Boxed Set: Darling Valley Cozy Mystery Series featuring amateur female sleuth Olivia M. Granville

by Cassie Page

  “Olivia, didn’t you tell me that Charles offered to post a second security guard on your tail, one to watch the house when I’m here alone and one to follow you around town?”

  “Well, he didn’t exactly say on my tail. But yes.”

  “Maybe that’s not a bad idea.”

  “Sure girlfriend. If that will make you feel better, I’ll call him.”

  On the way over to the Fredericks’ house, Olivia shoved her newest theory about evildoing on the project out of her mind. She couldn’t do anything about it until she talked to Matt and she needed to stop freaking herself out. Instead, she called Charles about the second security guard. He didn’t pick up, so she left a message for him to call back. Then she tackled the problem of whether to tell Marguerite about her possible fake piece of art.

  On the no side, it could look like she was backstabbing Hamish. If the picture turned out to be authentic, a story about her unfairly trashing Hamish’s find would make the rounds of the design world, Hamish would see to that, and she’d have a hard job recovering her reputation.

  However, if someone had pulled a fast one on Hamish, both the designer and her client needed to know. A lot of money was involved.

  But it wasn’t her business. Or was it?

  She went back and forth until she pulled into the parking area closest to the Fredericks’ pool house and walked around back. The only items left on the punch list, the items still unfinished, were electrical issues. There was, of course, the matter of the new color Marguerite wanted for the library, but Olivia couldn’t deal with that until she actually met with her.

  As she rounded the path and the pool and rear gardens came into view, Olivia was stunned again by the beauty of the site. The Fredericks had chosen a brilliant landscape architect and the profusion of color, trees and greenery on the grounds rivaled the thirteenth hole at Augusta National Golf Club in spring, the Azalea, which the couple intended. Vittorio and his two assistants were studying plans at a worktable next to the pool when she walked up.

  Vittorio greeted her with a big smile and shook her hand. “Good news, Olivia. I’ve cut the list in half. We worked until almost midnight last night to get everything taken care of.”

  Olivia glanced at the plans. “You get a gold star, Vittorio. I need good news today. And I’m happy to see you’re working on the wiring for the powder room.”

  “Yeah, we just have to attach the switch plates and we’re done there.”

  Plumbers had installed the bidet and toilet in the wrong spots, and then drilled a hole in the wall that had punctured a water pipe, all of which had held up completion of the wiring. The usual headaches of a remodeling job.

  Olivia asked, “Did Cody drop off the Belgravia table lamps?”

  The electrician nodded, Olivia imagining fixing him up with Carrie. Cody hadn’t seemed enthusiastic when she suggested he hook up with her at the wrap party she would hold for the workers when the pool house was finished.

  Vittorio assured her that he had installed the lamps, hiding the cords and plugs from view as Olivia always required. Earlier in the week Olivia had a team set up the furniture and rugs, and install the art work. When she finished with Vittorio, she compared her list to each piece in the house. Everything matched, even the knick knacks were in place and vases stood waiting for flower arrangements. She straightened some of the paintings and rearranged some table art to her liking. Two hours later she was finished.

  She checked her phone, but Matt had not called. She had a long list of things to do for the pool party, setting up candles that would float on the water like colored lanterns, make sure the lights were strung in the trees and the area for the musicians and caterer was in shape. Angela would come tomorrow, Thursday, to supervise setting up the tent, tables and flowers. Often party planners left these things to the day of the event, but Olivia paid extra to give some leeway in case something went wrong. Such as discovering at the last minute that you had no chairs.

  Olivia was on schedule, but still a little unhinged by the one thing she was trying to avoid. The fraudulent painting. Her conscience won over; she’d take a risk and advise her client not to purchase the artwork until Pierre had examined it. But how to tell her? She didn’t feel she was on solid footing with Mrs. Fredericks anymore.

  Head on, she decided. The way she most often tackled thorny problems. From where she was standing, she couldn’t tell if Mrs. Fredericks was home. Her car was not in the driveway, but it might be garaged. And she didn’t want to risk more friction by dropping in unannounced again. She pulled out her phone and found her number on speed dial. Marguerite picked up immediately and answered with a curt, “Yes, Olivia?” which normally indicated she was merely busy. But now that Hamish was on the scene, she didn’t know how to interpret the cool greeting.

