"I wish I was." She started sobbing again. "And I said yes. Next thing I knew, his son was here with something for me to sign … a contract stating that Bert would be half owner of this place as soon as we were married."
Things were starting to fall into place, but there was one person I wasn't sure about. "Where does Connie fit into all of this?"
"She came to warn me, but it was too late. I signed the contract."
"Why would you sign such a thing?" I asked.
Her shoulders shook with more sobs. "Because when you're married, everything should be shared equally. At least that's how I thought it was supposed to work."
"You didn't marry him yet, did you?"
She shuddered. "No, thank goodness. He wanted to elope right away, but I had so many things to do and guests to tend to." Her chin quivered, as she looked me in the eye. "I found out that the same thing happened with Lola. He asked her to marry him, but she didn't want to elope."
The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs captured our attention. To my surprise, Connie was handcuffed. She glanced at me, quickly looked away, and started bawling.
"What's up with her?" I asked.
Jim shrugged. "Let me help these guys get her in the car. I'll be right back."
"I wonder why they're taking her away," Mavis said. "She's such a sweet girl for coming here to warn me. She was even willing to risk her life."
I had a feeling there was more to the story than that, and we'd find out in just a few minutes. "Trust me. They know what they're doing."
Mavis and I sat in silence as we waited for Jim to return. When he did, I resisted the urge to pounce on him for answers. Mavis, on the other hand, wasn't so reserved.
"Why did you take that girl away like that? I need her to help me out around here, now that I'm so busy."
Jim shook his head. "She won't be able to help you for a while. She has another engagement until her court date."
I gave him a questioning look. "Did she—"
"She didn't murder Mrs. Birchfield, if that's what you were about to ask, but she contributed. And she's admitting that she was involved in extortion."
"Extortion?" Mavis and I spoke up at the same time.
"Let's just say that after Bert's marriage to Lola Birchfield—that is if it had gone through—Connie would have been able to take a very nice vacation. And after your wedding …" Jim tilted his head toward Mavis. "She could have retired in some obscure town in Mexico."
Mavis's hand flew to her mouth as everything sank in. I didn't want to discuss any more with Jim in front of her, so I offered to help her to her room.
"Can you make me some tea?" she asked.
"Yes, of course." I left her sitting up in bed and went to the kitchen, where Jim stood waiting for me. "Let me get her the tea, and you and I can go somewhere and chat."
A half hour later, we sat at the police station with the file laid out on his desk. "You know that paper she had in her hand when you found her?" he asked.
I nodded. "The shopping list?" Then it dawned on me. "That wasn't a shopping list, was it?"
"Afraid not." He grimaced. "It had Connie's signature on it."
"Oh yeah? What was the signature for?"
"Apparently, Connie discovered Bert and Zach's plot to take all of Mrs. Birchfield's money, then when Mrs. Birchfield was doing some cleaning, she found the paper on the floor in one of the rooms Connie had cleaned."
"I'm lost." I leaned back and watched Jim's face as he squirmed.
"The paper fell out of Connie's pocket."
"Oh. So she asked Bert about it?"
"You got it." Jim pursed his lips and held out his arms. "And that was when he stabbed her."
"He?" I repeated.
"Bert." He gave me a tight-lipped grin. "Yeah, I was a little surprised too. At first, all the signs led Zach until we discovered he wasn't in town yet. Then everything pointed to Connie."
"I wonder how my hair got in that tape."
"Oh, that's another thing. Once he was caught, Bert got very chatty. He said he got your hair from the brush you left in the bathroom." Jim chuckled. "And he paid Connie to stick it on the tape to implicate you in the murder." He paused. "Oh, Bert put that trellis up, and Connie climbed it to get inside the house since Bruiser was guarding the entrance."
"Okay, that makes sense, but what about the fact that Zach's hair was in the tape too?"
"That was Connie's doing. She didn't have much trouble getting Zach's hair when they … you know, made out."
