Greenhouse Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1-6

by Wendy Tyson

  “No. Olive claims that Penny had already left for Connecticut. She was due home for work—she taught piano at a private school in Weston—and Olive was to remain here to continue the search for Claire.”

  “And who is Claire? Another sister? A family friend?”

  “Baby sister. There were four siblings, according to Olive. Penelope was the oldest. Claire is the baby.”

  “Quite an age gap between sisters.”

  “More than twenty years.”

  “And one is dead, one is missing.”

  King’s smile was tight-lipped. “Yes. And one very much alive and extremely distraught.”

  “There’s so much that doesn’t make sense, like—” Sounds from above silenced Megan mid-sentence. Bibi heading to the bathroom. Megan placed a finger to her lips. Her grandmother needed rest more than Megan needed answers, and Megan thought it unlikely King had come with answers—only more questions.

  King finished his coffee while they waited until Bibi’s door had closed again. Sadie plodded down the stairs and laid by King’s chair. He patted her head absentmindedly, a faraway look in his eyes.

  King said, “Old house, thin walls.”

  “And thin ceilings.” Megan stood up, stretched, and refilled King’s mug. “Why were these sisters here to begin with? David von Tressler’s memorial?”

  “Based on what Olive said, yes—they were here for the memorial.”

  “Had they been in town long?”

  “Just a few days.”

  Megan thought about her conversation with the youngest sister when she dropped her off at the memorial. “Still no sign of Claire?”

  “Nothing. She’s officially missing.”

  “Did you find out what the relationship between them was? Was Claire David’s ex-wife?”

  King smirked. “No. That’s where things get…weird.”

  Megan waited, but when King didn’t say more, she urged him with, “Bobby?”

  “Megan, you do know I’m the one who is supposed to be asking the questions, right?”

  Megan gave him a sheepish grin. “Ask away.”

  “Do you know why Penny’s body was on your property?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You’re sure you don’t know Penny or Olive?”

  “As I told you before, other than a brief encounter at Merry’s, I had never seen them before.”

  King leaned forward. “You have no history with Claire von Tressler?”

  Megan was starting to get alarmed by King’s suddenly serious demeanor. “Bobby, no. And if I did, why would I hide it?” She thought of the paper Merry had found…the one with her law firm information. Irrelevant, she told herself. But was it?

  King sat back. He drained his second mug of coffee. “I’m not trying to alarm you, Megan. The coroner believes Penny Greenleaf was strangled elsewhere and dumped on this property. Someone went to the trouble of bringing a dead body here. That concerns me.”

  “Obviously, that concerns me, too.”

  “And then we have the contractor, Duke.”

  “Did he ever show up?”

  “No,” King said. “No missing person report was ever filed, but given Penny’s murder and his disappearance, we’re looking into it.”

  “So one missing woman, one missing contractor—maybe, and one dead sister.”

  “That about sums it up.” King worried the edge of his empty coffee cup with a calloused fingertip. “I want you to be careful. In fact, it might not be a bad time for you and Bonnie to live with Denver. Just temporarily.”

  “You know I can’t leave. The animals, the crops. This is our busiest season.” She swallowed, tasting the sourness of uncertainty. “We can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  Silence hung between them until King finally stood and placed his cup in the sink. “You’re a stubborn woman. Bonnie’s even worse. Something stinks in Winsome, Megan, and I don’t know where the smell is coming from, and until I do…well, there’s a killer out there.” He placed beefy hands on narrow hips. “I just want you and Bonnie to stay safe.”

  Megan tried hard not to react. He was right; the fact that Penny’s body was found on their property was concerning. It made no sense. Why would the body of a relative stranger to Winsome be brought here? Coincidence? Or—the unspeakable, really—was someone from Winsome involved? Too many questions. No answers.

  “Claire,” Megan said softly. “You said she wasn’t David’s wife? You owe me that.”

  King sighed. “Claire von Tressler wasn’t David’s wife. Get this—that young woman was his stepmother.”

  Megan made her evening rounds with her Polish Tatra Sheepdog, Gunther, by her side. Sensing her angst, the massive dog adhered to her side, his sleek white body on high alert. The chickens were fine, the Pygmy goats, Dimples and Heidi, were nestled in their pen curled around one another like yin and yang. The farm was silent, lit only by a sliver of moon and a canopy of stars—and Megan’s flashlight.

  Tomorrow was the farmers market. She still intended to be there. She checked the Washington Acres barn and found it tightly locked and quiet. Up the hill, across the meadow, sat the Marshall property, dark except for a flood light on the back of the house that illuminated the yard and crime scene. Normally Megan would take a leisurely walk up there and check on the new barn and the construction site. Not tonight. No use asking for trouble, and with her nerves on edge…well, she was already seeing shadows everywhere.

  Gunther growled, stopping Megan from moving farther. “What is it, boy?”

  He crouched low and growled again.

  Megan moved the flashlight to illuminate the fields near the barn. Nothing. But the light only flowed so far. Beyond that, darkness.

