Meredith Potts Fourteen Book Cozy Mystery Set

by Meredith Potts

  Meteorological curiosities aside, the grey skies didn’t scare me off. First, I was English. If I let something as common as a dreary day get me down, I’d be miserable half the year. Second, after spending a few minutes in the windowless, stifling environment of the morgue, I was in desperate need of fresh air.

  It would be easy for me to have a good cry. The tears were already beginning to well up in my eyes. Between Lara’s murder, the grim spectacle at the scene of the crime, and interviewing suspects during the subsequent investigation to find her killer, I was running on emotional fumes.

  If that last statement seemed a little curious to you, allow me to bring you up to speed. I’m sure you’re wondering why a librarian such as myself would be in the thick of a murder investigation. I assure you, it wasn’t because I was a suspect. Far from it.

  In recent months, I had found myself taking part in solving a number of murder cases in Dunsburyshire and other neighboring municipalities, much to my boyfriend’s chagrin. At first, my foray into amateur sleuthing was strictly by accident. One of my dear friends had been wrongfully accused of murder, and I became determined to bring the real killer to justice.

  As that case went on and I eventually cleared her name, I discovered that I had a real knack for solving crimes. So when subsequent murders occurred in the area related to my friends, family, and co-workers, I felt compelled to investigate them, each time successfully uncovering the real killer. After closing the book on the last case, I hoped that my days of sleuthing were over, but with Lara’s murder, I found myself embroiled in another investigation.

  If ever there was a time for a caramel, it was right then. They were soft, chewy, delicious, and provided a sugary comfort that I was completely lacking. Typically, I carried a few around in my handbag at all times. A few days ago, I’d made the unfortunate decision of quitting sweets in accordance with a new diet I’d just begun.

  In preparation for said diet, I’d cleared out all the caramels in my bag. At that moment, I sincerely regretted my decision as a fierce craving came over me. A single caramel would have been enough to suffice in quelling my hankering, but I had to find a way to make do without one.

  While my mind was focused squarely on sweets, my boyfriend, Inspector Oliver Poole, came out of the station and approached me.

  “Poppy. I’ve been looking all over for you,” he said.

  In an unexpected twist, my unsolicited involvement in murder investigations was actually how I’d met my boyfriend. As the local inspector for the police department, we naturally clashed at first. He believed that as a librarian, I had no business poking my head around crime scenes or trying to solve murder cases. If I didn’t happen to be so good at it, I would have agreed with him.

  Still, despite my innate sleuthing skills, Oliver had no interest in me or my opinions regarding his investigation. I didn’t blame him. He was a professional inspector with official police training. I was just an amateur and a nosy one at that.

  Eventually, my persistence ended up paying off, both in terms of uncovering the murderer and when it came to winning over Oliver’s heart. When the killer in that first case was safely behind bars, Oliver became acutely aware of the romantic spark that he and I shared and the potential that we had, not just as sleuths, but as a couple.

  When future cases emerged, his wariness of me investigating them gradually softened, mostly because he realized I had too much determination to be stopped. With that insight, he figured it was better working in tandem than investigating these cases separately. Besides, with us working together, he reasoned that he could keep me safe—at least safer than if I went off sleuthing alone. Ultimately, it was hard enough solving a murder case as it was, so our two heads working together proved to be better than one.

  By the time this case emerged, his opinion on my amateur sleuthing had softened so much that he’d dispensed with putting up an argument against me at all. I became his unofficial partner of sorts or at least his personal sounding board.

  As we both stood outside watching the rain trickle down, we’d reached a juncture in the case where we just wanted to put this all behind us. It was never a good sign when Mother Nature seemed to be taking meteorological cues from our internal moods.

  I turned to Oliver and explained myself.

  “Sorry. I just needed a moment alone.”

  He could see the grave look of concern in my eyes.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Oliver asked.

  I wished that I had a more definitive answer. Unfortunately, one was not available. “I hope so.”

  Oliver took me in his arms and held me close. “Is there anything I can do?”

  My boyfriend was such a sweet man. His heart was so tender that it was sometimes hard for me to reconcile that he was an actual police inspector sometimes. Law enforcement officials were often unfairly stereotyped as stern and cold individuals who walled off their hearts to keep the disturbing subject matter they saw on the job from eating them alive. Somehow, Oliver was able to stomach the atrocities that his occupation sent his way without becoming jaded about love and the world as a whole. For that, I was in awe of him.

  It wasn’t the only thing about him that impressed me. On a romantic level, I became more enamored with him every day. He was kind and funny, intelligent and caring. In essence, just what I’d always looked for in a boyfriend. I’d had years of difficulty in the romantic arena, so now that he’d finally come into my life, I knew better than to ever take him for granted.

  There were two sides to Oliver—one was personal in nature while the other one was professional. At that moment, I was reaching out to his professional side as I craved closure in this case.

  “The only thing that could possibly make me feel better right now is to find Lara’s killer,” I said.

  “I wish I had the answer to that. But while the truth still eludes us, take comfort in knowing that I have a strong hunch the killer will be revealed to us in short order.”

