Murder in Mystic Grove

by S F Bose

  Chloe and Olivia both laughed. When they looked at me expectantly, I knew they wanted to finish their argument.

  “Talk amongst yourselves,” I said taking another sip of wine. They both looked relieved. Chloe started talking about amulets, talismans, and spells. She periodically pitched the idea of selling some magical products at THE Herb Shop. Olivia pursed her lips and looked dubious.

  I fell back into one of the beige, easy chairs. I sighed and sipped more wine. I was relaxing already.

  Our living room was very homey and eclectic. When Grace’s kids were in college, she moved from the coach house to the third floor family area of the B&B. She left behind almost all her furniture in the coach house. We also had other furniture that went back generations.

  Chloe and Olivia sat on the vintage, white couch with pink leaves and flowers that Aunt Grace had shipped back from South Carolina decades ago. Mission slat end tables with lamps were on either end of the couch. I think they came from the B&B during one of the renovations.

  This part of the living room was prefect for conversations. A large, oak, storage box coffee table sat in front of the couch. It had been in the family since the nineteenth century. Two, beige, button tufted easy chairs sat perpendicular to the right of the couch and two more easy chairs sat perpendicular to the left of the couch.

  Across from the couch, on the south wall, a flat screen TV rested on an old, red dresser that Grace’s son, Ryan, had modified into an entertainment center.

  At the far end of the room, on the east wall, a field stone fireplace sat between two windows. It had been a while since we lit a fire, but the wood was ready in the grate. A large painting of a lightning storm at night hung above the mantel. The painting had been there for as long as I could remember. The black and sepia background had white and beige lightning bolts. It had inspired Chloe to get a tattoo of the same image that ran from the top of her right shoulder to just above her right elbow.

  Two pale yellow loveseats that had seen better days sat perpendicular to the fireplace and faced each other across an oversized, planked coffee table. Facing the fireplace were two pale yellow, striped armchairs. The furniture rested on an ivory and gray Oriental area rug. Tall shelving units with storage cabinets in the bottom flanked the fireplace. Family photos and mementoes that went back generations filled the shelves. An old brass chandelier with eight bulbs and scalloped tulip shades hung over the chairs and loveseats.

  Our prized possession was a pressed back, wooden rocking chair with rolled arms that sat in the northeast corner of the room. It was our Great-Great-Great Grandmother Nora’s rocker. Nora Kelly Bean lived on the farm with Kevin Bean in the late 1800s. We had all seen the rocker occasionally rock forward and backward by itself and chalked it up to drafts. Secretly, I thought it was Nora Kelly Bean coming for a visit.

  “Earth to Liz,” Olivia said loudly. I jumped and smiled at her.

  “Sorry. What?”

  Olivia made a face. “Cats are fed,” she repeated.

  “Thanks so much, Livvie. You are still my favorite cousin!” Both Olivia and Chloe snorted at that. I looked around and didn’t see Snap or Sammy. “Where are they?”

  Olivia’s face reddened. “Well I gave them some homegrown catnip after dinner.”

  Chloe laughed. “They were so tipsy, they crashed on your bed.” We all laughed.

  “Why are you home so late?” Olivia asked.

  I tipped back a little more wine. “I was avoiding Mom.”

  “Uh oh,” Chloe said. “What happened?”

  I sighed. “Ben Katz is a suspect in the death of Justin Church. She wants Sam and me to clear Ben by finding the real killer.”

  Both of their mouths dropped open. Seconds passed. Chloe tossed back a gulp of wine and Olivia followed suit. Rather than be rude, I drained my glass.

  “Ben Katz? Seriously?” Olivia finally asked.

  I nodded. “He had a fight with Justin last week and has had other arguments with him in the past. There was also a witness, who saw a man leave through the Emporium’s back door the day of the murder. The man had a white or gray beard and mustache. Matt went over, interviewed Ben, and took two of his handguns. I talked to Matt later and he thinks Ben is a viable suspect on paper.”

  “On paper. But not for real?” Olivia asked.

  “He’s guilty until proven innocent, in this case,” I replied.

  “Any chance he did it?” Chloe asked. Olivia and I shook our heads.

