Greenhouse Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1-6

by Wendy Tyson

  “Plus, they bookended Oktoberfest with the two nicest local farms—at least from a touristy perspective,” Bibi said.

  “True.” Megan hadn’t thought about that. “Tourists come to Winsome expecting to see the canal, the leaves, abundant orchards, and quaint farms with old stone houses. We have the quaint farm and Mark and Ann have the orchards. And on the two busiest days—the first and last—that’s what Ophelia is giving them.”

  “So why Sauer? Money?” Clover asked.

  “I don’t know.” Megan reached for her phone. “But I intend to find out.” She glanced at the home screen and frowned. “Looks like Denver’s been trying to reach me.”

  Megan dialed his number. No answer. Just then, Porter jogged up the driveway and stopped where they were standing. Resting one hand on a knee while he caught his breath, he pointed to a blue Chevrolet parked along the road by the cones.

  “Bobby King’s here, Megan. He wants to talk to you.”

  What now? Megan thought. “Did he say why?”

  “Nope.”

  Clover said, “We’ll start cleaning up. Do what you need to do.” She looked worried. “Brian can help us.”

  Megan walked down to King’s car, head spinning with possibilities. He was inside the vehicle, on the phone, but when he saw Megan he ended the call and climbed out.

  “Afternoon,” he said.

  Megan nodded. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m afraid I have some news.”

  Megan flashed to Denver’s calls. “Is Denver okay?”

  King looked momentarily confused. “Dr. Finn? Yes, of course…he’s fine. It’s not him, although he was involved.”

  “Bobby, get to the point.”

  “Ted Kuhl is dead.”

  Megan stared at him. “Dead?”

  King nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Did he…did he take his own life?”

  “We’re not sure what happened.” King paused. “I may need some help with his daughter, Emily. She’s beside herself. Asked for you.”

  “Of course. I’ll do what I can.” Megan glanced up toward the barn. She could see Clover, Bibi, Clay, and Porter all staring down, no doubt wondering what was going on. “Can you please tell me what happened?”

  “Dr. Finn was tending to Mrs. Kennedy’s cats when she complained of an odd smell in the field behind her house. He investigated for her and there he was.”

  “In the field, just in the open?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  Bobby King, looking suddenly young and inexperienced, sighed. “Dr. Finn found Ted Kuhl in Marilyn Kennedy’s tool shed. The exact cause of death is under investigation, but it appears to be asphyxiation. Indicators point to intoxication at the time of death.”

  Megan was horrified. “So he choked on his own vomit?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “What then? Bobby, this is quite frustrating—”

  “He suffered a reaction from a peanut allergy. His windpipe closed. At least’s that what we think. We’re waiting for the coroner’s report. It will take some time to know for sure.”

  “Anaphylactic shock?” Megan shook her head. “You mean to tell me Ted crawled into the tool shed, drunk, and knowingly consumed a food he was deathly allergic to? I don’t think so.”

  “Could have been an accident.”

  Megan simply stared at him.

  King said, “It fits with suicidal intent.”

  “It fits with a frame-up too.”

  “If someone wanted to kill Ted, I can think of easier ways to get the job done.”

  “And I can think of better ways to commit suicide.” Megan’s voice was creeping up in octave, and she took a deep breath to control it. “Bobby, what would it take for someone to force him to eat peanuts? Or feed him something that contained peanuts, something he would never expect? Otto was supposed to look like an accident and so is this.”

  King nodded, but he didn’t look convinced.

  “You don’t want it to be murder. None of us do. But all of these disparate facts are starting to add up. Ted knew something, and he shared it with Otto. Whatever it was, it got them both killed.”

  “We’ll see what the coroner finds in Ted’s stomach. That may tell us something—whether he was given peanuts unknowingly, or whether he ingested them outright.”

  Megan nodded. “The killer made one mistake,” she said.

  Bobby took off his cap and pushed back his blond hair. He looked pale and uncomfortable, and a pang of sympathy coursed through Megan. Their police chief was having to grow up fast.

