by Wendy Tyson
Praise for the Greenhouse Mystery Series
“Worth a read among the traditional cozies: Wendy Tyson’s Seeds of Revenge.”
– Marilyn Stasio, New York Times Book Review
“Tyson gives us an evocative sense of place, a bit of romance, and dimensional characters with interesting backstories. Readers are left looking forward to the next book in the series and hankering for organic mushroom tartlets.”
– Publishers Weekly
“This third series offering is a complex small-town mystery with well-rounded, fascinating characters.”
– Library Journal
“A warmhearted mystery with an irresistible cast of characters, two- and four-legged alike. Tyson’s small-town setting is a lush bounty for the senses, and the well-structured plot will keep you guessing right up until the satisfying conclusion.”
– Sophie Littlefield,
Edgar-Nominated Author of The Guilty One
“Tyson grows a delicious debut mystery as smart farmer-sleuth Megan Sawyer tills the dirt on local secrets after a body turns up in her barn. You won’t want to put down this tasty harvest of a story.”
– Edith Maxwell,
Agatha-Nominated Author of Murder Most Fowl
“Hungry for a great mystery? A Muddied Murder is a delight and Wendy Tyson is a natural. She delivers a perfectly plotted mystery with well-planted clues and a healthy dose of secrets. This first Greenhouse Mystery will only whet your appetite for more.”
– Sparkle Abbey,
Author of Raiders of the Lost Bark
“Tyson’s first-rate second Greenhouse mystery stars big-city lawyer turned small-town organic farmer Megan Sawyer, a kind, intelligent, and spirited woman with great integrity. In short, she’s the sort of person cozy readers warm to and root for.”
– Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Tyson’s third look at the joys and perils of small-town life features enough engaging characters.”
– Kirkus Reviews
“An exceptional cozy, Bitter Harvest offers up a veritable feast for mystery fans: a beautifully drawn setting, engaging characters, and plenty of twists and turns that will keep readers guessing. The suspense deepens with every scene…Tyson has crafted a fresh, intelligent, compelling story that’s sure to satisfy.”
– Cynthia Kuhn,
Agatha Award-Winning Author of The Art of Vanishing
“An irresistible story with delicious food, scheming villagers, and a secret worth killing for. Her heroine, prodigal daughter of Winsome, PA Megan Sawyer, may not carry a gun, but she’s packing brains, courage, and loads of integrity. Megan is a star.”
– James W. Ziskin,
Anthony Award-Nominated Author of the Ellie Stone Mysteries
“Complex characters, interesting twists, and a charming setting add up to a satisfying mystery.”
– Publishers Weekly
“Wendy Tyson has a background in law and psychology, which lends itself nicely to her endeavors as a crime fiction novelist…Cunning crimes, charismatic characters, and a cozy (if occasionally murderous) community all set this series, and story, apart—as does the authenticity and assuredness with which the author writes.”
– Criminal Element
The Greenhouse Mystery Series
by Wendy Tyson
A MUDDIED MURDER (#1)
BITTER HARVEST (#2)
SEEDS OF REVENGE (#3)
ROOTED IN DECEIT (#4)
RIPE FOR VENGEANCE (#5)
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Copyright
RIPE FOR VENGEANCE
A Greenhouse Mystery
Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection
First Edition | July 2019
Henery Press, LLC
www.henerypress.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, LLC, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Copyright © 2019 by Wendy Tyson
Author photograph by Ian Pickarski
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-491-1
Digital epub ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-492-8
Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-493-5
Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-494-2
Printed in the United States of America
For Sue.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, I’m grateful for my family, for Frances Black of Literary Counsel, and for everyone at Henery Press. Special thanks to Stephanie Wollman, my dial-a-nurse-practitioner, for her endless patience with my endless medical questions.
One
June in Winsome held the promise of the seasons. Lawns were green, not yet flecked with the brown that would invade during late summer, when too little rain and too much heat plagued the area. Perennial gardens were starting to bloom, their foliage vibrant and full, and vegetable gardens were alive with waving fronds of garlic scapes and neat rainbow rows of lettuces, cabbages, kale, and tiny green tomatoes. If hope were a season, it would be spring, and to Megan Sawyer, lawyer-turned-organic-farmer, nothing embodied spring like early June on Washington Acres farm.
But as Megan dunked fragile heads of butter lettuce in ice cold water, it was dread she felt, not hope. Megan and Dr. “Denver” Finn, Winsome’s handsome veterinarian and Megan’s boyfriend, had arranged to meet for lunch, but he got hung up on a mysterious emergency. Denver had been unusually cryptic on the phone the first time he called, and to make matters worse, Megan heard sirens in the background. Her mind wandered to barn fires and other tragedies. Unwilling to let her imagination get too far afield, she focused on the tender green leaves before her.