  “No way,” said Olivia.

  “He’s passionate about certain things, but I don’t think he’d hurt a flea,” I said. “I’m sure when they finish ballistics testing on the guns, he’ll be cleared.”

  “Why not wait for that then?” Olivia asked.

  “That’s what I said,” I agreed. “But Mom’s afraid of the gossip and Matt’s not sure when Madison will get to the testing. They’re all backed up or something.”

  “So you’re avoiding your mom?” Chloe asked.

  I nodded. “I’m just worried about working for her.”

  “You don’t want to fail,” Olivia said. “I totally understand.”

  I pursed my lips. “With Mom, even if you succeed, you can fail,” I said. Both Olivia and Chloe nodded. It was such a relief to talk to people who understood what that meant. But then they both knew Mom almost as well as I did.

  Chloe stood and poured more wine for Olivia and herself. Then she filled my glass. Her eyes locked with mine.

  “Liz, can you find the real killer?”

  I looked up at her and shook my head. “I’m not sure, since I’ve never investigated a murder before. Sam would be there and he’s had a lot of experience, so that would help. He has a whole process we’d follow. I also know I’d try harder than any other investigator Mom could get.”

  Chloe nodded and returned the wine bottle to the table. Then she went back to the couch and stretched her legs out toward the table. “I think you should help Ben. I know your mom can be difficult sometimes. But that shouldn’t matter.”

  Olivia nodded. “If Ben is innocent and might not be cleared for a while, I think you have to help. It’s the right thing to do.”

  I felt the beginning of a headache behind my eyes. “Damn,” I said and looked at them. “Really?”

  They both nodded. I groaned, thinking about the nightmare ahead. The three of us raised our wineglasses and tipped them back.

  They were right. I should do the right thing. While I knew what that was, I still wasn’t sure I could do it. If I failed and pissed Mom off, I’d have to leave Mystic Grove again. I wouldn’t be able to stand her icy disapproval every time I saw her.

  “Lose/lose,” I muttered.

  Chapter 17

  The next morning I was up early and dressed quickly. I ran downstairs to the kitchen and quickly chugged a glass of cold orange juice just to get some sugar into me. Snap and Sammy were hungry and underfoot. After giving them tummy scratches, I filled their food and water bowls. Minutes later, I was hurrying through the frigid morning air to the B&B.

  I kicked my boots against the porch stairs, ran up the steps, and went in through the mudroom door. Max and Bella, the golden retrievers, came running when they heard the door close. I patted their heads and followed them into the B&B kitchen. They immediately cut left to their bowls of kibble.

  The smell of baking bread and coffee filled the house. Aunt Grace stood at the Viking stove, with her back to me, stirring something in a pan. As always, I viewed the stove with awe and dread. The Viking had two ovens, a bunch of burners, a griddle, a grill, and God knows what else. It was Grace’s baby. I had never cooked a single thing on it and never would.

  Grace was lost in thought and humming as she cooked. I circled around the large center island.

  “Hi, Aunt Grace,” I said. She jumped and spun around, holding a fork in her right hand. I put my hands up in the air and grinned. Her face lit up when she saw me and she dropped the fork on the stovetop.

  “Lizzie Bean,
you startled me! Give me a hug, sweetie,” she said and pulled me into her ample body. She smelled like vanilla and cinnamon. Grace had single-handedly changed us into a family of huggers and I loved it. Also, after years of living in South Carolina, she still had a wonderful southern drawl.

  “Keep talking, Aunt Grace. I could listen to you all day long,” I said into her ear. Grace and I were both 5’ 6” tall and neither of us had to bend to share a good hug. I felt the laughter rumble in her body before I heard it.

  “Oh, go on now,” she said with a laugh and stepped back. Her left hand caught my right hand and squeezed.

  Aunt Grace had a perpetual smile and warm, baby blue eyes. She usually wore crimson lipstick, which Chloe assured me was a Southern thing.

  “Southern women never leave home without lipstick. It’s like a law or something,” Chloe said firmly.

  Grace’s red hair fell to her collar in soft waves. In front, long bangs swept to the right and left from a widow’s peak. I couldn't see a single wrinkle on her fair skin. She was beautiful.

