Summer Walsh Mystery Collection (Boxed Set) (Omnibus): Murder Under the Mistletoe, Gun in the Garden, and Offed at the office (Summer Walsh Mysteries)

by Deborah Tisdale

  We were still standing in the lobby of the police station, and I really wanted to see the rest of the place. "Do you have an office?"

  "I share space with a few other officers." He gestured toward the door beside the reception desk. "Why don't we go on back? You can have a seat, and I'll get you a cup of coffee."

  As we walked through the station, I took a long look around. There were a few differences, but for the most part, it looked like where I'd worked in Nashville. I felt at home in the space with the sparkling tile floors, an acoustical ceiling overhead, some cubicle partitions but not enough to provide privacy, and a combination of wood and metal desks that were mostly unoccupied.

  "How do you take your coffee?" he asked after I was seated by the desk with his nameplate perched on the corner.

  I liked coffee any way I could get it, so I just said, "Black is fine."

  "Coming right up."

  As I sat there, I continued looking around. Most of the desks were devoid of many personal touches, with the exception of small, framed family pictures. There was one on Vince's desk with an older couple and three people who resembled Vince.

  He came back with the coffee. "That's my mom, dad, sister, and brothers."

  "Where are you?" I asked.

  "I'm the photographer in the family, so I don't get in many of the pictures."

  I sipped the coffee and turned my attention back to the murder. "What are we doing today?"

  He made a face as he leaned back and folded his hands in his lap. "See, Summer, here's the thing. You're not on the force, and we can't—"

  "Say no more. I understand. I've heard this before."

  "I'm so sorry."

  "Yes, I know." I sipped the coffee again.

  "But that doesn't mean we can't talk about it … even though there are some things I can't say."

  Those words hurt, even though I knew and understood proper procedure in cases like this. "That's fine. I have a lot to do anyway, including getting my things from Nashville."

  "That'll take you a couple of days, won't it?" Before I had a chance to respond, he added, "Hopefully we'll find out who did it soon, and everything will be different."

  We chatted for a few more minutes before I finally placed the Styrofoam cup on his desk and stood. "I really need to go now. I'll call you when I get back."

  After I left, I swung by Ms. McClure's house again on my way to the hotel. There was a black BMW car parked at the curb, but there was no one in it. I looked at the house and saw that a light was on. I distinctly remembered making sure all the lights were off before we left. I pulled out my cell phone and called Vince.

  "I'll be right there," he said.

  I swallowed hard and blurted, "I won't." The only way I could deal with not being directly involved in this case was to physically remove myself.

  After we hung up, I slowly drove down the long, tree-lined street and checked out all the houses. Most of them were well groomed, with nice lawns, a few trees here and there, and an abundance of flowers. That was one of the things I'd always loved about Atlanta. People planted flowers, whether they lived in small cottage-style houses or mansions. It was the one element that tied the whole area together and gave it cohesiveness and the warm feeling of hospitality.

  After circling the block, I noticed that the BMW was gone, but the light was still on in the house. I pulled up to the curb and stopped. The area seemed so peaceful and calm … and normal, except for the yellow tap around the house. There had to be some sort of clue to give me a better idea of what might have transpired that day, and I knew from experience that simply being there and keeping my eyes open to everything often produced just what I was looking for.

  The sound of a car turning onto the street made me jump. I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw the vehicle slowing down as it approached. A few seconds later, I thought the person might stop, but instead, he sped up after he passed me. I must be getting paranoid, I thought as I willed my pulse to slow down.

  After I knew the person in the car wasn't following me, I took a deep breath and called Vince. "Where are you?" I asked. "I've been waiting a long time."

  "I thought you said you weren't going to wait."

  "I lied."

  "Don't hang around the house," he said. "We're watching several of the neighbors, and you might make them nervous."

  "Yes, of course," I said. "You're right. I need to get back to Nashville and get my stuff anyway.

  "Be careful, Summer. Enough people have seen you with us to make them think you're one of us."

  "I understand." After we hung up, I remained in the same position for a few minutes. Movement in the yard next to Ms. McClure's house caught my attention. I looked up and noticed a middle-aged woman standing by the corner of the house, shielding her eyes from the sun, looking in my direction. When she realized I saw her, she darted inside her house.

  After being a law officer, I was used to strange behavior. I called my parents' house and left a message that that I'd gotten the job, and I was coming home to get my belongings. Then I went to the hotel and checked out.

  *

  That night as I pulled into my parents' driveway, I saw the blinds part. Before I had a chance to get out of my car, the front door opened, and my mother ran out to greet me.

  "Took you long enough to get here. I was starting to worry," she said as she pulled me in for a hug.

  "Sorry," I said.

  She leaned away and gave me a long look. "Day care center manager, huh?"

  I nodded and tried to smile. But I knew Mom could see right through that.

  "Summer, have you lost your mind? What do you know about running a day care center?"

  "I'm sure I'll learn."

