Greenhouse Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1-6

by Wendy Tyson

  “Yes, but who knows for how long. I heard that Denver’s Aunt Eloise is working with the placement agency to get him help—and a good lawyer.”

  “Not a public defender?”

  Clover cleared her throat. “The kid has money.”

  Megan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I just assumed…I guess I was wrong to do so.”

  Clover unfurled herself. Standing, she raised her arms over her head and stretched. “Eloise would know more, but she probably won’t tell you. I bet if you do some digging, though, you can find out more about Dillon’s family. His dad was a big shot in the wrestling industry. They lived north of here. Near Allentown.”

  “I’ll have to look into it.” Megan glanced around the farm, thinking about what else she wanted in her salad. Thinking about Dillon and his parents. Thinking about Bobby and Winsome. “Did Bobby say anything about the Pioneer Village School?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Just curious if he mentioned it.”

  “I’m sure he and his officers were there, but beyond that I don’t know anything.” Clover looked toward the barn. “Can I meet this pig of yours before dinner?”

  “Sure. Want to take Camilla some apples? She loves them.”

  “Of course!”

  “Head to the kitchen. Bibi probably has a pile sliced up for the pig.” Megan smiled. “She’ll tell you they’re for a pie. Don’t believe her.”

  Clover laughed. “Your grandmother always was a secret softy.”

  Denver joined them for dinner. Clover stayed because King was out again, working on the murder case. Bibi placed the salad on the table along with two homemade dressings and a loaf of sourdough bread. She dished out grilled cheese sandwiches to everyone except Clover. Avocado toast went in her spot at the table.

  “Bonnie! You remembered.” Clover hugged her. “I love avocado toast.”

  Bibi fought a smile. “You’re going to waste away on this diet.”

  “It’s a lifestyle, Bibi, not a diet.”

  Denver slid into his spot at the table. Megan noticed the shadows under his eyes, the extra growth of beard on his face. Perhaps Bobby King wasn’t the only one not sleeping.

  “Denver,” Bibi said. “I’m glad you made it. Have some salad.” She heaped salad on his plate, then cut him a thick slice of sourdough. “Butter?”

  “A sandwich, salad, bread, and butter, Bonnie? Are ye trying to fatten me up?”

  “I’m helping you keep your energy up.”

  “She’s trying to tell you that you look tired.” Clover shoved a piece of bread in her mouth—sans butter. “And she’s right.”

  “I’ve had a few night calls.”

  “Is that it?” Clover eyed him over her toast. Softly, she said, “Or maybe it has something to do with what happened at the park.”

  “Clover,” Megan said, “pass the salad, please?”

  “Speaking of what happened, that man came into the café again today, fists swinging,” Clover said to Megan, oblivious to the tension in the room. “Xavier? Went after the other one. I think his name is Jatin?”

  Denver looked suddenly alert. “What happened?”

  “I have no idea. One minute Jatin was sitting at a table, drinking coffee and eating a slice of pie, and the next Xavier was there. He shouted something, the place got quiet, and Alvaro asked them to leave.”

  “Did they?” Denver asked.

  Clover nodded. “Jatin was already half out the door. Xavier gave Alvaro some lip and then he disappeared too.”

  Bibi poured maple vinaigrette on her salad. She put the Mason jar down and said, “This town feels like it’s going to explode. I went to Bridge last night, and the murder was the only thing we discussed. What happened, who did it, why.” The look she gave Denver exuded empathy. “Of course, everyone assumes the boy did it.”

  “Of course,” Denver said.

  “I can’t see a young man doing that, not without great provocation,” Bibi said. “Boys turn anger outward, girls inward, if you ask me, so I could see a boy getting that angry. But not for no reason. A punch, a tantrum? But that?” She shook her head vehemently, side to side. “Not without a major incident beforehand.”

  “And if there had been a major incident, you would think someone would have heard something,” Clover said.

  Megan wasn’t so sure. The area was wooded, and the rest of the students were involved with other activities. She stayed quiet, though—and watched Denver.

