Greenhouse Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1-6

by Wendy Tyson

  Frustrated, Megan again read the Jenners’ announcement. She skimmed the description of the venue, the food, the bridal party, the prominent guests in attendance…and then she stopped. A picture on the bottom of the page caught her attention. She looked at it again, her breath catching in her chest. There, next to Janice and her father, stood a short man. Bald head, sinewy runner’s body. A brunette clung to his arm, a glass of champagne in her hand. He wore a three-piece Italian black suit. She wore an ankle-length ruby-colored gown. The caption said, “The bride, Janice Dilworth Jenner, and father-of-the-bride Kevin Jenner, with New York developer Scott Hanson and his wife, Leigh.”

  She’d met these people before. Her mind flashed back to the open house at Washington Acres. The couple from New Jersey with the cute little girl. The woman’s interest in Winsome, the man’s quiet confidence. Scott and Leigh Hanson.

  A developer and his wife. Land.

  Megan’s head spun with the possibilities. She searched Scott Hanson and found a dozen hits immediately. Known for large developments in New Jersey and New York, he was a proponent of planned communities. His latest, Peaceful Valley Acres, sat atop a hundred and forty acres of former New Jersey dairy farm. Two hundred “carriage house” townhomes, fifty condominiums, one hundred single family mega-homes, stores, restaurants, playgrounds. All with a nice iron gate keeping the riffraff out and the wealthy in.

  He hoped to develop an even larger community. One for “sophisticated” professionals.

  Megan could barely breathe. Synapses were firing, puzzle pieces were falling into place.

  She dialed Denver’s number, anxious to test her theory out on someone. He answered immediately. “Can’t talk now, Megs. I’m with Ophelia. She wanted to review a few things for the article.”

  Megan said fine and hung up, disappointed. She couldn’t very well tell him about Ophelia with Ophelia in his living room.

  Ophelia in his living room.

  Megan forced air into her lungs, again and again. A planned community. A spy in the house. A spy in Denver’s house.

  Megan had no idea how all this fit together, but she had a feeling that Scott and Leigh Hanson had not shown up at Washington Acres by accident.

  Megan was the only one awake at midnight when she saw lights coming up her driveway. She stared out the kitchen window, surprised to see Denver’s Toyota pulling to a stop beside the porch. Her mind flip-flopped with emotions—unsure where to land. Anger? Jealousy? Happiness? Terror? The truth was, she’d been fighting her internal demons ever since that first kiss in his bungalow more than six months earlier. The fight was still raging. Her heart and head slugged it out while she opened the door.

  “What brings you here?” Megan asked.

  Denver was wearing faded Levi’s and a hungry look in his eyes. He didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

  He stripped off his coat and laid his hat on the table.

  Megan took his hand, led him toward her. Her fears fell away as the distance between them closed.

  Thirty-One

  The alarm went off at 3:18 in the morning, waking Megan from a fitful sleep. She opened her eyes in a panic, then felt her dresser until her hand hit the tiny egg-shaped device connected to the camera. She hit the off button and leapt out of bed, grabbing her phone. She sprinted to the window, looking for light in the barn, and dialed 911. She got through immediately and reported an intruder at the farm. It could have gone off accidentally—Clay said that could happen—but Megan wasn’t taking any chances.

  She was alone, but the warmth of Denver’s body stayed with her, calming her nerves. She pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt and waited. The police arrived by 3:29. They found the barn empty, except for Sammy, who was awake and whining in her pen.

  “Doesn’t look like anyone was here,” the first officer said. “But we’ll look around.”

  The two cops made a round of the property, sweeping their floodlights in the shadowed corners. Nothing. Chagrined, Megan thanked them for coming. She’d look at the camera footage in the morning to be safe, but it seemed like a false alarm.

  Sleep was hard to come by. At 5:50, Megan crawled out of bed and into the shower. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, tracing the curves of her body with one hand, just as Denver had hours before. She saw her mother’s clear Irish complexion and broad high-cheekboned face and her father’s eyes. The face staring back at her looked tired though—tired and pale.