"Interesting," I said. "I wonder if she grabbed his hair to pull him away or if she pretended to …" I gave Jim a sheepish look that made him chuckle.
"Apparently, she thought it would be enough to make us throw out the evidence since he was still in jail when Mrs. Birchfield's body was found." He paused. "She really didn't want to implicate you. She likes you."
"Amazing how some people's minds work," I said.
"Actually, what she did was a good thing. It pretty much let you off the hook. With his hair in the tape, we knew something was amiss."
"Wait a minute," I said as his words sank in. "Let me off the hook? Are you saying you would even think I was guilty?"
"Me?" he asked, pointing his thumb to his chest. "Never. But you know how some people—"
I rolled my eyes and sighed. "Never mind. At least we know what happened."
"Well, we still have a few things to sort out, but we know we have everyone we need where we want them."
"I just hope Mavis gets through this without too much trauma."
"She's been around a while," Jim said. "I'm sure she'll be just fine."
I stood up. "Unless you need me for anything else, I'd like to go home now."
He gestured toward the door. "You're free to go wherever and whenever you want."
"Wait just a minute," I said. "You told me that I was off the hook as soon as you found out that Zach was still in jail, so the hair must have been planted on the tape"
His eyes narrowed. "Yeah, why?"
"I could have gone home days ago."
"Yes," he admitted, "but this whole case wouldn't have been nearly as much fun."
I growled as I strode toward the door. When I got to the edge of the office, I turned, fixed my gaze on Jim, and said, "Thank you for the hospitality. Let me know if you're ever in Nashville. I'll try to return the favor."
I left the office to the sound of his roaring laughter. As I walked out the door, I heard him holler, "Merry Christmas, Summer!"
Epilogue
I was never so happy to be home as I was now. Mom had left the lights on for me, and she insisted I go to the main house as soon as I got home.
She and Dad both greeted me with open arms at the door. The aroma of gingerbread wafted to my nostrils, and I inhaled deeply.
"Come in, sweetie. I have some chicken vegetable soup waiting for you." She took me by the arm and led me to the kitchen, where she'd already set the table for me.
"If I eat all my soup, can I have a cookie?"
Dad laughed. "You haven't forgotten the rules, have you, Summer?"
As I ate, both Mom and Dad tried their best to hold back, but I could tell they wanted details. I let them suffer for a few minutes before I started from the beginning and told them all about my Charleston vacation.
Mom and Dad exchanged a glance, and Mom nodded, letting me know they'd been discussing something. Dad spoke up. "Have you thought about going back to police work?"
"No, I'm done with that." I narrowed my gaze and looked back and forth between my parents.
"But you're so good at it, we figured it was probably your calling," Mom said.
"Why? I thought y'all hated my being a cop."
"Well …" Mom glanced at Dad again before turning back to me. "You always seem to find … um … trouble, and now that you're a civilian, your hands are tied. At least when you were in police work, you had backup."
Dad nodded. "And weapons that you could use if needed."
/> "I appreciate your concern, but I think I'll keep looking for something else. In spite of the fact that I find trouble—or more likely trouble finds me—I don't want to be a cop anymore." I swallowed the last bite of my soup, pushed the bowl back, and grabbed a gingerbread cookie from the platter. "Maybe I'll try my hand at selling cars. I've heard they let some of the top salespeople drive demos." I could see my old car from the kitchen window, and even with nothing but the indirect outdoor light from the house, it showed its age. "I could use some decent wheels."
"You could try," Mom said.
"Or maybe I can become a trucker. I got an 800 number from the back of one of the eighteen-wheelers on the way back from Charleston."
Mom groaned. I laughed. All I really wanted to do was crawl beneath my own covers and start mentally ticking off my Christmas list. At least I still had another week left to do some shopping. She walked me to the door.
"Whatever you decide to do," Mom said slowly, "please try to avoid dead bodies."