  “Bonnie,” he said calmly, “what if I told you the boy had a troubled past. That he witnessed his father harm his mother in a way that led to her death? Would that change your mind about him?”

  Bibi sat back, away from the table. “I’m not an expert in child psychology.”

  “But you’ve seen a lot in your eighty-five years, Bonnie.”

  “Sadly, yes, I have. And people never fail to surprise me—for the good they do, and the evil.”

  Denver said, “Please. What do you think?”

  Megan reached across the table and took Denver’s hand. His former friend was dead, his aunt’s foster son a potential murderer. Megan sensed he didn’t know in what ring to toss his hat, if any at all.

  “I think a young man capable of such an angry, heinous act would either be fully without conscience or would have given some indication of severe mental illness or anger issues before now. I don’t know him, but I know Eloise. We haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I respect her as a doctor and a person. If she believes this boy, I believe her. And from what I have heard in Winsome’s version of Whisper Down the Lane, the boy is no psychopath.”

  Denver nodded. “Aye, I would agree.”

  Bibi leaned forward, eyes on Denver. “With all he went through, he’s an easy answer to a hard question. But while the town and press are focused on him, someone else may be getting away with murder.”

  Denver didn’t want to talk about it, so Megan kissed him goodbye and let him go. It broke her heart to watch him climb into his 4Runner, but she knew any pressure would be resented and result only in his retreating further. This was his way: stew until ready to talk. She understood; it was her way too.

  Back inside, Megan brought the laptop downstairs and set it up on the kitchen table. She could hear the murmur of Bibi’s game show coming from the sitting room. Sadie and Gunther lay at her feet, one next to another, and Gunther was snoring gently. The window was open, and the air flowing in was cool and welcome.

  Megan pulled up a search engine and typed in what little she knew about Dillon’s family. It didn’t take long to find the headlines: major news in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, a minor blip on the national radar.

  Former pro-wrestler injures wife in household incident.

  Pro-wrestler indicted for domestic abuse.

  And the saddest: Child looks on as mother takes fatal fall.

  The facts were stated pretty consistently. Randy “Titus” Brown, former pro-wrestler, was arguing with his wife. She fell down the stairs, landing at the bottom, near her then thirteen-year-old son. He called 911. Her neck was broken. She died at the hospital hours later.

  What was at issue was whether the father pushed the mother. The boy said no, but he didn’t see the actual fall. He came running when he heard her scream. Angry text messages leading up to the incident swayed the jury that Susette Brown was, at best, pushed by her husband in anger, and that it was possible her death had been premeditated. Titus got life in prison, and with no relatives willing or able to take the boy, Dillon went into the system.

  Not only was Dillon viewed as a problem child, but he was the son of a pro-wrestler. No wonder the media was all over this one. His name had been leaked by someone, and despite his age, the press was bringing up his parents’ ordeal again. What a hell to have to re-live.

  Megan was about to close the laptop when she
remembered her chat with Martine. She wondered what Xavier’s fight with Jatin had been about…and what had him so angry he’d shouted in public.

  Too tired to do much else, Megan looked up BOLD Pharmaceuticals. The “About Us” page read just as she’d expect a relatively new start-up to read. Lots of glossy promises, lots of caveats in small print. It looked like they were working on some encouraging new drugs for Multiple Sclerosis and Parkinson’s disease. Megan expanded her search, looking for BOLD in the news. A few press releases, many scholarly articles in medical journals. Again, what she would expect.

  She expanded further, using each of the people who worked at BOLD. Chase’s name brought up articles on his murder—so many that she switched to Jatin out of sheer frustration. Nothing on Jatin, Xavier, Barbara, or Martine jumped out at her—just the normal work profiles, and for Chase, Barbara, and Martine, private social media pages.

  Bibi came in to say good night, and Sadie followed her upstairs. Frustrated, Megan turned off her computer—it was time for her and Gunther to do night rounds and go to bed. On impulse, she switched her laptop back on and searched for Dillon Brown. Not an uncommon name, and her search turned up with many hits. She started to narrow it, and finally found his Instagram account under DDBrown—Dillon David Brown or, as his profile stated, Dungeons and Dragons Brown.

