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

by Cassie Page

  Of course Xavier hadn’t done anything inappropriate. She would never mention it to him and hoped her tenant wasn’t spreading rumors around town. She’d have to speak to her about that. Olivia realized that this could only mean one thing: that Mrs. Harmon was heading down that dreaded road, one she would have to face with her, the one every aging person feared, the big A. Alzheimer’s.

  At the closing for her house, Olivia realized that an unspoken contingency was that, because Mrs. Harmon had no relatives, she would become the woman’s caretaker as she aged. The previous owners had befriended the childless widow, gave her perks Olivia never would have, such as the garage space and a criminally low rent. They made it clear that since their tenant had nowhere else to go, Olivia had to take over the responsibilities they had assumed on Mrs. Harmon’s behalf.

  At the time, Olivia hadn’t viewed Mrs. Harmon as too much of a burden. But now that the reality was upon her, it was a different story. Despite the woman’s sharp tongue, she had become, if not exactly a mother, perhaps a straight-backed aunt. When the weather was good, Olivia would sometimes join in on one of her tenant’s daily yoga sessions in the back yard, gratefully accepting adjustments to her poses. Occasionally Mrs. Harmon would host a master yoga class for her friends, inviting Olivia as well. But eventually she would have to skulk away, sore and embarrassed that she couldn’t keep up with the elderly yoginis who could out-bend her any day. With Mrs. Harmon being so fit, Olivia just wasn’t prepared for the mental decline to happen so quickly. The woman was a tough, stylish seventy-two with a strong sinewy body from daily yoga and, up until now, a mind sharp as a tack. But now, back in her office, with a sinking heart, Olivia made a mental note to search for some information on senile dementia.

  Her office. The heart of Darling Valley Design and Antiques was tucked into a small alcove at the back of the first floor of her house with bay windows overlooking The Garden Center. She supplied elegant garden fixtures such as copper spigots in shape of flowers and birds, artesian pots, water features and statuary for the vast grounds of her clients’ stately homes. She did remodels and designed replacement mansions for the older teardowns taking place all over Darling Valley.

  French doors on the other side of her desk led to her showroom, the collection of French, English and German antiques. Customers entered through a paned glass door on the front porch. Windows on all sides of the showroom made it light and airy and allowed Olivia to view comings and goings on the street and identify anyone ringing the bell that tinkled like birdsong.

  While Olivia’s attempts to raise flowering bushes such as rhododendron had come to grief, the masses of colorful annuals in pots on the porch made passersby gape with envy and occasionally drew them in to browse.

  Up the stairs next to her office was the loft where she lived; below was the laundry and storage area; a few steps further down was Mrs. Harmon’s flat, the sum total of Olivia’s universe.

  She sat down at her desk trying to focus on the ten thousand things that vied for her attention every day. The answering service told her she already had a day’s worth of messages that had piled up in the few hours since she’d left for breakfast with Matt.

  “Thanks,” she said to Marge, who handled her account. “Just shoot them over by email. You don’t need to read them to me right now.”

  She made order out of a scattering of papers on her desk, then opened her email and found the phone messages Marge had just sent. Her system drove Cody crazy when he had to take over the desk. Once again, Olivia was short staffed and just she and Cody were running the ship.

  “There’s this new invention called voicemail?” he’d say. But he knew it was a losing proposition. Olivia liked her clients to speak to an actual warm body when they called. The extra step of checking in with the answering service didn’t bother her, and actually, mostly just vendors used the office number. After a meeting or two, she often gave a client or even just a lead, her private cell number.

  A quick scan of the phone messages told her they all could wait until she caught her breath from the shock of Jocelyn Payne. Except for one. Dan Arlo wanted to talk. Why was he calling? His popular but tasteless blog detailed the comings and goings of the Darling Valley elite. As one of the working wounded, as she referred to herself, she was not in his universe. She neither gave nor was invited to the important parties he reported on, unless they were fund-raisers, and she did not follow his posts.

  She dialed his number on her office phone. “Dan? Olivia Granville.”

  “Olivia!” From his effusive, phony tone Olivia knew that he was up to something.