  “Mrs. Fredericks, I’m here at the pool house going over the punch list and wondered if you had a few minutes. We haven’t been able to discuss the color of the plaster in the library. We don’t have much time before Friday.”

  They could make changes to the paint and other aspects of the décor after the party, but Olivia knew Marguerite wanted everything in place for her guests. Having the “i’s” dotted and the “t’s” crossed would also demonstrate her ability to bring a job in on time and further encourage the Fredericks to hire her for the major renovation of their mansion.

  “I’m rather busy, Olivia. I would have preferred you made an appointment with my assistant.”

  Olivia caught herself hunching over her phone as though she didn’t want anyone to hear her get the brushoff. She squared her shoulders in defiance. “I realize that, but it has been hard for you to find the time this week.”

  Olivia started up the long, sloping lawn toward the house. Somewhere in those cavernous rooms her client was trying to stonewall her. But Olivia was not a pushover. She said, “I have made two appointments that haven’t worked for you. And,” Olivia took a deep breath, “I’ve come across some information about the Sutcliffe painting that I think you need to hear before you make your decision to purchase it.”

  Her client’s silence was not a good sign. If Marguerite still trusted her and planned to hire her for future projects, she would jump at the chance to get free art appraisal advice. Olivia was more and more convinced the woman was easing her out of her life. She doubted Marguerite would return her calls after the pool party.

  After a long, uncomfortable moment, Marguerite said, “I can’t really imagine why that painting concerns you. I’m sure Hamish will advise me of anything relevant to that acquisition.”

  Olivia kept moving towards the house, determined to gain entry. “Yes, but I have some information that even Hamish wouldn’t know about. It came to me quite by accident.”

  She added that to reassure her client that she hadn’t been stepping on a competitor’s toes.

  “Well, then, you should notify Hamish. He is in charge of that piece.”

  Olivia looked over her shoulder and watched Vittorio and his assistant roll up the plans they were studying and put them in their storage sleeve, then pull out another set. She tapped her foot impatiently.

  “I understand, Mrs. Fredericks, however, I am right here meeting with Vittorio and my information could affect your decision about whether to make a considerable investment.”

  After a short pause, Marguerite said, “Okay. Come around to the front. I’ll tell Virginia to let you in.”

  Olivia stood in the vestibule with her client dressed head to toe in Prada. Mrs. Fredericks was all but tapping her foot in annoyance at the interruption. “Are you wasting my time over hearsay, Olivia? I’m expected soon in San Francisco. You know how the Bridge traffic is this time of day.”

  She did not invite Olivia into the living room to sit down, but insisted Olivia give her the news while standing in the open doorway. Olivia assumed it was because she was still wearing her rain boots and aging down jacket. When Olivia had to tramp through rooms that had been demolished or were covered in
plaster dust, she always wore casual clothes. That hadn’t stopped Mrs. Fredericks from extending her hospitality before, inviting her into the kitchen for coffee when they needed to talk regardless of her footwear. Hamish’s hold over her client was written all over this scene she thought.

  Olivia explained her concerns about the painting. “Mrs. Fredericks, you know Pierre Ballard’s reputation. I sent the photo to him because I knew he and the artist had been long time friends. I thought he would be interested, even excited for you, not because I had any doubts about the painting. You allowed me to photograph it and I forwarded a picture to him. I didn’t reveal Hamish’s name or yours. I was as surprised as you are when he told me he questioned its provenance. He wants to examine it in person and is willing to fly out here this week to examine it. As the prospective buyer, it is your right to have it appraised by an expert.”

  Marguerite Fredericks brushed off this option. “As I said, Olivia, Hamish Walsh represents the current owner. You need to discuss this with him. I’m not going to get involved. If Hamish agrees to let Pierre examine the painting, he will have to arrange it. Now if you don’t mind, I have things to do.”