  Dillon had uploaded four photos: two of Eloise’s dogs, one of a horse, and one of him standing by a tall, brunette woman with broad shoulders and a tired smile. There was no mistaking their relationship—this was his mother, Susette Brown. He had been younger in the photo, maybe twelve. They were standing arm-in-arm outside. The multi-colored leaves in the background said it was autumn. Both wore long-sleeved dragon t-shirts. Dillon was grinning, a plastic sword in one hand, a wand in the other.

  The Renaissance Faire?

  A young boy playing fantasy. Hardly the profile of a murderer.

  Gunther put his great, white head on Megan’s lap and whined. He wanted to check on the goats and Camilla, his internal body clock as well-tuned as any instrument. Megan shut off her laptop, for the night this time.

  But as she slipped on her sneakers, she thought about Bibi’s wise words. Psychopath or anger management issues? The boy in that photo clearly loved his mother. Could that have been enough to trigger an outburst? But why Chase? Photos of Titus Brown bore no resemblance to the handsome Chase Mars. Titus was tall and thick, with a barrel chest and pockmarked face. Chase was all-American handsome. Personality similarities? She didn’t know.

  Megan opened the door, and she and Gunther slipped out into the breezy night. She paused on the step, hearing something from afar. The hair on her neck stood at attention, and she felt Gunther stiffen beside her.

  She heard it again and relaxed. Just an owl, hooting from deep in the woods.

  Thirteen

  The news came with a phone call from Denver the next morning. The psychiatric evaluation was complete, and Dillon Brown was deemed well enough to be released from the hospital. Eloise was picking him up later that day, and Denver would be accompanying her. Did Megan want to go too?

  Yes, she did.

  Megan spoke with Clay and Porter and reviewed the farm chores for the day. It was time to plant the fields of organic corn seed, a labor-intensive job. She’d help until she had to leave, and after that, Porter and Clay would finish. Raising corn without pesticides or herbicides meant clean beds and plenty of attention, but the result was worth it. Fresh, sweet, crisp ears, and because organic corn was harder to come by and harder to raise, a premium price.

  Clay had invented a small seed-dropping motorized car that he would use once the bed was ready. Bibi loved watching it roll over the soil, and she’d no doubt pull a lawn chair up for the fun. In the meantime, the three of them would be out there making sure the beds were weed-free and well nourished.

  At noon, Megan went inside for a sandwich and a shower. She changed from jeans and a t-shirt to a pair of pressed black pants and a plum-colored wrap shirt. She gave Bibi a kiss on the way out, but her grandmother grabbed her arm gently to stop her.

  “Your Aunt Sarah called,” she said. “She mentioned that she’d like you to come by later.”

  “She could have called me directly.”

  “She knows how busy you are.”

  “I am pretty tied up, Bibi.”

  “I know. I told her that.” Bibi pushed a piece of hair away from Megan’s face and studied her granddaughter. “You look like your mother,” she said—warmly. Then she changed the subject again quickly. “Sarah has some information she thought might help. She’s working on a book and will be around all day. Go when it’s convenient.”

  “Information that will help with what?”

  Bibi shrugged. “She didn’t say, but I’d guess it has something to do with Denver’s friend and that boy, Dillon.”

  Sarah Birch, Megan’s great-aunt on her father’s side, was an enigma in Winsome. A famous mystery author with numerous awards to her name, Sarah chose to live quietly in her cottage on the outskirts of Winsome. Some called her a modern-day Agatha Christie, and while everyone in Winsome knew who she was, they were willing to keep her identity and whereabouts secret—all the while relishing having a celebrity in their midst.

  Megan had just discovered her aunt a few years ago. Their relationship had been a rocky one, but the more Megan let her guard down, the more she came to respect—if not like—her aunt.

  “Fine,” she said, kissing the top of Bibi’s head. “I’ll swing by later this afternoon.”

  “Here.” Bibi handed Megan a flat Tupperware container. Inside, Megan could see the swirled tops of chocolate-frosted cupcakes. “I know the boy is going home.” She shrugged. “All kids like cupcakes.”