  “Bad news about Jocelyn, hey? I’ve heard of dying for diamonds, but this is ridiculous.” He chuckled, apparently pleased with his joke.

  Olivia was taken aback. “Excuse me? What do you know about Jocelyn Payne? Apart from being exceedingly tasteless, you’re . . .” She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of recognizing his name. “Just who are you, anyway?”

  He wasn’t put off. “Don’t you read my blog every day, Olivia, or, let’s see, your nearest and dearest call you OMG, right? My blog is where those in the know find out what’s worth knowing.” It was an obviously well-practiced marketing line.

  Olivia glared at her phone as if her outrage could travel through the wires. “If you don’t tell me what this is about right now, I’m hanging up.”

  She was, in fact, about to slam down the phone until he said, “How is Matt taking her death? He must be crushed to lose his, what should I call it, his Saturday night special?”

  For a moment Olivia couldn’t speak. “What do you mean, his Saturday night special? You’re on dangerous ground here, Mr. . . . what’s your name? Barlow?”

  He corrected her. “Arlo. As I think you well know. Do you have a comment about your boyfriend being mixed up in her death? And I don’t mean professionally!”

  At that, Olivia hung up the phone.

  This man was actually suggesting that Matt was involved with Jocelyn Payne? Airhead Jocelyn Payne? That’s what she was, really. A sweet-natured girl but a gold digger if she ever saw one. The elite of Darling Valley thought of her that way, too, from what she’d heard. That Jocelyn married Arthur Payne, at least twenty-five years her senior, for his money and position.

  Olivia didn’t want to say this in front of Xavier. He developed close bonds with his clients, part of his Argentine warmth. The poor guy was so distraught that she wouldn’t dream of badmouthing the deceased in front of him in case they had been close. But Matt needed to know about this, to beware of this Dan Arlo character spreading vicious rumors about him and the victim. Before she called him she did an Internet search for Dan Arlo. She wanted to know exactly what kind of slime she was dealing with.

  Thousands of hits came up. No surprise for someone who made his living online. She scrolled down until she found what she was looking for: his biography.

  Arlo was born in England, moved to New York, bounced around a few gossip magazines and then returned to his homeland when he landed a job at one of the London tabloids, a paper known for supersized scandalmongering. His headshot showed a face as oily and untrustworthy as his credentials. A sneering grin, dark, greasy looking hair and hooded, small pig eyes.

  Bad news, Olivia thought. He knows how to dig up dirt. Oh wait. Here’s some good news.

  The wife of a peer had sued him for libel. Olivia read the article. Oh, bad news. Arlo had won. His sources held up. So he does his research. He’d left the paper to move to the fertile social soil of California and start his blog.

  Well good for him, but where did he come up with that trash about Matt? This story didn’t have legs. Olivia had to make sure it didn’t grow any. She would talk to Matt and have him cut this guy off at the pass before he went public with his speculations.

  Just then her cell rang. Olivia’s spirits rose when she saw the name on her screen. Tuesday. Her couture challenged but best friend in the entire universe, who sadly lived too far away now in Los Angeles.
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br />   “Hi, Tues. Just the person I’d love to waste some time with. I hope you’re calling to tell me you have your plane ticket for the engagement party. And boy have I got a story for you.”

  “I bet you do, Ollie girl. What’s this I’m reading that you’re under suspicion for murder?”

  Chapter Six: Let’s Do Lunch

  “Hold on, girlfriend. I didn’t say you killed her. Some jerk online did.”

  By the time Olivia had climbed down from the ceiling, the two friends had switched to a Skype call. When their faces popped up on each other’s computer screens, Tuesday was in the process of coloring her hair. She had plastered bright green gunk on her head and was listening to Olivia’s side of the story with one eye on a timer. “You mean you tripped over a dead body while you were on a date? Haven’t you talked to Matt about mixing business with pleasure?”

  Olivia was finally unwinding her scarf and shrugging out of her jacket, noting a smudge on the sleeve. She would never have worn white if she’d known she was going to be sandblasted at Xavier’s. “That Dan Arlo, Tuesday. I could murder him.”