  “What’s that, Megan?”

  “Think about it for a moment.”

  Understanding flashed across King’s face. “Peanuts. A medical condition—”

  “That only someone who knew Ted would know about,” Megan finished. “Chances are, you’re not dealing with a stranger, Bobby.”

  “He wore one of those medical bracelets.”

  “Not always.”

  “Oh, damn,” King said. “How many rotten apples do we have here in Winsome?”

  “Very few,” Megan said. “But you’d never know it by the smell.”

  Twenty

  Miriam Dorfman Kuhl’s property stood on the outskirts of Winsome, not far from the Jo-Mar strip mall, Tally’s Creamy Freeze, and Sauer’s two-hundred-plus-acre farm. The property, formerly owned by Ted’s mother, consisted of a hodgepodge of buildings on about ten acres. Just yards from the road sat the main house, a once stately stone Cape Cod that had declined into something sagging and in need of repair since Miriam’s death. About a hundred yards behind the Cape Cod sat a derelict trailer, its windows busted and the door hanging crookedly from a twisted frame. A second trailer had been parked in the field on the edge of the woods. This one was smaller and rundown, but the windows and door were intact. The fields were in dire need of a mow, and the hedges and flower beds were overgrown to the point of earning jungle status.

  Megan pointed toward the trailer. “Is that where Emily is staying?”

  King shook his head. “She’s at her grandmother’s house. The last renter left a few weeks ago, and Ted had been getting it ready for new tenants. The power is still on.” He glanced at Megan. “Look, I know it’s unorthodox, but I have some questions for Emily and I would like you to be there. She seems to trust you. Is that okay?”

  Megan nodded.

  They approached the door and knocked. Emily, accompanied by a uniformed female officer, opened the door. When she saw Megan, Emily started to cry.

  “I’m sorry to drag you in,” she said between sobs. “But you’ve been there since the beginning…and I…thought…you could explain that this was no accident. Dad always carried his EpiPen. Always. And the police said it wasn’t even with him.”

  “I already told Chief King that I thought this could be intentional, Emily.”

  This seemed to calm Emily somewhat. She gulped air, and then wiped her eyes with the back of one long arm.

  “Come in,” Emily said. “Please.”

  Megan followed King and Emily into the cramped house. The downstairs consisted of three rooms: a small outdated kitchen, a floral-wallpapered dining room, and a square living room devoid of furniture. Emily led them into the dining room where Lily was lying awake in a playpen. They sat in folding chairs around a folding table. Tubs of latex paint perched on sawhorses on the beige-carpeted floor. Rags and paintbrushes had been left in a pile in the corner. Boxes were stacked here and there with no apparent order.

  Emily followed Megan’s gaze. “Dad was trying to rent this house. Figured if he fixed it up, he could get more money.”

  After a few minutes of idle chitchat aimed at putting Emily at ease, King asked gently, “You say it was no accident, but do you know why someo
ne might have wanted to harm your father?”

  Emily shook her head. Her gaze darted to Megan.

  “She can stay,” King said. “If that’s what you want.”

  “I’d prefer it.”

  After a pause, King continued. “Do you think it’s possible that your dad was blackmailing someone?”

  Emily stared at the police chief, startled. “Blackmail? Over what?”

  “We’re just exploring all options.”

  The idea of blackmail was news to Megan, but she had to admit it made a certain sense. Had Ted learned something, something that killed Otto, one way to deal with it and solve his financial problems would be blackmail. But blackmail was a dangerous game—as Ted would have learned.

  “No, absolutely not,” Emily said. “No way.”

  “How about Ophelia Dilworth? Does that name ring a bell?”

  “The woman organizing Oktoberfest.”

  “That’s right.” King crossed one leg over another. Mr. Casual. “Is it possible she and your father were having an affair?”

  The look of incredulity on Emily’s face seemed genuine. “Seriously? She’s like thirty and Dad was in his sixties. I don’t think so.”