I gave her a hug and headed toward the door. "I'll do my very best." Dad appeared in the foyer, so I hugged him before I left.
I'd barely gotten outside when I heard Dad say, "You know this is going to keep happening, right?"
"Probably," Mom said. "But at least we can enjoy the here and now, knowing she's home safe."
I let out a sigh as I made my way to my apartment. They were right. If someone in my path got hurt—or killed—I couldn't stand back and let other people deal with it. I wanted to help. But now, I'd enjoy the rest of the holidays with my family.
Gun in the Garden
A Summer Walsh cozy mystery novella
Deborah Tisdale
Chapter 1
"Don't tell me you've decided to leave Nashville again," Mom said after I broke the news that I had a job interview in Atlanta. "What happens if you get tired of your new job and can't find another one?"
"I don't have the job yet."
"You know you'll get it if you really want it. So what will you do?"
What Mom was really wanted to know was how I'd get along without her and Dad. I shrugged. "I'm sure I'll find something else."
Mom sighed. "Of course you will. You always do."
"Don't worry yet. I'm just going for my first interview. They might not even offer me a job."
Mom didn't utter another word. She just shook her head as I leaned over and kissed her cheek.
"Tell Dad thanks for changing the oil in my car. I'll call and let you know how it goes."
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Mom giving me the look that said more than words ever could. She was worried about me as I suppose any mother would be when her former-cop daughter hopped from one job to another, trying to figure out what to do with her life.
I'd lived in Nashville almost all my life, with the exception of a time when I moved to Florida to sell timeshares. That lasted all of a month, when I finally realized that wasn't my calling, although it paid well. I needed something that was challenging and rewarding in more ways than financial.
I wanted to know that I'd done something to help other people, which was why I applied for this job as a day care center director. The owner didn't seem to mind that I didn't have experience looking after children, other than being the on-campus officer at a high school for a short stint while the regular school officer was on paid leave. In fact, he was thrilled that I had law enforcement experience.
He also liked the fact that I had some early childhood credits—classes I'd taken when I thought I might change my major from criminal justice to education. He was counting some of the time I spent in labs as experience working with kids for the requirements for day care center certification. I thought it was a stretch, but his neck was the one on the line if it wasn't accepted by the state. I could hear his excitement grow during our phone interview the day before.
"The last director quit because the kids got the best of her, and the one before that got into a tussle with an absentee father and mother who held a grudge," the owner had said. "I need someone who can not only manage the place but can deal with all kinds of people."
"That would be me," I told him. "I've dealt with every type of person you can imagine, from drug dealers and car thieves to lost children and worried parents."
"Sounds like you're the type of person we need around here." He chuckled. "Except sometimes it's the other way around … lost parents and worried children."
I didn't see the humor, but I laughed along with him to be polite. I had to admit that after I got off the phone, I wasn't sure this was such a good idea. But I had to do something. My golden parachute was strong—with my parents providing a roof over my head in the form of a garage apartment and knowing I could drop in for a meal whenever I wanted. But being in my thirties and still relying so heavily on them did something to me.
The next couple of days I spent researching all the ins and outs of running a day care center. It didn't seem terribly complicated, but I knew that human nature could put a kink into the best-run organization. And we were dealing with the best and the worst of humanity based on what the director had said. They had a combination of kids from single-parent families, two-parent families, and grandparents with custody of kids their own offspring couldn't or wouldn't take care of.
The day care center owner, Mr. Claude Van Houghton, called me a couple more times over the next few days, making sure I was still coming. That seemed curious to me with the job market the way it was, but I assured him that I had every intention of making the appointment, and unless there was an emergency, I would be there.
My plan was to get there the day before my appointment so I could find the place and get enough rest to interview well. I'd run out of ideas of places to work, and since I didn't want to wait tables or work in retail at the mall again, I wasn't about to blow this opportunity.
