Murder in the Park (Fran Finch Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by Ivy McAllister

  Fran was a little bewildered. “All right…?”

  He opened the door for her and as she slid into the seat he said, “It’s not totally random, though. It’s something from Ethiopia.” He hurried over to the other side and placed his files in the back of the car before revving up the engine. Fran noticed, in their close proximity, the smell of his aftershave. Strong and woody, but with a hint of sweetness, like wide forest trees with sweet scented flower vines climbing up their trunks and along their boughs. She liked it.

  “I went to Ethiopia on business one time,” he said as he turned the car. “To this place called Hawassa. Really nice, I must say. We were in this hotel called Lewi Resort, right on the lake. That place was great. The only thing annoying was that the monkeys liked to come over to your table and steal your fries.”

  “Seriously?”

  He grinned as he drove. “Yep. And they’d pick up the ketchup bowl and lick it clean. Anyway, in Hawassa, they have these little three-wheeled vehicles called bajaj. They’re like tiny little open-sided taxis. And it’s so funny, because of the way the drivers act. The first day I was there, I got the shock of my life. So I’m walking the streets of Hawassa, minding my own business, right? And this bajaj drives up beside me. The guy points at me, with a face like I killed his cat, and says, “You! Get in!” and I’m like, what the heck did I do?”

  The way he said it was so funny that Fran couldn’t help but laugh. “Why was he like that?”

  “Oh, it’s just their way,” he said, shrugging. “The drivers, I mean. Most of the Ethiopian people are very gentle, quiet. It’s a really awesome place. Very beautiful, too. I’d love to go again sometime. Oh, and the food is incredible. Really. It’s like, you have these pancake things called injera, and you… nah, it’s just not the same when you explain it. You have to experience it. It’s some of the best food I’ve ever had.”

  “Is it?” Fran said. In all her years of imaginary party planning, which had started all the way back from Sabrina’s party, she’d planned endless menus, chock full of international cuisine. There had been quesadillas and sweet and sour chicken, and jerk chicken from Jamaica and her favorite spinach and potato curry, sag aloo. And yet never once had she explored Ethiopian food. “I’d love to try it one day.”

  “There’s a great place near my downtown office,” Matt said, his eyes shining. “We could head down there sometime, try it out.”

  “That would be nice.” Was that a friendly invitation, Fran wondered, or arranging a date? The fluttering in her stomach and the way she felt ever so slightly giddy around him told her which she hoped it was.

  There was a slightly awkward silence after that. Eventually, Matt broke it by saying, “Is Emily your friend, then?”

  “Yes,” Fran said. She felt a guilty tug in her gut. To think she had been thinking about romance when her friend was held up in a prison cell. “She is…was…Waverly’s nanny. Maybe she still is, I’m not sure. I’m not exactly certain what happened, but I think they took her in because they think she killed Mr. Stratford.”

  Matt stared at Fran for a moment, horrified. “No.”

  Fran shook her head, feeling like life was tangling itself in knots she’d never be able to undo. “I don’t know why they’d ever think that. She’d just not that kind of person. And I mean why would she even want to kill him, anyway? It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “That’s… Wow,” Matt said. “It must be horrible for you right now.”

  “Even worse for Emily.” Fran began to pick at the nails of her left hand with the fingers of her right, something she often did when she was nervous. “I just want to get her out of there.”

  Matt smiled. “So you gonna go right in, gunslingin’, and bust her right outta there, cowgirl?”

  Fran gave a weak smile.

  “I apologize, again,” he said. “In fact, I’m just going to apologize right now for all my jokes here on out, okay? I make them when I’m nervous, when I’m annoyed, when I can’t say what I want to say, when I like someone… Pretty much all the time. And you can’t count on them getting any better. Look, I’m sorry about Emily, and I hope you can find out why she’s there and help get her out. There, you see? Now I’ve given you a normal human being answer.”

  Fran smiled, warming to him. “I think I liked your cowgirl answer much better.”