  She toweled off quickly in the cool air and dressed in canvas cargo pants, a black turtleneck sweater, and boots. She dried her hair and pulled it back into a loose ponytail. She took her time brushing her teeth and putting on moisturizer.

  She was stalling. She couldn’t help it.

  At 6:22, she made coffee and wolfed down a blueberry muffin and a large mug of java. Bibi was still asleep—unusual for her—and the quiet in the kitchen was deafening. Megan talked to Sadie and Gunther, hungry for company. At 6:46, she headed back to the barn, a pit forming in her stomach. She climbed a ladder, carefully detached the lens and memory stick, and walked the camera back to the house.

  At 7:12, she hit play.

  At 7:14, she saw him. Thick head of gray hair. Beefy shoulders. When he knelt down to pet Sammy, his face remained in the shadows.

  Megan watched the murky footage again and again. Nothing more was visible. She had hair and shoulders and an excited dog. Could have been anyone.

  Anyone.

  He looked, however, like Marty Jenner. Same full head of gray hair, same bulky shoulders. Megan picked up the phone. This time she called King directly.

  Megan waited until ten to dial her old firm in Chicago. She knew the person she wanted to speak with would be in by seven Central time, but she gave her another hour to get settled. Tina Yang picked up immediately.

  “I thought it might be you. Recognized the area code.”

  Megan was happy to hear Tina’s voice. They’d been summer associates together at the firm, and while Megan quit to become a farmer a year before she was up for partnership, Tina, a real estate attorney—a damn good one—had remained. She was a partner now.

  “What can I do for you?” Tina asked. “Buying another farm?”

  Megan laughed. “Not just yet. I actually have a whole different kind of question for you. About developers.”

  After a few moments of small talk, Megan gave Tina a quick summary of her concerns. “So if someone was trying to buy up land in Winsome, wouldn’t they have to go to the zoning board first? And under Sunshine laws, we would know about it. They would have to notify the public about the meeting.”

  “Not necessarily. Think about it; why go to the trouble of getting approvals if you may not have the land locked up?”

  “So you buy the land first?”

  “You can, certainly. But a lot of developers go through a promoter. Think of a promoter like a matchmaker. They’ll find the property, determine suitability, and eventually work with the township to procure approvals.”

  Megan frowned. “Sounds like a great deal of risk.”

  “There can be, but there can also be a huge upside. When the developer gets the land, the hard part has been taken care of. The promoter, whose interests are usually aligned with the landowners, can get a big cut of the profits.”

  Megan closed her bedroom door and sat down hard on her bed. “So no one in the town would have to know until everything had been lined up.”

  “Usually people talk. Once the developer—or promoter—comes knocking, word gets around fast.”

  “And then someone could act to get a better price or to stop the deal.”

  “Theoretically. Depending, of course, on the local zoning rules and what the property will be used for.” Tina paused. “Is there development happening in Winsome? Cause it would be a shame to erode that small-town charm.”

  “I don’t know. No one has said a word
, which I found odd.” Megan left out the fact that two people were dead—and definitely not speaking.

  Tina said, “NDAs.”

  “Non-disclosure agreements?”

  “Why not? I said promoter or developer, but the truth is that the deal can be a hybrid, and much more complicated. Your promoter or developer could be buying options to purchase land. To get paid for the option—which could be a handsome sum—the landowner must agree not to tell anyone about the deal.” Tina paused. “Imagine you’re a promoter. You see potential in an area, but you don’t want to go to a developer until you’re sure landowners will sell. You start approaching landowners. You offer them a sum of money—say $20,000—for the option to buy their land if certain conditions are met. To get that money, they have to agree not to mention the deal.”

  “The NDA.”

  “Exactly.”