  “Is it possible?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Dad was devoted to the memory of my mom. If he had been seeing someone, I would have known.” She shook her head again. “He would never do that.”

  Megan knew King was thinking of two potential scenarios. A love triangle—two men after the same woman, and the deaths were related to a lovers’ quarrel. Or Ted was blackmailing Ophelia or Otto over an illicit affair—ending in two deaths.

  “You never heard your father talk about Ophelia?” King pressed.

  “Only in the context of Oktoberfest.”

  “And then because…”

  “Because he was damn bitter that he wasn’t chosen as the sponsoring brewery. He saw it as his ticket to success here in Winsome, something he desperately needed.” Emily held the Chief’s gaze. “And deserved.”

  King and the uniformed officer exchanged a look.

  “Assuming this wasn’t his own doing—and to be clear, we haven’t ruled that out—do you have any idea whether a customer may have wanted to do him harm? Or maybe someone he was doing business with?”

  “No.” Emily let out a long, low sob. “No one who knew him would want to hurt him.”

  “Emily, we will need more access to your father’s things. At your residence, here, and at the brewery. Will that be a problem? I’ve asked for a warrant, but it would make things easier if you give permission.”

  Emily nodded. “Whatever you need.” Megan handed her a tissue, which she used to dab her eyes and blow her nose. “Just find who did this.”

  “Will you be staying here? We need to know where to find you.” King’s voice was soft. “But I don’t think you should be alone.”

  “I guess I—we—can stay with my ex.”

  “She’ll stay with us,” Megan said quickly. “There’s room at the farm.” There was no way she’d let Emily and her daughter return to her ex, not if the rumors of his bullying behavior were true. And of course King was right. She shouldn’t be alone.

  Emily nodded gratefully.

  “It’s settled then. I’ll have more questions, so if you go anywhere else, call me.” King stood, the signal to go. He stopped short of the door. “Emily, is it possible your ex did something to your father? Maybe over anger that he took you and your daughter in?”

  “No. My former husband is in Ohio. And he doesn’t have the money to hire someone. Besides, his anger is at me, not my dad.” She stood, drawing in an audible breath. “Don’t waste time looking at Kent. Or me. Find my dad’s killer. Because I know in my heart that my father was murdered.”

  “Peanuts.” Denver sighed. “I have now officially seen everything.”

  “It must have been awful. Finding Ted the way you did.”

  “Aye.” A shadow fell across Denver’s face. “But worse for Mrs. Kennedy. I’m afraid she could not hold down her bacon or her sausages.”

  They were at Denver’s home, sitting out back with the dogs. His Great Dane brought Megan a tennis ball. She threw it, and the dog stood there, watching it fly.

  “He only likes to see you work, that silly beast.” Denver reached over and petted the dog behind the ears absentmindedly. “Doesn’t actually fetch anything. Will sit here while you run across the yard and get that bloody ball yourself.”

  Megan smiled. All of Denver’s dogs—all five—were rescues. And a motley crew, at that.

  “Emily’s convinced it was murder. What’s your medical opinion?”

  “He died from an allergic reaction, that much seemed apparent. The question is whether the poor laddie was moved, and whether he was fed something with peanuts—forcibly or through trickery.” Denver frowned. “I suppose it could have been an accident. He had clearly been drinking. The smell of liquor in that shed was strong.”

  Megan walked the length of the fenced-in yard, retrieved the tennis ball, and threw it to Denver’s Golden Retriever, who seemed much happier to actually fetch the toy than the Great Dane had. Back at the deck, she reached over her head, stretching her sore back.

  She said, “The police are treating Ted’s death as suspicious, which is the right call, I think. I’m anxious to see if that changes once the scene of his death has been analyzed.”

  “Aye, they called me in again to ask some questions. They want me to stay mum on the topic, should the media, or anyone, ask. Official reason is asphyxiation due to allergic shock. That is all I am to say.”