  Chapter 11

  Fran looked out the window at the enormous mansions rolling past, and felt like changing the subject for a while. It was kind of soothing, driving over the smooth road in the smooth car, with the not-so-smooth guy that made her cheeks flush rosy. “So what meeting are you going to?”

  Matt draped his hand over the steering wheel and sighed. “It’s Byron’s baby. I wouldn’t have taken a meeting the day after his death, I mean, it looks so callous, but I know what he would have wanted. He would have wanted me to push through with this deal and get it all wrapped up.” Matt gave a big smile. “That coldhearted man woulda been pushing a deal the day after I died, no doubt. Probably the very day I died, before I’d even gone cold. He thought life was all about business.”

  “Do you agree?” Fran asked, interested.

  Matt glanced over at her, the flecks in his eyes clearly visible in the morning sun. “I don’t know, really. It’s easy to get consumed by it, I’ll say that much. I’ve seen plenty of men get themselves sucked up in the whole thing. And they’re not quite… I don’t know. People who live for their jobs…” He shook his head, his eyes turning stormy. “It’s not healthy. People pour all their emotional issues into their job and bring all their baggage to work. It’s not cool.”

  “Hmm,” Fran said, wondering how guilty of that she was herself. All that positive emotion she had from her vividly joyous party experience in her childhood, that was great. But she’d brought right along with it her tendency to put herself down, and doubt how capable she was, and even to dismiss her work altogether.

  Even when she was little, she’d had those foibles. She remembered sitting down in front of a canvas when she was young, pushing her dark straggling hair back and looking over the blank textured surface, imagining all sorts of glorious scenes showing themselves as she picked up her paintbrush. But after three hours of labor and a whole bunch of frustration, she marched outside and tossed the canvas in the trash, feeling like the most incapable person who ever lived. Her mom fished it out, said that it looked lovely, and hung it in the kitchen, but whenever Fran passed by, it only served to remind her how she could never be quite as good as she wanted to be. Her dreams were always beautiful and expansive and gorgeous, and she saw herself in her mind’s eye, brilliant and accomplished and shining. The real Fran was too ordinary to match up.

  “Earth to Fran,” Matt said. “Do you read me?”

  “Sorry.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” Fran shifted in her seat, wanting to think of something else. “So that meeting, is that the thing with Toby Georgiou?”

  Matt rocked back, shocked. “Yes, the hush-hush thing with Toby Georgiou. How did you know?”

  “I was over when he visited Mr. Stratford,” Fran said. “Mr. Stratford really did seem excited about the deal.”

  “And Toby?”

  “Hmm, I don’t really know. He seemed kind of shy, actually.”

  Matt nodded. “He is. And he’s probably on the verge of pulling out, I’m guessing. That’s why I’ve called this meeting. To try to get him firmly on our side, you know?”

  “I see. So what actually is the deal, if you don’t mind me asking.”

  Matt smiled. “I’ll tell you, seeing as you’re you. I wouldn’t tell anyone else. It’s a chain of boutique hotels, Moroccan-themed, with water gardens and shady courtyards and all that jazz, all indoors in glass atriums, so the effect will continue in winter. And to generate a lot of buzz, we’re going to have Georgiou put on a big party for all his A-list friends there. A full out three-day party.”

  “Three days?” Fran said, incredul
ous. “When do you sleep?”

  Matt laughed. “I guess some people pop in and pop out. Others are probably drugged up to their eyeballs, realistically. Not that that’s the image we want for the hotels. As for me, I’m not a party animal. I’ll be at home tucked up in bed, thank you very much.” He laughed. “Oh, I just forgot you’re a party planner. We’re not going to get along, are we?”

  Fran laughed. “Don’t worry about it. I like creating the party more than the actual partying itself. I’d love the chance to organize a three-day party, though I don’t know if I could pull it off. The organization must be crazy.”