  Megan glanced around her before moving backwards, toward the house. Gunther stayed in front of her, his attention beyond the field. Megan’s jaw clenched, her shoulders squared. Had whoever killed Penny returned? Was it really that personal?

  Movement caught the corner of Megan’s eyes. She saw a white flash, and then Gunther relaxed. A bunny. Megan didn’t let her guard down, though. Someone could have scared the rabbit, someone who was still lurking out there.

  Megan called Gunther back to her side. Together they hiked back to the house, which Megan had locked while they were outside. She fumbled for the key and let herself in, grateful for Sadie’s presence on the other side of the door.

  They’d been through a lot at Washington Acres. She would not be scared in her own home. But she would not be stupid, either.

  Tomorrow she’d talk to Clay about an alarm system for the house. Bibi would balk, but that was okay. For some things, it really was better to ask forgiveness rather than permission.

  The sound of a door closing woke Megan from a restless sleep. She sat up quickly and grabbed her phone off the bedside table. Sadie, who lay next to her on the bed, lifted her head, suddenly alert. Footsteps padded up the steps, and as they got closer, Sadie’s posture changed. Her tail wagged against the mattress, her ears lowered. Megan smiled into her pillow, tension draining. No need for alarm. Familiar footsteps.

  Her door opened. Megan could sense rather than see Denver across the room. A few minutes later, she felt his warm body slide into bed, next to hers.

  “I hope you don’t mind, Megs,” he said. “I went home to shower and let out the dogs, but I was feeling lonely and worried.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Megan whispered.

  “Are ye okay?”

  Megan turned to face him. She kissed his lips, then snuggled against his chest. “I am now.”

  Six

  The farm looked friendlier in the light of day.

  Megan, Clay, and Porter were gathering the last of the vegetables for the Winsome farmers market, which was being held down by the canal this year, on the town green. The town c
ommission wanted to bring more people to Canal Street, with its sprinkling of shops and historically-accurate details. This was just fine by Megan. It meant that whatever veggies didn’t sell could easily be carted up to the store for sale or for use by Alvaro at the café. But the space designated to each vendor by the canal was more limited, so Megan had to be thoughtful about which vegetables and fruits to load up on. Tomatoes were always a big seller. So were greens, and she still had plenty of spinach, kale, arugula, and Swiss chard. She’d bring hefty amounts of young onions and new potatoes as well—and a variety of other, less popular, offerings.

  Clay was gently packing one of these lesser sellers—eggplant—into a crate. “So you’re telling me that woman, Claire, was David von Tressler’s stepmother?” Clay asked. He wiped sweat away from his eyes with the back of one well-muscled arm. In his late twenties, Clay looked like a sinewy Jake Gyllenhaal. When he wasn’t farming, he was studying engineering—or spending time with his maybe girlfriend, Emily.

  Porter perked up. “Wasn’t David in his seventies?”

  “Sixty-two,” Megan said, “at least that’s what his obituary says. He was sixty-two, and based on my interaction with Claire, she’s in her early- to mid-thirties.”

  “David’s father is her husband?” Porter asked. He was counting heads of Romaine lettuce and logging the numbers on a piece of paper. “Is or was?”

  “Was. Apparently, the late Martin von Tressler remarried after his second wife died. At the time, Claire was in her late twenties and Martin was eighty-one. He died a few years later.”

  “To put in in perspective,” Porter said, “that’s like your grandmother marrying Clay.”

  Megan let that sink in. “I suppose so.”

  “Is she loaded now?” Porter asked. “That’s why she married the dude, right? Money.”

  Megan did a quick stretch before washing her hands in the barn sink. “I didn’t find much online, but I didn’t search long. The father—Martin—owned a chain of furniture stores across the Northeast. He parleyed his money into investments, and eventually von Tressler Investments was born. The furniture stores and the family’s old mansion are still intact in the city. Best I can tell, David worked for his dad’s company—the parent investment company—until Martin’s death.”

  “His dad’s company—or his company?” Clay asked. “Didn’t David inherit the business?”

  Megan raised a pointer finger. “Good question. I don’t know. I also don’t know whether he had siblings. Normally wills are in the public domain once they’ve been through probate. Martin didn’t die long ago, though, and there could be contention around the terms of the will. I couldn’t find it online.”

  “I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Porter said.

  Clay laughed. “The detective’s in the house.”

  Megan surveyed the barn, ignoring their playful teasing. Crates of tomatoes sat next to boxes of vegetables and cut flowers. Everything needed to be loaded into the truck. The market started in two hours, so they had to get going so they could set up in time.

  “Are you sure want to go?” Clay asked, suddenly serious. “Porter and I can handle it.”

  “I could use the distraction.”

  Clay opened the door and glanced outside. “At least the weather’s holding up. Should be a nice day.”

  “Nice as in ninety degrees and not raining?” Porter asked.

  Clay said, “Nice as in mild and not raining.”

  Megan smiled. “I’ll take that.”

  The trio silently loaded the back of Megan’s truck with goods for the market. Clay filled his SUV, too, and offered to take Porter with him. Gunther galloped from across the yard and stood in front of Megan’s vehicle, begging to go.