  “These look amazing.” Megan hugged her grandmother as tightly as she dared. “Maybe you could visit him once he’s home,” she said. “I have a feeling Dillon might like that even more than these cupcakes.”

  Megan and Denver waited in the visitor’s lobby on the psychiatric wing of the hospital while Eloise met with the hospital staff and the placement agency. Denver was quiet, but his knee bounced up and down, and his hand gripped Megan’s own. They stared at a muted talk show on the television, neither of them talking.

  “Is this a good idea?” Megan whispered.

  “I can’t say I’m thrilled.”

  “Where are the police? Is Bobby here?”

  Denver shook his head. “Dillon hasn’t been arrested, the hospital says they have no reason to keep him, and the only other alternative is a group home or a different foster home. Eloise put her foot down and said she wants him back with her.” He let go of Megan’s hand. “What do you think, Megs?”

  “I’m not sure having him at Eloise’s home is wise. What if he acts out? Can she handle that?” Alone, Megan thought, with the boy on ten acres. It was one thing to believe in his innocence. It was another to bank on it.

  “I know. That’s my worry too.”

  “If you want to stay with her, your dogs can stay with me.”

  Denver smiled. “Eloise will have none of that. She wants the home as normalized as possible for Dillon.”

  “Eloise never struck me as the maternal type.”

  “Aye, I know. This boy has struck a chord with her.”

  Megan watched as a couple walked into the visitor’s room. They both looked worn and pale. They sat together on a couch, entwined around each other, their blank expressions reminiscent of refugees. Megan felt a surge of sympathy. How quickly life can turn.

  Eloise walked in and waved to Denver and Megan, her mouth set in a stern line. Denver and Megan rose and followed her to Dillon’s room, past the uniformed officer that still stood guard outside his room. “For his protection,” Eloise whispered. “Not because he’s dangerous.”

  They found the boy standing by his bed. A small duffel bag, open on
a chair, had been stuffed with pajamas and a blue terry robe. One arm and the head of a Teddy bear stuck out amidst the clothing.

  Dillon’s eyes were half closed. His shoulders slumped, his head was hung nearly to his chest. His entire persona screamed of dejection. Megan brushed aside a deep urge to go to him, to hug him. When she and Denver entered the room, he looked up from underneath his mop of hair and nodded ever so slightly.

  “Hello, Dillon,” Denver said. “Are ye packed and ready to leave this place?”

  Dillon nodded. Eloise zipped up the duffel bag and turned toward the nurse, a young man in his thirties.

  “Do we have a safe way out of here?” she asked.

  To avoid the press, was the part she left out. But the nurse seemed to implicitly understand what she was asking, and he nodded. “We’ll take the service elevator. If you want, you can have someone pull a car around back, near the dumpsters.”

  They all agreed this was the best plan. “It’s why we took Denver’s SUV,” Eloise explained to the nurse. “The press have seen me coming and going. They don’t know my nephew.”

  The man smiled. He turned that smile to Dillon and said softly, “Will you be okay, son?” He meant the words kindly, but at the mention of the word “son,” Dillon flinched. The nurse frowned. “I’m sorry,” he said to Eloise. “That was insensitive.”

  Eloise’s smile was wan. “It’s okay—you meant no harm. Dillon has a lot to deal with.” She turned to Dillon. “Dr. Finn will get the car. Megan, Nurse Anderson, and I will escort you out the back door. It’s just for your privacy, Dillon. When we get home, you’ll get to see the dogs. They’ve been waiting for you.”

  At the mention of the dogs, Dillon’s face relaxed. Just a little bit.

  Denver left the room. The psychiatric wing was a locked area, so he wasn’t worried anyone would follow him from the room. To be careful, though, he told Megan he’d planned a circuitous route back to his car.

  Megan and Eloise grabbed Dillon’s insubstantial belongings. As they left the room, Eloise stopped. Dillon was wearing a black hoodie, and she faced him and pulled the hood up, shielding his face from public view. Before she turned to leave again, she tilted his head back slightly with her hand and forced him to look her in the eyes.