  Matt nodded. “I haven’t really seen behind the scenes, but we have an events company doing it, a whole team devoted to it.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “But maybe in the future…” He spoke lightly, carefully. “Maybe in the future, if we have something smaller going-on, you could…well, you know.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Fran said, feeling a rush of excitement which quickly turned into fear. The whole luxury boutique hotel thing and A-list party felt super intimidating. Sure, she had whiled away afternoons laying on her bedcover in her tiny room, dreaming of being the hostess with the mostest while actors and models milled around, but it actually being a possibility? That was a totally different ballgame. “The party yesterday was the first one I’ve ever gotten paid for,” she said honestly. “And I’ve only ever done kids’ parties. You’d probably want someone more experience.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But if there was one thing I liked about Byron, it was that he saw potential and gave people breaks. I mean, sure he’s my uncle, but he didn’t have any obligation to take me on. I was fresh out of school, with terrible grades and an attitude to match, but he had me come in the company on a high level and whipped me into shape real quick.”

  Fran nodded. “That must have been pretty scary. You know, to be in a high position and not know what you were doing.”

  Matt grinned. “Not really. Think I was too young and foolhardy to be scared. I thought I could do anything. But Byron cut me down to size a few times. Made me humble. And that’s when things started working out for me. I think that’s the key, you know. A mix of confidence and humbleness. So you’re brave enough to get out there and do things, and humble enough to know when you could do better. And to hold your hands up when you screw up.”

  Fran nodded. “Think I need some more confidence, to be honest.” She hadn’t really spoken about this before to anyone, but she felt so at ease with him. It seemed like they’d known each other forever. “All I can do is think about how I’ve screwed things up.”

  “Really?” he said, sounding genuinely shocked.

  Fran almost regretted telling him, but when she looked over, she saw his gray, flecked eyes weren’t judging her, or pitying her. He just looked like he was trying to understand, and that touched her somehow. “Yeah.”

  “That’s something you can work on, you know,” he said. “It’s just a mindset thing. Because, trust me, you are not a screw-up. I mean, I can tell that just by being around you. And that party you put on yesterday? No screw-up could do that.”

  Fran felt a smile creep up to her lips. She couldn’t stop it. “Thanks.”

  “And people who are actually screw-ups, it often starts with their mindset anyhow,” he said. “Like if you think you’re a screw-up, you’re less likely to try new things. And if you do, you’re putting extra stress on yourself, and then you mess up because of that…”

  “And the cycle continues,” Fran said, knowing it all too well.

  “It can be fixed, you know,” Matt said earnestly. “A friend of mine’s into coaching and business training and stuff, and he’s helped me get rid of a bunch of negative thinking patterns that were holding me back at work. That’s the first step, actually knowing that it’s just negative thinking. Just because we think it, doesn’t necessarily mean it’s true or it’s worthy of your headspace.”

  Fran hadn’t thought about it like that before. It was quite difficult to get her head around, though, and she wasn’t quite sure she believed it. “I think I get what you mean.”

  “Well, looks like we’re here,” Matt said, pulling up beside a police station. They were in a decidedly more normal looking area by then, where there were no golf courses stretching out to infinity and no imposing mansions looming on either side. “I’ll be in the meeting for a while, but if you need a ride, give me a call.” He gave her his cell number and Fran punched it into her ancient iPhone.

  “See ya,” she said as she got out of the car. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “You’re welcome every time,” he said. “I’d offer to accompany you in, but Georgiou’s jittery as it is. I can’t keep him waiting. And also…” A cloud passed over his face for a moment. “Never mind.”

  “It’s fine. See you, Matt.”

  He smiled, a lovely soft smile like they’d known each other a long time. “See you, Fran.”

  He pulled away and soon the Hyundai disappeared into traffic. Fran turned to the police station, barely able to believe she was there. In her somewhat sheltered life, she’d actually never been to one before. Was Emily really inside, locked up? It was hard to get her head around. All she could do was step inside and find out.

  An AC was blasting cold air inside, so thick and fast it felt like she was stepping into a refrigerator. Since it was a sunny day, she was only wearing a knee-length sundress and her favorite frilly linen jacket. Goosebumps rose up on her arms as soon as she stepped in, and the stare she got from the officer at the front desk was no warmer.