  “Is your hunch telling you anything else?”

  He shook his head. “Unfortunately not.”

  I groaned. “Where’s a break when you need one?”

  “Actually, we’re not completely out of luck.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My men just arrived with the final suspect for questioning.”

  Up until that point, my emotions had ruled the day. While there was a time and a place for grief, that occasion was not then. I could no longer afford to mourn. What I needed at that moment was a keen mind and sharp instincts. Anything less than that would be doing Lara’s memory a grave injustice. There was investigative work to be done, and we needed to tackle it head on.

  Resolve came to my face. “It’s time to get down to business.”

  Oliver stopped me. “Poppy, you know you don’t have to be here.”

  “Are you asking me to sit this one out?”

  “No. I’d never do that. I’m just thinking of what’s best for you. Your friend was just murdered. That’s a lot of strain to grapple with. No one would think less of you if you’re not feeling up to this.”

  I knew he was just trying to be a considerate boyfriend, but I doubt he believed that his words would change my mind in the least. He’d certainly been with me long enough to be able to predict my answer. I was not a woman with quit in me, and especially not at a time like this.

  I stared deep into his eyes and replied. “I’d think less of myself. I came here to find Lara’s killer, and I’m going to do just that.”

  Chapter Three

  As we moved back inside, the aroma of a meat pie wafted in the air. It was a chicken pot pie of the microwave variety, typically not the sort of meal I clamored for, yet I was having a hard time keeping my cravings at bay. That should show you what an uncharacteristic day it was that some pre-prepared, discount, microwave pie was holding such sway over my attention span.

  I reasoned that perhaps it wasn’t that specific pot pie for which I had a yen for, but rather t
hat it reminded me of the homemade Shephard’s pie that was waiting for me at home. Before I continued, I was confident that I knew what you were thinking--what kind of diet allowed meat pies? Surely, you’d like to sign up for such a diet. My answer was simple. Rather than going cold turkey, cutting out every food group that threatened to keep me curvier than I was comfortable with, I was eliminating them one by one.

  Sweets were first on my hit list. Highly-caloric comfort food would be next. In a few weeks’ time, I’d be ready to tackle my much-loathed diet head on. In the meantime, Shephard’s pie awaited when I returned home that evening. My stomach was becoming increasingly impatient with each second that ticked by.

  When this case was closed, I’d devour my homemade meat pie with reckless abandon and then spend a lazy night watching the television. That, combined with maybe convincing my boyfriend to give me a shoulder massage, made for an appetizing daydream. While those thoughts made for a welcome distraction, it was also wildly unproductive.

  I couldn’t help it. I was only human, and my indulgence of distracting thoughts just underscored how much I wanted this case to be over with. After taking a deep breath, I reminded myself that my relaxing was all still in the future. The present was waiting for me, and it was time to tackle it head on.

  “Spot of tea?” Oliver asked.

  With our focus turned back to the case at hand, we knew a steep hill was ahead of us. To climb it, we’d need all the energy we could get. There was one certain way to get a quick boost. A cup of tea would do us both good.

  Not to mention it would give us some time to go over strategy. The killer thought they had the leg up on us. On the contrary, we were closing in. Still, it would take some deft maneuvering to get the upper hand.

  “I could go for more than a spot right now,” I replied.

  “True. A whole pot of tea seems about right.”

  Oliver put a pot of water on to boil in the break room as we continued talking.

  “It is times like this that I wonder what we’d do without tea,” I said.

  “I’m glad we don’t have to contemplate such things, especially with all that’s on our minds currently.”

  I moved away from the subject of caffeinated beverages and turned my attention to the case. “Speaking of, what’s your take on what we should expect?”

  Before the strategizing officially began, allow me to get you all caught up. There were all kinds of details to juggle, but the only ones worth sharing with you were the crucial ones. To start, this case was a doozy. There was no smoking gun to speak of, both in the figurative sense and the literal one. Metaphors aside, there was actually no gun involved at all. In this case, the murder weapon was a frying pan.

  Lara’s body was found on the tile floor in her kitchen with a gash at the back of her head. A bloody frying pan was found on the ground beside the body. Unfortunately, I was the one who discovered the body. That morning, Lara and I had been scheduled to meet for breakfast in town. When she didn’t show up or pick up her mobile phone, I went over to see if she was all right.

  Upon arriving at her house, she didn’t answer the door, so I went around the back. That’s where I saw that the rear door was open. While that was curious enough, the glass window above the door had been broken. When I saw that, I peered inside and saw my friend’s body on the kitchen floor.

  I called the police immediately, but it was already too late. By then, she’d been dead for hours. When Oliver and his forensics team arrived, they initially believed this was the result of a burglary gone wrong. Certainly, the scene of the crime had all the telltale signs of such. Her living room had been trashed. Furniture was askew. In general, the place was a complete mess.

  I even briefly flirted with the idea that a common burglar broke in and killed Lara when she caught the alleged thief in the act of stealing from her. The deeper I looked, the more apparent it became that something else was at play.