  “Same here. King didn’t even want me to tell Bibi, but with Emily coming to stay, I had to tell my grandmother.” Megan threw the ball for the Golden again. “King said yes. What else could he do?”

  Denver’s gaze followed the dog as she raced across the yard. He looked troubled. “How are things with Emily, poor lassie?”

  “She’s only been there since yesterday. Bibi has taken to the baby like a child with a puppy, and I think my grandmother’s presence has had a calming effect on Emily.” Megan smiled wistfully. “Bibi is like that. She cares, and people know it.”

  “Aye, that’s true. Is Emily getting on? I know you said last night that she was mostly moping around her room.”

  Megan considered his question. “She helped with the chickens this morning. And she offered to accompany Clover and Alvaro to this afternoon’s Picnic on the Canal. She just learned of her dad’s death, but I think she’s been expecting it. She wants to get out of the house, be busy.”

  “Are you going to the picnic?”

  “I think I need to.”

  Megan tossed the Golden the ball one last time. She needed to head out. In fact, she’d just stopped by to say “hello” to Denver and check on him after Saturday’s calamity. Doctor or no, finding a second body in the super-safe Winsome had to have been a shock.

  “Maybe we can go to the picnic together?” Denver asked. “I’d be happy to help.”

  “The café is making funnel cake and donuts. Feel like spending some time with hot grease and powdered sugar?”

  “Sounds better than many of my afternoons.”

  “Okay, then. Say three o’clock? I can swing by and pick you up.”

  Denver shook his head. “I forgot. I promised to check on one of Mark Gregario’s horses. It took a tumble and now it’s acting lame. How about if I meet you in town?”

  “That works. By the café’s booth, on the south side of the square.”

  Denver looked up. The sky, like Saturday’s, was clear blue, the temperature a bit warmer. Unseasonable for October, but perfect for a fall picnic.

  Denver stood. His broad chest and narrow waist were accentuated by the sweater he’d chosen, and Megan’s mind switched unwittingly to the day Porter was stranded—to se
eing Denver without a shirt by the side of the road. Which inevitably made her think of the solar field and Otto Vance. And Lana Vance. Lana had stopped by to see Megan, and had since also called, but Megan had forgotten in the midst of everything else. She wondered now what Otto’s widow had wanted.

  Megan glanced at her watch. If she stopped by to see Lana now, she could still get changed in time to help Clover and Alvaro set up for the picnic. She stood on tippy-toe and gave Denver a kiss.

  “You’re off then?”

  “I am. I’ll see you this afternoon?”

  “Aye.” He hugged her, and she sank into his embrace. “Do ye want to come back here afterwards, Meg?”

  She knew what he meant, and she did want to. She really did. “I shouldn’t leave Bibi home alone with Emily and the baby. Not with everything—”

  Denver put two fingers on Megan’s lips to quiet her. He leaned down for another kiss, this one heavier, more demanding.

  “It’s okay,” he said. There was a husky undertone to his voice that quickened Megan’s breath. “Another time.”

  Twenty-One

  Megan started with the Vance Brew Pub. A sign on the wooden door of the tavern read “Oktoberfest Special: Any Vance Brew on Tap $3.” Inside, the place felt packed. Every bar seat, every table was taken. The Rolling Stones’ “Start Me Up” blared from overhead speakers. The air smelled of wood smoke from the corner fireplace, fried foods, and beer. And bodies. Lots of chatting, laughing bodies.

  A petite blond with a full chest and sunny smile stood behind the bar. It took Megan a moment to recognize Vance’s youngest daughter, Hedy. Megan greeted her, and once Hedy was free from serving customers, asked whether Lana was there.

  “Afraid not. Mom’s not been herself since Dad passed. She’s likely home. Sleeping.”

  “She was looking for me late last week. Thought I’d stop by to check on her.”

  The young woman nodded. “That’s really nice of you. Maybe try the house?”

  “I will.”

  “The café did such a nice job at Dad’s funeral,” Hedy said. “Dad would have loved it.”