Megan surveyed the farm. From her perch outside the barn, she could see Clay Hand, her farm manager, weeding down by the tomato beds, his long, lean back stretched over the maturing plants. Brian “Brick” Porter, her farm hand, was mending the back side of the largest greenhouse, a white t-shirt tied around his head to ward off the sun’s rays and soak up sweat. And although she couldn’t see them, she heard the hammers and drills of the construction team she’d hired to start renovations on the old Marshall place, the historic but derelict house next door that would eventually become an inn and workshop.
All was right with the world. Except deep down, Megan knew it wasn’t.
When Denver finally called at 2:12, she jumped at the sound of the phone. “Hi,” she said warily.
“Well, Megs, I think I need ye. I’ll explain when you get here. Will you please bring the truck—with the cap on it?” Denver had been born in Scotland, and although he’d lived in the United States for his adult life, his brogue became more pronounced when he was tired or upset.
“Is anyone hurt?”
“No, not exactly. Look, I have Bobby next to me and he needs help. Just come. We can discuss it when you get here.”
Bobby was Bobby King, Winsome’s young Chief of Police. Bobby showed up wherever there was trouble.
This meant there was trouble, which didn’t do much to calm Megan’s agitated nerves. “Where’s here, Denver?”
“Mimi’s Warehouse and Storage.”
Megan dragged the cooler of water into the barn and closed the door so that she could hear Denver better against the backdrop of the construction next door. “The self-storage place?”
“Right. Mimi’s, on the right about a mile from Canal Street. And bring some cool water too. A nice big jug of it. And some old blankets. And maybe some apple slices.”
The truck? Water? Blankets? “Did you find a dog?”
“No, Megs. We found a pig.”
“I’ve named her Camilla, after my great-aunt, who was a pig farmer back in Scotland.” Denver’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “She’s a sassy one, but sweet. Just take it slow.”
Megan peered into the storage unit, which had been blocked by a tall gate, the kind you’d use to corral a busy toddler. Inside the five-by-five space were bales of hay and a small, young pig. The pig’s skin was pink with splotches of dark gray that shown through a light coat of bristly white hair. The piglet lay on her side, eyes closed, snoring lightly. She appeared to be in good health.
“There’s no food or water in here.”
Denver nodded. “Aye, which is part of my concern. The unit is pretty clean, and Camilla seems as healthy as a…well, pig. Still, if she’d stayed here long under these conditions, things would be grim.”
“Camilla. I like it.” Megan turned toward Denver. “It’s a climate-controlled unit?”
“It is. Still a little warm.”
Megan stared at the pig, who was still sleeping despite the audience. Megan shook her head. “Why would a pig be in a storage unit?”
“Exactly what we want to know.” It was Bobby who answered. He leaned his tall, heavy-set frame against a wall. “This is illegal and against the rules of the unit. Management called animal control and the police. I called Denver here.”
“Because you’re a softy.” Megan smiled.
“Because I’m practical. No use wasting animal control’s time on a pet pig when Denver was just passing through this side of town.”
Denver looked at him quizzically, about to protest, but Bobby held up a hand. “We all know what animal control would do.”
Megan nodded. Maybe a shelter, if one would take a pig. Or she’d be given to a farm or sanctuary farm—maybe. Or put to sleep. Megan watched Winsome’s young police chief with renewed affection. His girlfriend, Megan’s shop clerk and friend, Clover Hand, had recently become a vegan, and Megan figured her pro-animal stance may have had something to do with this compassionate act.
“Can she stay with you?” Denver’s eyes were soft and blue and full of empathy, and Megan knew there was no way she could refuse.
“Of course. We already have two dogs, a dozen chickens, and two goats, so we definitely need a foster pig named Camilla to round things out.” Megan watched the pig sleep. “Who rented the unit?”
King glanced behind him at a man so tall and lean and quiet he blended into the shadows. The man stepped forward and Megan noticed a pressed green shirt with the storage business name emblazoned on the pocket, a set of lock cutters in one hand. He was young, mid-twenties, tops, and wore the earnest expression of someone trying hard to do a good job despite the ridiculousness of what he’s been faced with.
The man reached his hand out and Megan shook it. “Assistant Manager, second shift. Happy to meet you. I’m the one who found the pig.”
“Followed the crumbs,” King said approvingly.
The manager nodded. “In a way. Saw dried corn kernels in the elevator. No food of any kind allowed in here. Attracts rodents and bugs, both no-nos. Figured someone was keeping grain, some kind of animal feed business. Checked around, saw a larger pile of corn near this unit. When I pressed my ear against the wall, I heard squealing. Called the person listed on the unit’s lease, and when I didn’t get an answer, I cut the lock.” The man looked very proud of himself. He turned toward King. “Still can’t reach the lessor. Tried six times. Whoever it is has no voicemail set up.”
“Who’s leasing the unit?” Megan asked King. “Someone we know?”
“Man named Saul Bones.”