  Tuesday shook her finger at the computer screen. “Bad choice of words right now, honey bun.”

  Tuesday claimed when she first met Olivia that she was genetically impaired, unable to call people by their given names. She wiped chemicals off her neck, then cringed at the mess on the towel as though a slug of some sort had appeared. She muttered at Olivia, “Is green really me?”

  Olivia ignored her friend’s cosmetology dilemma. “But you know what I mean, Tuesday. The nerve of him posting the ridiculous idea that Matt was having an affair with Jocelyn Payne, and then I killed her in a fit of jealousy. Seriously? Can you see Matt messing around with anyone, particularly the likes of her?”

  Olivia unplugged the power cord on her computer. “Hold on a sec, Tues, I’m going up to the kitchen, but how come you read Awful Arlo? I didn’t think anyone outside of Darling Valley had heard of him.”

  She headed upstairs watching Tuesday’s head bob from the bad connection as she explained.

  “I found him after my last visit to Darling Valley. I wanted to keep up with the rich and famous in your backyard. If I visit you enough, they could become clients.”

  Tuesday read tea leaves for a living, along with giving nutritional advice to the confused and junk food-addicted in Hollywood, in which she occasionally indulged behind her clients’ backs.

  Once in the kitchen, Olivia set the computer on the counter next to the sink and leaned into the screen. “What are you doing to your hair now?”

  Tuesday changed the color of her hair as often as she changed her dainties, fearless when it came to trying out shades not found in nature. Olivia said she had hair to dye for. Now, like a spring runoff, rivulets of green dripped down Tuesday’s forehead.

  “I’m celebrating the vernal equinox,” she explained in all seriousness. “What else? It’s for my century.”

  “What do you mean, century?”

  “It’s a hundred-mile bike ride.”

  Olivia glared into the computer. “I know what a century is, Tues. I just don’t see you doing one.”

  Tuesday said, with forced patience, “It’s for charity. I thought I’d told you. Listen, you’re touchy today. Don’t let this upset you. Matt is going to laugh this off and I think you should, too.”

  On the screen, Tuesday’s voice and lips were still out of sync. Usually this made Olivia laugh, but she was not in a laughing mood. She couldn’t stop the loop in her brain, the idea that Matt had fallen for Jocelyn Payne.

  She glared at Tuesday’s image on her computer. “I mean the only things on her body that hadn’t been surgically enhanced were her knees and elbows. For crying out loud, her hair extensions were falling out when they put her in the body bag.”

  Tuesday stopped dabbing at her hair and cringed. “Holy homicide, dear girl. I could do without that image.”

  Olivia began to make tea, filling a mug from the sink’s hot water dispenser. “Well it’s true. She even had her lower ribs removed to give her a longer waist. She told me when I did her closet. I mean, what kind of a bimbo does that?”

  Tuesday shrugged. “That’s no surprise. Have you seen the size of the houses plastic surgeons have here in LA? Ribcage makeovers are big business.”

  Olivia made a gagging face. “What I’m saying is that even if Matt were shopping for a new squeeze, which, I want to make clear, he’s not, he wouldn’t pick someone who’s three-fourths plastic and wears an inch of makeup just to get the mail. You know him. He likes arm candy, but it has to be the real deal. Enter, me! He’d never go from me to Jocelyn Payne. I mean, forgive me for speaking ill of the dead, but let’s get real. So to speak.”

  She ended her screeching diatribe with, “And as for Arlo suggesting I killed her? I will sue his high speed modem off for libel. Or is it slander?”

  Tuesday gave her computer screen a fist bump. “Go get ‘em, cowgirl. But in the meantime, what are you going to do about this? How many people read his blog, anyway? Is he a serious threat?” Tuesday pointed at her timer. “Sorry, Ollie, but I’ve only got a few minutes left before I have to wash this stuff out.”