  For the umpteenth time, I marveled at how different Dad and Grace were. They didn’t seem like brother and sister at all. Grace was full-figured and softly rounded. She was also warm and extroverted. Dad was tall, lean, and angular. While he was friendly, he was much more introverted than Grace. Dad’s idea of a good time was reading a book. Grace’s idea of a good time was karaoke, dancing with or without a partner, and making friends out of total strangers. One thing Grace and Dad did share was the family’s baby blue eyes.

  “Are Addie and Nana Anna down yet?” I asked.

  “Those two are up before the chickens. They’re in the dining room. Do you want breakfast?”

  I shook my head. “No, thanks. I’ll just grab a cup of coffee.”

  “Use the Bunn. I have caramel cappuccino in the cabinet,” said Grace. My spirits soared.

  “Thank you!”

  I went to the back counter and brewed a mug of caramel cappuccino. Grace had a large twin coffee brewer she used for dining room guests. The Bunn was perfect for special coffee requests, hot chocolate, and specialty tea orders.

  I took a sip of coffee and almost purred. “See you later, Grace,” I called as I went out the door to the dining room.

  “Okay Lizzie. Make it a great day,” she called back and I smiled.

  Grandma Addie and Nana Anna chatted away at their table toward the back of the dining room. I stopped and watched them for a second. Addie was 72 years old and the older of the two sisters. She was 5’5” tall, lean, wore her wavy, red hair short, and had baby blue eyes behind wire rim glasses. Nana Anna was one year younger, 5’4” tall, and slightly plump. She also had short, wavy red hair and baby blue eyes. She had pushed her wire rim glasses up on top of her head. Grace swore that their hair was naturally red, but I thought they paid her to tell the people that.

  Then Nana Anna saw me and waved. Addie turned and smiled and I hurried over.

  “Morning,” I said as I set down my mug. I gave each of them a quick hug and sat down.

  “You look troubled,” Nana Anna observed and Addie nodded in agreement. I was trying for upbeat but they could read me like a book.

  “I am. Have you heard Ben Katz is a suspect in the Justin Church killing?”

  “Yes, we heard. It’s such rubbish. Ben Katz never killed a thing in his life,” Nana Anna said firmly, and sipped her tea.

  “It’s ridiculous,” Addie agreed.

  “I don’t think he did it, either. The problem is they took two of his guns in for testing. They won’t officially remove Ben as a suspect until his guns are tested. But that could take some time,” I said.

  “Is that what’s troubling you, dear?” Addie asked.

  I took a big sip of coffee and looked at them. Then I blurted out, “Mom wants Sam and me to find the real killer and clear Ben.”

  They both said “Oh!” at the same time.

  “And you don’t want to investigate?” asked Addie.

  I took a deep breath. “I’m worried about taking the job. If we can’t find the killer and clear Ben, she’ll never talk to me again.”

  Nana Anna chuckled and Addie’s lips tightened. “First, your mother loves you very much. Both your mother and father would do anything for you,” said Addie.

  Nana Anna chimed in, “And Lilly would never stop talking to you, dear. She would just torment you for the rest of your life.” Addie gave Nana Anna a sharp look. Nana Anna shrugged. “What? It’s true.”

  “It is true,” I agreed.

  “Well following that logic, if you don’t take the case and try to help Ben, she won’t talk to you either,” Addie pointed out and drank some of her coffee.” Shades of what Sam had pointed out.

  “That’s also true,” I said, shaking my head.

  “I think you just have to ask yourself ‘What’s the right thing to do?’” Nana Anna said, almost to herself.

  Addie nodded. “Exactly. You’re overthinking this. You’re working as an investigator. The police think someone you know committed murder, but you’re sure he didn’t do it. How could you not help him, just because of your mother?”

  Nana Anna nodded in agreement and buttered a piece of toast. “There’s really only one choice.”

  I looked back and forth between them. I suddenly had more clarity and felt a surge of energy. I’d been working from fear instead of my usual aggressiveness.