  As her parting shot, Mrs. Fredericks said, “I hope you’re not making an error in judgment, Olivia. If you’re wrong, this will not shine a very good light on your professional reputation.”

  Olivia had almost reached her truck, downcast and questioning her decision to reveal her news about the painting to Mrs. Fredericks when she ran into Vittorio again. He called out, “How’s your disposal and wiring?”

  “Great. Did you check on Mrs. Harmon’s?”

  “Oh yeah. We had a nice little chat. Everything’s fine there.”

  “What do I owe you?”

  “Nothing. I was in the neighborhood and I just had to make a few adjustments to get everything running again.”

  “You sure?”

  “Oh, I’m sure.”

  Olivia gave him a thumbs-up, wondering what had put that big smile on his face. She shrugged her shoulders and drove off. If only everybody’s disposition was as sunny as Vittorio’s.

  Before going into the house and facing whatever mischief Tuesday was up to now, she texted Matt. “I no ur bizy, but need to tlk.”

  Instantly, he texted back, “Need to tlk 2. RU home?”

  Within twenty minutes they were sitting in Olivia’s living room exchanging disturbing news. Before Matt started, he wanted to make sure that Olivia was happy with the security detail Charles had hired.

  “Sure. They seem fine. They rotate in three hour shifts and I’ve asked Charles for a second guy to watch things while Tuesday is here alone.”

  “Good idea.”

  Olivia put a reminder in her phone to check back with Charles. He hadn’t returned her call yet. She looked up at Matt. “You were saying?”

  “So, how much of a coincidence would it be if I told you that the female we fished out of the lake this morning had the same last name as one of your associates?”

  Olivia’s hand flew to her face. “Oh, no. Not Scott’s wife? Is that why he has disappeared? Somehow I assumed it would be a guy.”

  Matt shook his head. He didn’t deal in coincidences. So what was up? Olivia drew a blank when he pulled out his note pad and read the drowning victim’s name.

  “Ruth Marsh?” she said. “But I don’t know a Ruth Marsh.”

  “I’m not suggesting you knew her, Olivia. But does her name ring a bell?”

  “No, who is she? Does she, or, did she live in Darling Valley? Why would I know her?”

  Matt tossed his notepad on the coffee table and sipped the coffee Olivia had made. “We don’t know where she lives or what she was doing here. We don’t have state-of-the-art technology in our little town, as you know. Not every local police department is CSI worthy.”

  Olivia did know. Matt had frequently complained to her about the DVPD’s outdated systems. He often had to consult colleagues in larger cities for help in tracking down clues. He continued.

  “But we do have access to important databases. We found a Ruth Marsh in Phoenix.”

  Olivia was perplexed. “Yeah, but Marsh is a pretty common name. Why is it getting your attention?”

  “You don’t recognize it? That guy who was attacked the other night? He’s working on your project. Alistair Marsh.”

  A light bulb went off. “Alistair? You know, he and I have had kind of a thing about his name. I’ve never paid attention to his last name. That is an odd coincidence, but still, Marsh is a fairly common name, isn’t it? And Alistair lives in New York.”

  Matt was looking around Olivia’s stylish living room as if to bond with the normal world. Olivia noticed he often did this when he was investigating a particularly distasteful case, such as the drowning victim he had just seen. She had told him once that he did it to distance himself from the dark side of his job. He didn’t disagree with her.

  Matt said, “He does now. But we found a driver’s license for an Alistair Marsh in Snowflake, Arizona. If you can believe that name.”

  Olivia laughed. “Actually, I can. It’s a little town that was founded a hundred years ago or so by two guys. Mr. Snow and Mr. Flake.”

  She threw up her hands. “I swear it’s the truth. Google it.”

  But Matt wasn’t interested in how Snowflake got its name. He wanted to talk about its residents. “So, let’s say Alistair and Ruth are somehow related. What’s her body doing in our lake?”

  Olivia gave him a wry grin. “I think that’s why you get the big detective bucks and I don’t.”