  As she took my hand and pulled me toward the house, she shook her head in disapproval—a gesture I'd grown accustomed to in my thirty-something years. Dad had always said I was the most disobedient child he'd ever known, but mom corrected him and said I was strong-willed. Whatever the case, I wasn't conventional in anything I did. I'd always enjoyed roughhousing with the boys, but when it came time to clean up, I knew my way around a makeup bag. And I was pretty decent at accessorizing when I needed to, if I must say so myself.

  Once we were seated at the kitchen table, where I'd made many confessions and apologies, Mom leaned toward me and looked directly into my eyes. "Is there anything I can say to convince you to stay right here in Nashville? I'm sure there's something interesting you can do, including work in a day care center if you're so bent on doing that."

  I shrugged. "It's not so much …" My voice trailed off as I tried to think of a way to explain why I was compelled to be in Atlanta.

  "It's not the job, is it?" she said. "You want to get involved in that murder case, don't you?"

  I pursed my lips and sighed. The pained look on her face broke my heart.

  "You're already involved," she finally said as she dropped my hand. "I knew it. Your father said you might have decided it wasn't worth it since you're not getting paid, and you explicitly said you didn't want to go back into law enforcement."

  "I know." I hung my head before looking back up at her. "But I'm the one who found her, and I can't just—"

  "Why do you always stumble over dead bodies?" Mom grimaced. "Most people go through life only seeing them at open-casket funerals, and you seem to find them every time you turn a corner."

  "Only three times since I left the police force," I said. "The one Uncle Bing was accused of happened before I got there, and I found out the same time he did. And then—"

  "Okay, three times. That's still more than what normal people find." Her face took on a comical expression as she added, "But no one has ever accused you of being normal, have they?"

  I grinned. "Not lately."

  "Not ever." She stood up, walked over to the counter, and brought back a platter of cookies. "So tell me about it."

  "About what? The job or the murder?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Whichever one interests yo
u more … as if I didn't already know."

  "I'll start with the job."

  "I bet this won't take long." Sarcasm dripped from her voice, something else I'd gotten used to.

  Now I was determined more than ever to make the job seem like one I could really get into. "The owner said he'd show me all the administrative things I need to know. They have a full staff at the moment, so I don't have to worry about interviewing and hiring new people. He's letting me stay in an apartment, rent free, and I'll get a bonus if I stay at least ninety days."

  "Is that all?"

  "What do you mean is that all? It's perfect for me."

  "You realize what you're doing, don't you?" Mom said. "You haven't told me a thing about the actual work you'll be doing. Everything you mentioned is irrelevant. I've never once heard you talk about having a passion for watching other people's children or being involved in preschool education."

  I pulled my lips between my teeth as she pointed out what I already knew. There was nothing I could say in my defense.

  "Okay, so now tell me about the murder case." She leaned back, folded her arms, and smiled. "I know you're itching to."

  Chapter 6

  After I told her the details of how I'd found Ms. McClure in the garden, Mom's expression became more pensive, especially when I mentioned the meticulous garden. I started talking about the gun, but she held up her hand.

  "I want to hear more about the garden," she said.

  "I thought—"

  "Something you said has me thinking that the clue might be right there in the flowers."

  "Yes, there was a gun."

  "I think that's just the tip of the iceberg," she said. "Some people are serious about their gardens, and they mean business." Then she started talking about her own flower garden and eventually transitioned to some vegetable garden facts. I'd heard all of this before, so my mind started wandering.

  Mom had been the one who nurtured my love of puzzles when I was little. Every time a new one came out and showed up on the shelves of our local Target, she brought it home, and we worked it together. There were many nights when we lost track of time and didn't go to bed until long past midnight. Of course we were always exhausted the next day, but that was fine. Those were some of the best memories of my childhood.

  "Summer?" I glanced up my mom and smiled. "Did you even hear a single word I just said?"

  "Well …" I gave her what I hoped she took as an apologetic look. "Not exactly."

  "I didn't think so, but I understand. You have a ton of stuff on your mind. What can I help you with?"

  "Would you mind letting me leave most of my stuff in the apartment for a few months?" I asked. "At least until I know for sure if I'll stay in that job?"

  "That's fine."

  "If you decide to rent it out, just let me know, and I'll come back and clean out my stuff."

  Mom leveled me with one of her loving looks. "Summer, you know that until we're sure you don't need a place to stay we wouldn't even consider renting it to someone else."

  "Thanks." I shoved one more cookie into my mouth as I stood and headed for the door. "I'll come back over before I leave tomorrow morning."

  "What time do you think you'll be leaving?" she asked.

  "Around eight. I want to get an early start."

  "I probably won't be here," she said. "I promised to bring some of the donations to the hospital first thing in the morning." Mom did quite a bit of charity work for the children's hospital. "Mostly stuffed animals, but that's what the kids seem to enjoy most."

  "Did you talk to the police department about holding a toy drive?"

  She nodded. "Yes, in fact they're the ones who managed to get the lion's share of the donations. I think they're trying to do extra stuff for me because they think I'll talk you into going back to work there."

  "That's not how things work," I said as a warm, familiar feeling passed through me. Memories of all the law enforcement officers putting in extra, unpaid time for the community flooded my mind. "They're doing it because they're really good folks, and they care deeply about the children."

  "Yes, there's that too."

