed, the operator went back to droning, saying things she thought would be reassuring and reminding Vivica that help was on the way. Her steps finally slowed as Vivica mounted the stairs, walking up enough treads to sit on the porch. She had no intentions of going back inside the house. Being along with Mr. Wyatt, in his current state, was too unnerving for Vivica to voluntarily expose herself to him.

  The boards of the porch were slightly cooler than the current temperature on the rest of the stairs. It had to be the shading as the overhang of the house extended past the front step. Vivica appreciated the coolness. She hadn’t noticed the beads of sweat that populated her brow until she sat in the cool on the porch step. Princeton Wyatt’s lawn was pristine, as Vivica’s eyes wandered looking first right in front of her then further out into the neighborhood. There was not a blade of grass out of sorts along the walkway, and the shrubs that lined the front of Mr. Wyatt’s home were perfectly trimmed. As her eyes moved from Mr. Wyatt’s lawn to the neighbors around him, Vivica noticed something. Although many of his neighbors kept a polished yard, their landscapes held some type of flowers. Princeton Wyatt’s didn’t.

  Vivica still felt frazzled. Even though her heart didn’t thump nearly as hard, the beat hadn’t dropped back down to normal. Vivica could hardly believe it. Not an hour before, she was in the garden picking flowers for delivery, worried about whether she was making the right career choice and despising her old classmate, the infamous Cindy Rose Rainier, for making Vivica doubt herself. But those troubles paled in comparison to the kind of day Princeton Wyatt had.

  “You’re doing a wonderful job,” the operator encouraged. “Help will arrive in about four minutes, ma’am,” the operator said interrupting Vivica’s train of
thought. She still didn’t bother to respond; holding the phone slightly away from her ear while the operator continued to drone.

  Who would want to hurt Princeton Wyatt?

  This was one of the nicer neighborhoods in Dahlonega, not an area considered to be crime-ridden. Well, none of Dahlonega was that way, as Vivica remembered. So why Mr. Wyatt? Who could he have possibly offended? Vivica didn’t know him personally; he could prove to be a tawdry old man, tormenting the neighborhood kids who accidentally meandered onto his pristine lawn; harshly chastising them for not being more careful and failing to respect private property.

  Could be, Vivica mused as the first hint of sirens broke the silence around her.

  “There here, thank you,” Vivica drawled. She disconnected the line before the operator responded. Her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Mr. Wyatt. There was so much she didn’t know about him. That made sense. He was her first real delivery customer. But the fact that she was the one who found him connected Vivica to Mr. Wyatt in a way she felt but didn’t really understand.

  The baring of the ambulance horn and the whirling of the sirens from the police car interrupted Vivica’s thoughts; obliterating the silence of the neighborhood. She watched as the first responders followed the same path she did in getting to Mr. Wyatt’s home. The police car was the first to arrive. The situation took on a newfound urgency that defied Princeton’s current condition. Protocol, Vivica guessed, as she lifted herself shakily from the porch.

  Sherriff Deputy Johnathan Harper exited his cruiser and made his way to the witness; one he immediately recognized.

  “Vivica?” He asked, walking up to the porch. Deputy Bo Gathright, followed closely behind. All Vivica could manage was a sigh. The ambulance scurried in next.

  “He’s around back,” Vivica managed.

  “Bo, let them know the vic is in the back,” Sherriff Harper said authoritatively.

  Police lingo, Vivica speculated, although victim was a mere two syllables and wouldn’t take much more to say. For the first time since arriving, Vivica managed a slight smile, amused by her own snark.

  “Sure thing, boss,” Deputy Gathright replied; taking a shortcut to the ambulance through Mr. Wyatt’s impeccable grass. Vivica cringed a little as the deputy stomped his way over; leaving notable footprints on the lawn. Gathright, in turn, barked instructions to the ambulance driver who then backed the ambulance up; blaring the warning sound notifying anyone within a hundred-foot radius that the vehicle was in motion, and then whirled the bus into the driveway towards the rear of the Wyatt estate. Gathright cut back across the grass as Sherriff Harper started down the drive. Johnathan looked over his shoulder towards Vivica as if to suggest she should come along, too.

  Vivica hesitated. There was a part of her that wanted to stay out of it. She’d seen the body lying on the cold kitchen floor, she didn’t need to see it again. If the police had questions for her, they knew exactly where to find her. She would be sitting on the porch. But there was another side of Vivica that did want to go with the officers; to see their process, to look around through the eyes of the professionals. When Johnathan paused his forward movement as though waiting for her, Vivica took the first tentative step down the stairs. Once she was on the ground, Sherriff Harper and Deputy Gathright continued down the drive. Vivica followed.

  The back of the Wyatt home buzzed with activity. Medics were lifting the gurney from the back of the ambulance and the steps of the police moved faster as they mounted the back stairs; taking the stairs two at a time.

  He’s dead though…

  Vivica waited until the gurney was on the porch and in the house before walking up the stairs. Her gait was much slower than everyone else’s’ her desire to see Mr. Wyatt was not quite as enthusiastic. Vivica watched the first responders from the door’s threshold. The medics were with the body, checking vital signs while Harper and Gathright stood a few feet away taking what Vivica suspected was a more macro view of the scene. Heavy footsteps behind her startled Vivica. She nearly jumped out of her skin as she spun around.