  Olivia said, “Okay. I’ll give you the short version. Arlo managed to get himself invited to the White House for a state dinner. He made sure that tidbit went viral. His blog is all garbage in, garbage out, though. Nothing you wouldn’t see written by any second rate wannabe entertainment reporter. But since he posted a picture of himself walking into the White House with POTUS and FLOTUS in the background, of course he could have been heading for the kitchen to wash dishes for all we know, but now the social climbers are gouging each other’s eyes out trying to get a mention from him. If I get tainted with even a whisper of murder, he’ll be all over it and there goes Darling Valley Design and Antiques.”

  Tuesday pointed to her watch. “Got to go. But I hate to think of you dealing with this all by yourself. Especially since Matt is busy trying to find the real killer. You want me to come up there early?”

  Tuesday had received an invitation to Charles Bacon’s engagement party and was due to arrive from LA in several days for a quick visit beforehand.

  “Aren’t you crazy busy?”

  “Yeah, but I’ve been working hard and my batteries need recharging. Clipper is out of town again, so nothing is keeping me in LA right now.”

  “He’s still traveling? I thought he was going to cut down on the foreign travel.”

  Clipper was Tuesday’s soul mate, a private eye whose job didn’t keep him in one place very long. There were days when Tuesday could talk about the heartache and days when Olivia knew not to pry.

  “He promises me. And means it. Until another corporation throws big bucks at him to nail a white collar crook.”

  Olivia heard a crack in her friend’s voice and decided this was not the time to dig deep. She leaned into the screen and blew her a kiss.

  Tuesday said, “Thanks. Oh well, nothing like a murder scene in Darling Valley to cheer up my lonely heart.”

  Olivia put her tea down and made a stop sign with her hand. “Whoa, girl friend, we’re not going there. No one has called it a murder yet. Except for Awful Arlo. Xavier doesn’t know how she got into his shop. He thinks she was robbing him and something went wrong. There’s no cause of death yet.”

  “Well just don’t solve it before I get there. Let me in on some of the fun.”

  Olivia dunked her teabag in her mug. “You’re terrible, Tuesday.”

  “And that’s why you love me so much.”

  “You’ve got a point. Let me know your ETA. And get that stuff out of your hair before it all falls out.”

  “Funny you should say that. I’ve been thinking of shaving my head.”

  Olivia disconnected the call without a comment.

  Olivia called Matt and invited him to a late lunch.

  “Sure,” he said, “But I’m on the run. Can you pick up a quick bite from Pricey Paymoor’s?�
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  That was what the locals called Graymoors, the gourmet food emporium on Darling Boulevard. “There are so many leads to track down, I won’t sleep until next week,” he said. “I’ll see you in ten. Thanks for grabbing lunch. Meet you at your truck.”

  Olivia got to the parking lot first and ran in to the takeout counter and ordered two chicken burritos and flavored ice tea. On her way to the checkout counter, she picked up two Pistachio White Chocolate Chip cookies, her newest obsession. She paid quickly and ran out as Matt was pulling into a spot near her. He jogged over to her, checking to see if anyone was nearby, then gave her a quick kiss before hopping into the cab of her truck.

  He’d changed out of his ragged leather jacket into a standard business sport coat that looked more professional. He must have thrown it on in a hurry because his collar was turned under in the back. Olivia reached over and straightened it, stroking his cheek briefly. Matt tilted his head and kissed the back of her hand.

  She asked, “Any news?” as she unwrapped her burrito.

  “No,” he said, taking a long slug of the frosty bottle of tea. “But this case has more angles than a dodecahedron.”

  Olivia liked to tease him when his Harvard background slipped out. “Is that something you learned during your internship on the Enterprise with Mr. Spock?”

  Matt smiled, then gave her a deep look and smoothed one of her blond locks behind her ears. Olivia was wearing her hair down, the way he liked it. She usually did for their breakfast dates, and then pinned it back when she dug into her work. Today, after leaving Xavier’s, she had been too stunned by the morning’s events to focus on her design projects coming due, much less her hair.

  She was in this mess with him, maybe even somehow responsible. In the back of her mind was the possibility that the hole in the ceiling would come back to haunt her. She breathed in a sigh of relief at finally being back in Matt’s delicious company, squeezing his hand, as much for her own comfort as his.