  I pulled Mom in for a hug. "I love you."

  "Love you too." She swallowed hard, reminding me of how difficult this was for her. "Call me once you get settled."

  After I left the house, I went to the garage apartment and loaded up my car with what I knew I'd need. Since I wasn't sure how much space I'd have in the day care center apartment, I went a little on the light side. I figured I could come back in a few weeks for more things if needed.

  I went to bed early and was awakened to the sound of Mom's car backing out of the driveway. Nearly an hour later, I was on my way back to Atlanta, ready for my new adventure.

  As I drove, I tried my best to think about the new job, but the murder case kept creeping back into my mind. Something Mom had said about gardening being a serious business led to thoughts about her desire to get into the garden club and then the fruit tree that the man behind her hated. Maybe Mom was right, but I didn't see a direct connection the murder, at least not yet.

  I'd barely crossed the Georgia line when my cell phone rang. Traffic was heavy, so but I didn't risk answering it after I saw that it was Vince. Instead, I looked for a place to pull over to call him back.

  "How's Nashville?" he asked.

  "I wasn't there long enough to know. I'm on my way back to Atlanta."

  "That was quick." I could practically hear him smiling over the phone. "When do you start your new job?"

  "As soon as I can. Mr. Van Houghton didn't want to wait much longer, but he gave me up to a week. I have a feeling he's not all that crazy about kids."

  "Interesting that he owns a day care center." Vince paused. " You don't have to wait a week, but it'll be nice to have you for at least a day or two. By the way, we've been talking with some of Ms. McClure's neighbors."

  "Any news?"

  "No … well, yes, sort of but nothing we can use just yet."

  I sensed that there was something he wanted to say but couldn't. This was one of those times I needed to read between the lines. "Which neighbors did you talk to?"

  "We started with Janelle Bradford next door. She said that Ms. McClure wasn't exactly Ms. Congeniality. She repeated that Messy Essie had issues with a lot of people."

  "Were these issues bad enough for someone to kill her?"

  "Apparently so." Vince sighed. "We asked if she knew any of Ms. McClure's family members, and she got a little fidgety."

  "Maybe she didn't care for them either."

  "Whatever the case, she kept changing the subject and telling us about various neighbors that she thought might have done it."

  "Who else did you talk to?"

  "Lester Astaire, the man behind her, said he's not all that upset that Ms. McClure is gone." He paused again. "Summer, if you have a few minutes, I wondered if you might want to get to know some of Ms. McClure's neighbors. We keep getting the feeling that some of them might know something they're not telling us."

  I knew all about reluctance to talk to an officer. "Sure, I'll be happy to. Anyone in particular I should start with?"

  "The two I just mentioned will be good. Oh, and then there's the lady from the garden club. Apparently, she and Ms. McClure had words a few days before the murder."

  "Okay, just a minute. Let me get a pen." I rummaged through my handbag and pulled out a pen and small notepad. "Okay, I'm ready."

  He gave me the contact information for Agnes Bailey from the garden club and the neighbors he wanted me to talk to, and I jotted down everyone's name and whatever he could tell me.

  "I want you to know how much we appreciate this, Summer. We don't normally ask civilians for this kind of help, but—"

  "I'm more than happy to do whatever I can." I popped the pad back into my purse. "Want me to call you when I get into town, or should I wait until I chat with the neighbors?"

  "Call me first." He cleared his throat. "There's o
ne more thing, but I think I know what you're going to say."

  "What's that?"

  "The chief asked me what I thought the chances were that you might want to … um, if you'd like to … you know, work for the Atlanta Police Department."

  My mind was thinking, not a chance, but once again, at the mere suggestion, my heart pounded fast and hard at the very thought of being back in law enforcement. "Probably not, but I'll never say never."

  "Okay, we'll leave it at that—at least for now. Drive safely. I heard there's an accident just to the north of town, so make sure you have plenty of gas. The Interstate can turn into a big parking lot when something goes wrong."

  "Thanks, Vince. Talk to you in a couple of hours."

  Now I had something concrete to think about. I set my GPS to take me away from the Interstate before I got to town so I could avoid whatever mess resulted from the accident. I hated sitting in traffic that didn't move, which was one of the main reasons I wasn't likely to ever call Atlanta home for more than a year or two.

  It took me more than three more hours to get to the day care center. I pulled into the parking lot but didn't get out of the car right away. What I was about to do gave me pause, but I knew I needed to take the job, if for no other reason but to follow through on the fact that I'd committed. And who knows? Maybe this was something I'd like. A long shot, maybe, but a possibility.

  Finally, after giving myself a lengthy mental lecture, I got out and went into the lobby. This time, I had to ring the bell and wait for someone to come and open the door to the classrooms. A very harried woman smiled and motioned for me to go on back to Mr. Van Houghton's office. Before she went back to whatever she was doing, she said, "I hope you can fix this place, Ms. Walsh. You've definitely got your work cut out for you." Then she disappeared behind a portable partition.

  I inhaled deeply, squared my shoulders, and trudged toward the back of the building, where I knocked on the door. Mr. Van Houghton opened it and gestured for me to follow him.