On the day I planned to leave, I awoke to the sound of my cell phone ringing. I glanced at the number and saw that it was Mr. Van Houghton. Tempted not to answer it, I paused. His insecurity about my being there was starting to get on my nerves and even made me wonder what I might be getting myself into. But then I thought that maybe he had something else to tell me, so I answered it.
"I know you promised you'd be here for the interview, but I just wanted to confirm," he said. "It's tomorrow at ten o'clock."
"Yes, I know," I said, doing my best to keep the irritation out of my voice. "I'll be there."
"See you tomorrow."
"Yes, see you then."
After I pushed the OFF button on my phone, I leaned back on my elbows. The desperation I heard in his voice was rather alarming, but maybe he hated being around all those kids. His voice crackled and sounded like he might be quite a bit older, and he'd told me he was running the place until he found a director.
I got up and nibbled on a muffin Mom had made and sent home with me in a basket. She'd also slipped in an envelope filled with a bunch of twenty-dollar bills for my trip. That wasn't necessary since I still had some money in savings, but I wasn't going to turn it down either. I glanced out the window and saw that her car was still in the driveway, so I called to thank her.
"I wish I could talk you out of going," she said.
"Is that why you gave me the money?" I laughed. "I thought maybe you were paying me to leave town."
"Summer! You know that's not the case."
"Of course I know that," I said. "I was just kidding."
"Do you want me to pack you a lunch? I have some leftover ham from dinner last night and some biscuits from the Loveless Café."
My mouth watered. "Sounds good. Did you by any chance get any of their homemade jams?"
"Of course I did. I'll put some in a little to-go cup for you."
"I'll be right over after I take my shower."
By the time I had my car packed and ready to go, I felt as though I was as armed as I could be, given the fact that this was a new venture for me. I went over to my parents' house and picked up the sack of ham
and biscuit sandwiches. Mom cupped my face in her hands and gave me a kiss on the forehead.
I pulled away. "Mo-om."
She gave me the same expression I remembered the day she dropped me off at kindergarten. It was somewhat of a cross between a smile and a sob. "I can't help it, Summer. You know I'm worried about you."
"Don't worry so much. I'm a big girl."
"You'll always be my—" She cut herself off and shook her head. "I know it bothers you for me to say it, so I won't."
"Love you too, Mom," I said as I made my way to the door. "I'll call you when I get there to let you know I'm safe."
The drive to Atlanta was a solid four-and-a-half hours—or more if the traffic on the interstate around Monteagle backed up. I thumbed through all of my music selections and decided I'd rather listen to audio books. Cracker Barrel had a good selection, so I stopped there on my way out of town.
Once I was on the road, I let out a deep sigh before plugging in the first audio book. It was long, so I knew it would last long enough to get me to Atlanta and possibly even partway back to Nashville.
I arrived at a hotel about three blocks from the day care center before dark. The woman at the desk gave me a list of good restaurants nearby, so I set out to get something to eat. On the way, I swung by the day care center to see what it looked like.
It was rather blah but clean looking. The exterior construction was exposed concrete blocks that had been painted bright yellow. The sign above the front door had multicolored block letters that appeared to be hand-painted, with the name Tiddly Winks Day Care. Whoever thought of that name needed therapy, but who was I to say anything? I'd once owned a cat that I called Meow. I know, not so original.
There was one car parked in the lot, but other than that, I didn't see signs of life around the place. I slowly drove around to the side of the building, where a swing set, sliding board, and jungle gym held court in the middle of a bunch of dirt. I could only imagine how filthy the children were when their parents picked them up at the end of the day. One of the articles I'd read about playgrounds mentioned covering the ground with recycled tires to provide a soft place for little ones to land if they fell. That sounded like a great idea to me.
Summer Walsh Mystery Collection (Boxed Set) (Omnibus): Murder Under the Mistletoe, Gun in the Garden, and Offed at the office (Summer Walsh Mysteries) Page 8