  “Excuse me,” the man said. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.” His baritone voice reflected the heft of his body.

  Vivica feigned a smile as once again the drumming of her heartbeat pounded in her ears. The weightiness of the man’s steps continued as he crossed the landing and passed Vivica. It was only when Harper turned and greeted the man did Vivica learn who he was, Coroner Brown Mitchell. She watched as Mitchell strode to the body. He lauded over, checking in with the medics on what they found. Reaching into the pocket of the black jacket he wore over faded denim jeans, Coroner Mitchell pulled out a pair of latex gloves and put them on.

  With a wave of the hand from Mitchell, the medics moved away from the body. Intrigued, Vivica stepped into the kitchen. She wanted to watch Mitchell, see his process. Vivica’s eyes were drawn as his were drawn to the syringe jutting from Mr. Wyatt’s neck. Mitchell stood there a long time regarding the curiosity. There was still fluid in the vial. Looking closer, the coloring of the liquid was purplish, in Vivica’s estimation. Whoever did this to Mr. Wyatt had to get really close which meant either a surprise attack or the victim knew the assailant, well enough to allow such close proximity. It was clear in Vivica’s mind that whatever the contents of the syringe, most likely poison, was the cause of Princeton’s undue demise.

  Mitchell continued his hands-off examination, walking completely around the body; careful not to step too close contaminating the crime scene. The room was silent as all conversation from the medics and the police officers ended as the coroner did his work. After a few moments, Harper crossed the room and stood next to Mitchell.

  “I won’t render my final finding until after the autopsy is completed,” Mitchell began. “Some things seem obvious, but you know how that goes.”

  “Yeah, we both do,” Harper replied. “Just give my office a call when you’re ready to report.”

  Mitchell nodded in agreement and then squatted down at the head of the body. Vivica had an unexplainable urge to do the same. She really wanted to go over to where Mitchell was, so she could see what he saw from his angle. Mr. Wyatt was on his stomach, face down. If there was any bright side to this whole situation, that was it. Vivica didn’t want to see death written all over poor Mr. Wyatt’s face.

  Mitchell stood up and begun removing the gloves from his thick hands.

  “Bring the body to my office,” he said in the direction of the medics who stood by.

  There were parting salutations amongst the first responders as Coroner Mitchell took his leave. Vivica watched Mitchell until he descended the stairs and then turned her attention back to the crime scene. She wondered if there would be yellow tape quartering off the area, curious neighbors standing out in front trying to see what happened, and reporters vying for the news scoop of the day.

  Now it was the police officers turn. Gathright walked over to Harper and they took the same view Mitchell did minutes before. Vivica’s feet moved further into the kitchen. The sense of dread in seeing the dead body was inexplicably replaced with heightened curiosity. There wasn’t a lot of conversation between the men, just observation initially. Again, Vivica widened her view. There didn’t seem to be anything disturbed in the kitchen. The kitchen chairs remained perfectly aligned to the table. The counters were clear apart from a well-worn coffee mug sitting next to a coffee pot. There were no footprints noticeable on the milky white linoleum floor. There was nothing Vivica noticed to suggest a struggle of any kind.

  “Turn him,” Harper announced as he and Gathright took a decisive step back. The medics moved toward Mr. Wyatt. Vivica didn’t want to see this part. She didn’t want to see the poor man’s face. It would look like death and Vivica didn’t want to have nightmares. As the medics began to adjust the body, Vivica turned away. Her foot tapped quickly on the floor as she waited for it to be over. Listening intently, Vivica heard the squeak of what she presumed were the wheels of the gurney. That meant the medics
were preparing to lift the body. The foot-tapping continued, faster and with greater intention.

  To keep the needle in place, the medics would have to lift the body in such a way not to disturb it. Why am I thinking about that, Vivica questioned herself as the wait to turn around continued. As much as she denied the desire to, Vivica stole a look over her shoulder just as Mr. Wyatt was placed on the gurney, and then couldn’t pull her away. Her eyes were transfixed even though her mind told her to turn away. Vivica finally saw her customer’s face. It was everything she anticipated from an older gentleman, fuzzy grey brows and wrinkly skin. Thank goodness Princeton’s eyes were closed. Vivica might have screamed if they weren’t. She also noticed that his mouth was slightly open as the medics pulled the crisp white sheet over Mr. Wyatt’s face.

  The pace at which the medics left was far different than when they arrived. There was regard for the occupant on the gurney and the two moved in tandem to lower Mr. Wyatt onto the ground before lifting him again into the back of the ambulance. Vivica took a moment, silently, for Mr. Wyatt.

  Chapter Two

  Up until this point, Vivica had been a passive observer while the first responders worked. Now, the full attention of the two-man police force was on her.

  “Can you tell us your name,” Sheriff Harper asked. Vivica’s brow furrowed and her nose wrinkled. She didn’t understand Johnathan asking her that when he already knew her name. Harper cut his eyes at his deputy and then looked back at Vivica. Ohhhh. Understanding his request, she complied.

  “My name is Vivica Meadows.”

  “Vivica, I’m going to need to ask you some questions,” Sherriff Harper started as he walked toward her. Deputy Gathright was right behind him, pulling out a small notebook and pen from his top shirt pocket.

  “Okay,” Vivica muttered as the men approached. She knew Johnathan from way back. The two had once been a couple and Vivica was crazy about him. But her heart beat differently when he started posing questions.