  Megan thought about what Tina was suggesting. “Then once all of the properties are lined up, the promoter can sell the options to the developer for more than they paid.”

  “That’s right. Or they can develop the land themselves.”

  Bingo. Megan considered Sauer and his mysterious conversation with Brazzi, a real estate attorney. Suddenly the lack of chickens in his chicken barn made sense. If you were planning to sell, why replace the animals? You’d be downsizing, purging the farm of assets before the sale. And if there was an NDA in place, you wouldn’t be able to mention a word. Nor would your attorney.

  She thought about Hedy’s comments the night before, Lana’s sudden reticence to talk. Perhaps someone had gotten to the Vance family. They owned a good chunk of handsome land in Winsome. An option to buy their land could come with an NDA—and enough money to shut up a grieving anger-fueled widow. And if that widow suspected her late husband of infidelity, she might be willing to take the money and run far from the business that introduced him to his lover.

  While all of this made sense, it didn’t explain either Otto’s or Ted’s death.

  Megan asked Tina, “What might keep a developer from biting even after the promoter has done his or her work?”

  “Hmm. Good question. Again, it depends on the project. If it’s big enough, the developer will want everything to be perfect. He or she will be taking on a lot of risk.”

  Megan thought about the articles she’d found the night before about Scott Hanson’s current projects. “How about for a large planned community?”

  “How large?”

  “Couple hundred acres. Stores, restaurants. A gated one-stop shop for the discerning resident.”

  “Oh, man, pulling something like that off would require location, location, location.”

  “Commuting distance to Philly, Allentown, New York City, and parts of New Jersey?”

  “Are you talking Winsome? Add in a lovely historical town setting, pastoral views, and a decent school district and you just may have a winner.” Another pause, then Tina said, “But the stars would have to align, because opposition could be steep. Zoning, taxes. Again, risk-reward analysis for the buyer. Everything would have to line up.”

  Darn right, Megan mused, thinking of Jenner. So why not limit those risks any way you can?

  Thirty-Two

  “Megan, why in the world would Jenner be here just to see his dog? And if that were his dog, why wouldn’t anyone else know it? I’ve heard of hiding a mistress, but a dog?” King shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  Megan had to admit, now that she’d had some caffeine and time to think, this felt like a long shot. But Jenner was the only person who made sense as a promoter. And as a promoter, he’d have the most to lose.

  They were at the farm’s kitchen table. King played the footage again and again, just as she had. “Well, it’s something, I guess. Although not much.” King closed the laptop. He sat back in his chair and stretched. “Just doesn’t carry himself like Jenner. Not that I can tell from this grainy footage.”

  The last few weeks had taken their toll on him, and King rubbed at the bruised-looking skin under his blue eyes. “I’ll need to take the camera recordings. Maybe our team can do something with them.” He tapped a finger on the table top next to the untouched plate of banana bread Bibi had given him. “I just can’t figure out why a murderer would take the risk to sneak in here to visit a dog.”

  “It seems out of character, I agree,” Megan said.

  “Maybe he’s not the murderer.” Bibi placed a mug of hot coffee in front of King. “Drink, Bobby. You look like you need it.”

  “Thanks, Bonnie.” King took the mug. He swallowed the hot liquid and placed the mug down on the table with a bang. Coffee sloshed out. “Maybe your grandmother’s right, Megan. Maybe the dog is unrelated.”

  “Then why not just ask for your dog back if you know who has it? This footage proves that someone was watching me. Someone who followed me here and knows I have his dog.” She frowned. “Someone who doesn’t want to risk coming forward. And who looks an awful lot like Jenner.”

  “That he does.”

  Megan stood to refill her own coffee. When she sat back down, she said to Bibi, “When you came across Otto, did you call Jenner?”

  “No. Just the police. Once I could get my darn phone to work right.” Bibi finally sat down at the table. “Why?”

  Megan didn’t answer right away. Rather, she said to King, “Did you call Jenner?”