  The most telling sign that this wasn’t due to a burglary was the fact that nothing notable had been stolen. Not Lara’s handbag, her wallet, or even any of her cash. It didn’t stop there. Jewelry was the easiest thing to pocket, yet all of her pearls, necklaces, and earrings were not missing. Her large television was still on site as well. With the theory of a burglary gone wrong dismissed, a much more grim possibility arose—that the killer murdered Lara, then staged the scene like a burglary to try and cover their tracks.

  The killer had also been careful in other ways. After going over the scene in painstaking detail, Oliver’s forensics team was unable to pull any fingerprints, neither from the pan nor the door. That led us to believe the killer was either wearing gloves or wiped the prints from the pan before they left.

  With a burglar ruled out, Oliver and I came up with a list of potential suspects who had motives for wanting Lara dead. That list ended up being surprisingly long. We began our investigation with seven potential suspects. Now, after being able to confirm a number of alibis, we’d narrowed that number down to just three.

  What remained were only suspects with both motives and non-verifiable alibis. We’d also taken a unique approach to interrogating them. Typically, suspects were questioned out in the field. This time, Oliver had brought all three of them into the station. The rationale behind his decision was that if the suspects were isolated, questioned separately, and put in an unfamiliar environment, maybe they’d become intimidated. If we were lucky, we’d be able to break one of them down to the point of squeezing a confession out of them.

  All told, these weren’t just any suspects. Against all odds, the only remaining suspects happened to be Lara’s adult children. I personally didn’t want to admit any of them could have done this. My first theory was that this was the work of her ex-husband or one of her jilted business associates. As the investigation went forward, that theory didn’t pan out.

  Whether I wanted to believe it or not, all signs pointed to Lara’s murder being committed by one of her children. As I mentioned before, Lara had a rocky relationship with all three of her offspring. Each of them held grudges against her for various reasons, but a lot of it stemmed from the fact that they believed their mother spent too much time building up her bookstore business when they were young, and not enough time at home with the family.

  Conversely, while each of her children resented how much time their mother spent at work during their youth, as adults, they now coveted all the money that Lara had saved for their inheritances. There was an age-old quote about money being the root of all evil. In this case, I believed that quote wasn’t terribly far off. Oliver and I would certainly find out soon enough.

  “I don’t really know what to expect until we get in there,” Oliver said.

  I was hoping for a little more than that, but clearly, I expected too much. I did have a hunch at where we should begin. “I think we should start with Jude.”

  Oliver had his own theory. “Elliot should definitely be last.”

  I nodded. “I guess that means Tilly will be in the middle.” As I thought about the details once more, I couldn’t help but groan. “I can’t believe this is what it’s come to.”

  He put his hand on my shoulder. “I know. But, believe it or not, one of her children did this.”

  I shrugged my shoulders, still in disbelief. “I know, but why?”

  I’d said that rhetorically. Their motives were as clear as day. My real question was how a child’s love for their mother could run so cold?

  Oliver didn’t seem to catch on that I was speaking rhetorically and gave me a straight answer. “Money.”

  “I know one of them did this for their inheritance, but it’s just so disturbing.”

  Each of the three Peabody siblings stood to gain a lot. In addition to the chain of book shops that Lara owned, she also had a rather large house and had made some fortuitous investing decisions in the stock market. She’d allocated sizable inheritances for her children. Even though the killer was morally bankrupt, monetarily speaking, their bank acc
ount would be flush.

  “Life is sometimes disturbing,” Oliver said.

  That was the epitome of an understatement. I sighed.

  Oliver urged me to focus my energy on the upcoming interrogations. “Put that out of your mind. One of those punks did do this for money. It’s up to us to find out who.”

  Just then, the kettle whistled. Oliver prepared a cup of tea for me then handed it to me.

  “Drink up. It’s about to get highly contentious.”

  Chapter Four

  Jude Peabody was first on our list of suspects to re-question. He was a tall, thirty-six-year-old bloke with a muscular body, a bearded, angular face, short black hair, and a black hooded sweatshirt. He’d always fancied himself to as the smart one in the family. There was no doubt that he had a high opinion of himself, but I often wondered why. I saw little evidence that he had the goods to back up his boasting.

  For example, Jude believed that he had a keen business sense, yet he’d made the sizable blunder of deciding to start his own business rather than become the second in line to run his mum’s chain of book shops. Had the restaurant he opened been successful, that would have been one thing. The only thing more spectacularly misguided than his ego was his ability to manage an Italian restaurant to profitability.

  Ultimately, his business acumen couldn’t live up to his ego. Take my word for it, his decision to strike out on his own was done strictly for his own self-image, not because he possessed a unique set of skills that lent itself to thriving in the food service industry. He’d spent his whole life in his mum’s shadow and was desperate to carve out a name for himself, completely independent of her.

  That made it all the more disappointing when the only thing he succeeded in carving out was debt. He hadn’t just let himself down--his shoddy management cost his investors a handsome sum of money. If that wasn’t enough, those investors viewed those results as unacceptable and made it clear in no uncertain terms that they wanted their losses recouped by any means necessary.