  “What would I do without you two? You’re both right,” I said and drained my coffee mug. “I’ve totally been focusing on the wrong thing.” There’s just one more thing I needed to check.

  Addie and Nana Anna traded a glance and smiled as I jumped up.

  “Thank you. Love you both,” I said with a smile and hurried out of the B&B.

  Chapter 18

  I parked Lulu in my spot in the Bowman parking lot and jogged across Bridge Road toward the Farmhouse Cafe. The “Closed” sign was still in the window of the Emporium but the crime scene tape was gone. As I passed the Saucy Shop, I saw Laurent in his store and waved. He smiled and waved back. I noted that he had a short gray beard and mustache. So many men in Mystic Grove were sporting their winter beards now.

  Abbie wasn’t at the register when I entered the Farmhouse Cafe, so I waited at the counter. A few minutes later, she came around the corner and her face lit up when she saw me.

  “Liz, hi!”

  “Hi Abbie, how are you?” I asked and smiled.

  “If I was doing any better, it’d be a sin,” she said and we both cracked up. “For here or to go?” she asked, pulling out her order pad.

  “To go. I’ll have the Denver omelet, coffee with cream and sugar, two toasted English muffins with butter and grape jam on the side, and a cup of green tea.”

  “Sam eats English muffins?”

  I nodded. “He has before. He’s starting to eat whatever I bring him, as long as it’s plain. And he loves grape jam.”

  Abbie shook her head. “So strange. Come have a seat while I get this order up.” I followed her to the small dining room. As we passed the larger diner room to the left, I glanced in and saw people at three tables.

  “Hey Abbie, if you have time, I have a few questions,” I said.

  “Sure, it’s still slow. I’ll be right back,” she replied.

  I sat down at a table and unzipped my parka. I was the only customer in the smaller dining room. After a few minutes, Abbie returned and sat down next to me.

  “What’s up, Liz?” she asked.

  I decided to be direct. “Have you heard anything about the investigation into Justin’s death?”

  She nodded and rested her arms on the table. “I heard that Justin was shot, poor man. And Angela Apstead was out running and saw a man leave the back of the Emporium the afternoon of the murder.”

  “Angela Apstead,” I repeated. She was one of the Village trustees. She must be the witness. “Did she know the man?”

  “At first she thought it was Peter. He was tall and had a beard. Sh
e said she started to call out to him and then realized it was someone else.”

  “Did you talk to her the day of the murder?”

  “No. That day she stopped in to warm up with a hot chocolate. I saw her in the small dining room and just said ‘Hi.’ We didn’t talk until the next day.”

  “So she didn’t recognize the man?” I asked again.

  Abbie shook her head. “It didn’t sound like it.”

  “Did she describe him beyond being tall and bearded?”

  Abbie scrunched her eyebrows together. “No, not that I remember. We talked more about how strange it was to have a murder in Mystic Grove. It’s scary to think that a killer was so close.”

  “It is scary,” I agreed. “How’s Angela doing?”

  “She’s normally pretty unflappable. But she was definitely nervous about it all.”

  I sat back in my chair and stretched. “It’s more frightening after the fact. You start thinking about what might have happened.”

  “I think that’s probably it. If she had called out to him, who knows what he might have done?”

  I nodded. “Does Angela come in every day?”

  “Yes, she comes in for coffee and pie every afternoon around 1:00 p.m. I think she works at home, so it’s a break for her.”

  “Abbie, Sam and I may be looking into the murder. If we do, we’d love to talk to her.”

  Abbie’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh I did hear that the police thought Ben was involved. That’s so crazy.” I stifled a groan. Mom was right. The Mystic Grove rumor mill had jumped all over that piece of gossip.

  “Yeah. There’s no way Ben did this,” I agreed. “About Angela?”

  Abbie looked at me and then remembered my question about Angela. “Oh right! Sure, no problem, Liz. In fact, if you come in some afternoon and she’s here, I can introduce you,” she offered.

  “That would be great. Thanks Abbie.”

  “My pleasure,’ she replied and smiled.

  Switching gears, I said, “I saw all the crime scene tape is down.”

  “They did that yesterday. Good thing too. I think it scared people away from the businesses in this area.”