Megan raised her eyebrows, her glance bouncing between King and Denver. “Saul Bones. As in—”
“Saw bones.” Denver’s mouth set in a grim line. “Right.”
A sick joke or a real name? Megan wondered. Before she could ask the questions that had queued up in her mind, King said, “Looking him up back at the station. He hasn’t really done anything that warrants serious concern, but this is odd.” King shrugged. “Figured we’d check him out.”
Camilla had awakened. After standing on her hind legs to get a good look at these strangers, the little pig started running top speed around her cell, butting her head against the gate, squealing madly.
“She’s hungry,” Denver said. “Shall I load her into the truck? I’ll follow you over and we can get her settled in the barn.”
Megan agreed. She chewed on her bottom lip, considering the animal’s situation. Who rents a unit and puts a well-cared for pot-bellied pig inside? Was she someone’s pet? Was she staying there temporarily before being sold to someone else?
And that name: Saul Bones. A sense of humor—or something more ominous?
Bibi, Megan’s grandmother, also known as Bonnie Birch to the rest of the world, fell instantly in love with Camilla. She’d never admit it, of course, but after Clay created a pen for the pig inside the old section of the massive stone barn, Bibi took to feeding her personally. She collected kitchen scraps and watched contentedly as Camilla snorted and gulped her way through salad greens, root vegetables, and apples, a treat Bibi used to feed the pigs she and her husband raised years ago.
“She’ll be just fine,” Bibi said, scratching the course skin behind Camilla’s ears. Camilla leaned into the touch, her eyes half-mast. “Good girl,” Bibi crooned. To Megan, Bibi said, “She’s not an eating pig.”
Megan said, “Looks like she’s eating just fine.”
Bibi scowled. “You know what I mean. Camilla here isn’t livestock.”
“I know, Bibi. We wouldn’t do that even if she were.”
“Well, she’s not. She’s like no pig I’ve ever seen.”
Megan smiled. Beyond the barn, Megan could hear the whirl and pounding of the construction crew next door. Megan spoke louder over the din. “She’s a Vietnamese potbellied pig. I only know that because Denver told me.”
Bibi leaned down to look into Camilla’s eyes. The day was quickly warming, but the interior of the old barn was cool and slightly damp. The pig seemed to like the feel of the floor, cold dampness and all. She sprawled on her side, gazing up at Bibi with what looked to Megan like adoration.
“Whoever had her took good care.” Bibi squatted down and rubbed Camilla’s neck. Bibi wore a white “Winter in Winsome” t-shirt, and the pig lifted her head and rubbed it against Bibi’s side, smearing dirt along the edge of the pristine cotton. Bibi didn’t seem to notice. “She’s a fine pig,” Bibi said softly.
Megan, trying to hide her growing amusement, watched her grandmother. Bibi wasn’t one for outward shows of affection, and this was as close as she came to doting on an animal. Megan had to admit: even with her underbite and noisy table manners, Camilla was pretty adorable.
“Don’t you need to be somewhere?” Bibi asked. “I don’t think you have time to stand around laughing at me and this pig.”
Megan’s grin widened. “I’m not laughing at you.”
Bibi stood. With a final glance at Camilla, she turned toward Megan. “They’re all God’s creatures. I’m just tending to an animal in need.” She broke out into a smile, and it took years off her eighty-five-year-old face. “She is really cute.”
“That she is.” As though on cue, Camilla look
ed up at them, let out a snort, and, with a flop and the pig version of a sigh, extended her body out on the cool dirt. Laughing, Megan glanced at her watch. “I need to meet Denver at the restaurant in forty-five minutes.” She looked down at her jeans and sneakers. “I can’t exactly go like this.”
“This is the dinner with his college friends?”
Megan nodded. “Fraternity brothers from Colorado State. Jatin, Xavier, and Chase. The guys and two women are in the area for a charity event.”
Bibi shot Megan a questioning look. “What kind of charity?”
“There’s a local school for kids with behavioral and emotional issues. Denver said these guys all work for the same company, and the company is sponsoring a mentoring camping trip.” Megan shrugged. “Because they were in town, they called Denver and asked to get together. He invited me. I’m just not in the mood.”
“Get in the mood.” Bibi motioned toward the door. “Go get fixed up and have a good time. You deserve a social life.”
Megan kissed her grandmother on the cheek. “I guess it will be fun to see another side of Denver. I’ve never met anyone from his past other than his aunt.”
“You can tell a lot about a person by the company they keep.” Bibi squeezed Megan’s arm. “Go. Have fun. I want to hear all about it tomorrow.”
Two
Basil was an Italian restaurant tucked into a strip mall on Route 611, not far from Doylestown. Its interior was awash in beige: beige plaster walls, beige tablecloths, beige linens, beige-stained maple floors. But despite the bland location and décor, the food was excellent, which was why Denver had chosen it as the reunion spot.