  “Can I help you, miss?” were the polite words that came out of the lady cop’s mouth, but they were tinged with annoyance, as if she had already decided that Fran had come to waste her time.

  “Um, hi,” Fran said. In any other situation she’d have felt shy and intimidated by the way the cop spoke, but since it was about Emily, she felt emboldened. “Is Emily Reeves here?”

  “And you are…?”

  “Her friend,” Fran said. The air was blowing so cold on her sandaled feet, she felt they were in an icebox. “I wanted to speak to her.”

  “Why?”

  Fran’s mind raced. How could she answer that? One look at this woman told her that no sentimental reasons were going to cut it. It has to be something practical. “Um, well, I’m the party planner for the party at the Stratford mansion yesterday, and she’s the nanny and—”

  “I am well aware of who she is.”

  “Right, and she was coordinating everything I was doing with the party for her charge Waverly. So right now I need to find out what I should do about payment, and about cleaning up.” It was partially true, at least.

  The woman regarded her suspiciously for a moment, and Fran was sure there would be nothing that would delight her more than telling Fran no way. But eventually she nodded. “All right. You have five minutes. You stay outside the cell. She stays inside. It will be supervised. Got it?”

  Fran smiled. “Thanks. That’s perfect.” Fran couldn’t wait to see her friend and find out what on earth was going on.

  Chapter 12

  “I didn’t do it, I swear!” Emily said for the thousandth time.

  “I know,” Fran said soothingly, feeling her heart breaking. Emily kept wiping away tears. Strong, stoic Emily who hated to show her emotions had finally cracked. Now it was Fran’s turn to be the one who held it together. “Don’t you worry about it, Em, okay? As they investigate, they’ll find the real killer and let you off the hook.”

  “I don’t even know how to shoot a darn gun!” Emily said, her voice heavy with emotion. “I don’t! Much less how to get a silencer, which is what they’re saying was used.”

  Fran reached through the bars. “Come here.”

  Emily was sitting on the bench, her eyes red and her body slumped. She looked up at Fran so wearily, like she couldn’t muster the energy to shift even an inch, let along to get up and come over to Fran.


  “Please,” Fran said, thinking it would do Emily good.

  Emily sighed, then pushed herself up off the bench. She practically fell into Fran’s arms, and Fran was glad in that moment for the sturdy bars between them, otherwise they might have toppled over.

  “Oh,” Emily cried, her head pressed up against the bars. She pulled away from the hug quickly because it was quite awkward. “I’m never going to get out of here, am I?”

  “Of course you are. Of course you are,” Fran soothed. “And soon, too, I’m sure of it.”

  Emily went back to the bench and slumped down. “You don’t understand, Fran. They found stuff in my room.”

  Fran felt her heart beat a little quicker. “What stuff?” Emily stared down at the floor, wringing her hands, and Fran started to feel a little panicked. “Emily, what stuff?”

  Emily let out a little strangled sob, then regained enough control to talk. “A bag of money. Cash. And a note. I can’t remember what they said it said exactly. Something like, “I killed him. Thanks for your help, but I’m taking your share. Sorry, but I’m not sorry.” Or something like that.”

  Fran gasped. “What the…”

  “I know!” Emily said.

  Fran turned to the young cop supervising. He looked like he was just out of school and way out of his depth. “Can’t you run handwriting analysis or something?” She’d seen enough CSI Miami episodes to think of that.

  The young cop shrugged, his eyes wide like he was intimidated she was even talking to him.

  “No, no,” Emily said, frustrated. “It was typed. They checked the computer in my room, which showed I didn’t make up anything like that. But they seized all the computers in the house to try and find it. And between Byron and Vanessa and Waverly, there sure is a lot.” Her voice quivered then. “How is Waverly? To think, it happened on her…” Emily began to squeak out the words, until she cleared her throat and started again. “It happened on her birthday. Whoever did that must have no heart. No heart at all.”