  Then her face turned grim. “I really don’t know what’s going on, but as a matter of fact, Alistair is the reason I wanted to talk to you. When we were at the site this morning you pointed out the various footprints. I had occasion to notice Alistair’s shoes several times. When we were last at Charles’ house I saw them up close. They could definitely be the same size as the prints I saw this morning. Then I remembered running into him earlier this week at The Salted Caramel and a receipt fell out of his wallet from Vittorio’s mother’s shoe store.”

  “The pricey one.” Matt pointed to his own Italian leather shoes. He was familiar with the store’s expensive wares.

  “Yeah. I never gave it a thought, other than I pegged him as a shopper. He hadn’t been in town more than a day. He came early for the ceremony. Said he wanted to get a feel for the town. So he bought shoes? On a business trip?”

  Matt didn’t seem interested in this information. “Nothing wrong with that. If you think his shoes are the ones we found at the crime scene, lots of guys have that shoe size. As I’ve told you, the rain and the traffic on the site really messed up a lot of the foot prints. We don’t have a picture of the whole shoe.”

  Olivia nodded impatiently. “Okay, but then there’s this. I accidentally bumped into him at the meeting at Charles’ house and spilled coffee on his shoes. So I tried to help him clean them up. After all, his shoulder was in a sling. But he went ballistics. Wouldn’t let me touch them. He pulled away from me and then I realized that when I hit his shoulder, he didn’t flinch. Then, he didn’t seem to have any trouble bending over and wiping off his shoes using the arm that was in a sling. Didn’t register one iota of pain.”

  Matt reacted with a so-so wobble of his head. “Could be he was on pain killers. Wasn’t feeling a thing. Look, Olivia, I know this guy has been trouble for you, but don’t jump to conclusions. Are you saying he faked his injuries? Why would he do that? Maybe to get attention, but on the same night that Sonia was jumped? Doesn’t make sense.”

  Olivia considered these points. “Okay, I can see that, but why are you interested in him?”

  “Because I don’t believe in coincidences until proved otherwise. No one has reported our victim’s disappearance. If he and Ruth Marsh are related in some way, and let’s say she accompanied him here for a little family reunion, why hasn’t he alerted the police to her absence?”

  Olivia held her head as if there was too mu
ch conflicting information rattling around inside it. “I’m not sure why I’m finding a defense for him, but maybe he doesn’t know she’s missing yet. Could be they went their separate ways this morning and so he’s not expecting her to get in touch. She went shopping, he went, who knows where.”

  Matt paused to consider that. “I can see your point. I was just hoping you’d know something about Alistair’s background, like if he had a sister or a cousin or someone in town. You know. With the name Ruth Marsh. Probably not a wife. Ruth’s a good ten years older.”

  “Can’t help you, Matt.”

  Matt’s cell phone buzzed. He mouthed Johnson before he answered. “Hi, whatcha got?”

  His face darkened. “That’s interesting. Hold on a second.” He put his hand over the mouthpiece and asked, “Do you know where Alistair Marsh is staying?”

  Olivia named a B&B in town. Matt relayed the information, then asked Olivia, “Are you scheduled to meet with him again soon?”

  She shook her head no and he told Johnson to find Alistair and question him about Ruth Marsh. “Bring him in if he acts funny. Oh, and call the trauma center in town. I expect that’s where he would have gotten treated for his injuries. See what you can find out about his condition the other night.”

  He put his phone away and answered the question on Olivia’s face. “Johnson found an address for Ruth Marsh in Snowflake, Arizona. Same as Alistair’s. That’s not a coincidence.”

  Chapter Twelve: Take Out

  12:1

  The events of the morning had drained Olivia. A stack of work was throwing guilty darts at her, but she ignored it and instead knocked on the doors of several neighbors asking if they had a cat that might be wandering the neighborhood. The plain clothes security guard walked a few feet behind, maintaining his cover by peering at houses as if he were checking for an address.

  At one house, a young mother answered. Olivia knew her by sight, though this time she had a cat in her arms. Eureka, she thought. It was the one she had seen snooping around her trash cans. Likely it was also the one serenading Tuesday in the night. A toddler with a binkie in his mouth clung to his mother’s leg. The woman apologized when Olivia explained that the cat had been keeping her houseguest up at night.