  “We did. Once we confirmed Otto’s death. It seemed only right, it being his solar farm and all.”

  “How long did it take Jenner to arrive?”

  King’s eyes narrowed. “Not sure—we were kind of busy with Otto. Anyway, I’m the one who called him, and I remember he said it would take a while. He was down near Philly.”

  “Driving around?”

  “In his car. Alone. Why are you asking?”

  “I think you should check the cell tower pings, Bobby. See if you can triangulate his whereabouts when he was called. And maybe the EZ-Pass records. If he came from Philly, he may have taken the Turnpike.”

  “No EZ Pass. We checked. Someone’s already working on the cell tower—as a precaution because it was his property. Why?”

  “I think he was in Winsome.” Megan shared a high-level synopsis of her discussion with Tina and what she’d learned about Scott Hanson, the man who’d attended her open house.

  King’s skin paled, but not as much as Bibi’s.

  King said, “A planned development? Here? That would ruin this town.” He shook his head. “I haven’t heard a peep about development. You’d think I would have.”

  “Not with NDAs in place and lots of money to lose. Look, I don’t have hard proof, but think about it. Sauer’s acting odd—no chickens, no events on his property, yet he gets the sponsorship for Oktoberfest. Why? Someone wants to increase his farm’s profile and value.”

  “Like the sister-in-law of the man who serves to profit,” Bibi said.

  “Right.”

  King took a deep breath, let it out slowly.

  “You think Jenner recommended Ophelia so that he could help put this deal through?”

  “Why not? If you knew you had a lot to lose—likely millions in promotional money just for matchmaking this deal—what better way to highlight the perfection of Winsome than have someone talented do it for you? Oktoberfest wasn’t Jenner’s idea, but it did present a fantastic opportunity to both smooth the way for a developer and build some good will with the town.”

  “It was Otto’s idea.”

  King and Megan turned to look at Bonnie. Her hand was shaking, and her mouth was set in a firm narrow line. Bibi repeated, “Oktoberfest was Otto’s idea.”

  It took Megan a moment to understand what she was suggesting. “You think Otto learned about the plan and confronted Jenner?”

  Bibi nodded.

  King said, “Makes sense.”

  Megan con
sidered the facts. Otto’s anger the morning of his death, his race to the solar field, uncharacteristically bypassing a stranded Brian Porter. Was he heading to meet Jenner? Or Ted? She said, “It does make sense. Otto would have been steamed.”

  King frowned. “You’ve both presented an interesting possibility, but I can’t get any kind of warrant on an intriguing supposition.”

  “You can dig without a warrant, Bobby, and you know it. The cell towers, for one. Once you have your records you can see if Jenner was lying about being near Philly. If he wasn’t, then he couldn’t have killed Otto.”

  King nodded reluctantly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You can talk with Sauer too.”

  “If there’s an NDA, he won’t talk,” Bibi said.

  “He will if compelled by law,” King said. “Let me start with Jenner.”

  “Even if Jenner hurt Otto, why Teddy?” Bibi asked.

  “Maybe Ted knew about the deal. Was threatening to go public.” King rubbed his temples. “Otto could have told Ted in the course of their arguments about Oktoberfest.”

  Clarity came on like a floodlight. Megan sat up straighter. “There’s another possibility.”

  They both looked at her, waiting. She shared her conversation with Brazzi. “I confirmed last night that there are liens against the Kuhl acreage, which is located by the Sauers’ farm.” Megan emphasized the last words.

  “So?” Bibi said.

  “I’m afraid I’m not following you,” King said.

  “The Kuhl property is an eyesore. The broken-down trailers, the overgrown fields. What if Jenner approached Ted first, hoping to secure an option for that property—to get it out of the way? But Ted said no. He knew to sell the land he would likely have to satisfy the liens—leaving him no better off than he was before.”

  “And when he figured out what Jenner was up to, and why Otto got the sponsorship over him, he told Otto,” King finished.