  “Why don’t you take him?” Clay said.

  Megan shook her head. Bibi would be here. “I’d rather he stay with my grandmother.”

  Clay’s nod was of the solemn variety. “Makes sense.” He glanced sideways at Megan after Porter had gotten into the car. “People are talking, Megan. You must know that. The body was found here, after all. So few details have been released.”

  It was a small town. Plus, Merry loved to talk—and her shop was arguably where it all started. Add a body on her property, and it was a recipe for gossip galore. “I figured.”

  “Nothing bad…but they’re curious. You might find it weird at the market.”

  “I have to face it one way or another—at the market or at the café.”

  He nodded again. “Are you still doing the Fourth grand opening?”

  Megan looked in the direction of the Marshall house. She couldn’t see the police tape, but she knew it was there. “I don’t see how I can.”

  “We could postpone it until the following weekend.”

  Megan studied her farm manager with warmth in her eyes. He was such a kind soul, always seeing the best in people. “I don’t think so, Clay. I want folks to come to the barn because they want to learn about sustainable living, not because they want to gawk at a crime scene.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “We’ll get through this, but I want to postpone the barn opening indefinitely. Until…until things have died down.”

  She immediately realized her poor choice of words and blushed. If Clay noticed, he didn’t let on. He jogged ahead to his SUV. Megan watched him pull out of the driveway before patting Gunther one more time and making her own way off the property, toward the center of Winsome.

  The farmers market was a bustling affair. The usual Winsome suspects were manning booths—local farmers, craftspeople, bakers, chefs, and artists displaying a wide range of products and prepared foods. The atmosphere was jovial, the weather sunny and mild, the scents of doughnuts and caramel corn fighting it out with Joe Riley’s smoked brisket. Megan and Clay arranged their two tables, neatly stacking their offerings in a cornucopia of colors and shapes. Porter was reorganizing the truck bed so they could easily reach extra produce if they needed it, and he grinned broadly at Megan from the back end of the tent.

  “Should be a good day.”

  Megan returned the smile. “Hope so. We could use one.”

  Clay wiped his hands with a clean cloth. “Going to get some coffee. Back in five. Want some?”

  Megan shook her head. “No thanks. I drank a pot all by myself this morning.”

  Megan was putting the final touches on a bucket full of flower bouquets when she felt a presence standing behind her. She turned slowly, smiling, expecting it to be Denver, who’d promised to try to end appointments early and join her for lunch at the market. Instead she was met with a mop of red hair, eyes so heavily shadowed they looked bruised.

  “Olive,” Megan said. “I’m so sorry about your sister.”

  Olive Dunkel was a round woman who looked to be in her early- to mid-fifties. Red hair contrasted with black eyebrows and clashed with the pink tunic she wore over black capri pants. She raked long red nails through her hair and gave Megan a ghost of a smile.

  “I’m sure you’re sorry,” she said.

  “I am. What happened…it was awful and needless.”

  “And it will happen again soon if we don’t do something about it.” She clawed at Megan’s arm with surprising strength. “Where did you leave Claire? Please. You have to tell me. She’s in danger, too.”

  “I left her at the memorial.”

  “She never arrived there. I know she had you take her somewhere else, somewhere secret. I’m sure she made you promise not to tell, but now’s not the time for—”

  Clay arrived back at the tent with coffee in one hand and a pumpkin muffin in the other. He raised his eyebrows behind Olive’s back.

  “Olive, since Clay is back, why don’t we go talk somewhere else?” The last thing Megan wanted was the Winsome townspeople to overhear Olive talking about her sister’s death. More fuel for the gossip fire. “Clay, will
you be okay here with Porter?”

  “Sure. Don’t stray too far.”

  His words were a reminder that he would be looking out for her, and Megan nodded her gratitude. She led Olive to the far end of the market, where “seats” consisting of hay bales and a few picnic tables served as a makeshift cafeteria. She and Olive sat across from one another at the end of an empty table.

  Mentally noting the woman’s disheveled appearance and sickly skin color, Megan asked, “Can I get you some coffee? Soup? Maybe a muffin?”

  “Just Claire.”

  “Look, Olive, I don’t know where your sister is. I took her to the von Tressler house and dropped her off.” Megan kept her voice low but her tone stern. She knew this woman must be distraught, but she also knew there was more going on than she could discern. She didn’t know or trust Olive Dunkel or anyone related to the von Tresslers, and the body that had turned up on her property told her that distrust was called for.

  Olive stretched her hands out in front of her, then tightened them into fists. Her hands were creamy white, unsullied by callouses or rough patches of skin, but they were shaking. “Claire is…special. You were at the florist the day of the memorial. You saw how upset Claire got. She’s not a stable person. She’s had a lot of tragedy in her life, a lot of loss. She’s only thirty-one.”

  At the look of surprise that crossed Megan’s features, she said, “Penny, our brother, and I were the planned-for children. Claire was a surprise. She’s the baby, and as the baby she was spoiled by everyone. It was as though she had three mothers—my mother, Penny, and me. Our father died when Claire was a kid.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Olive dabbed at her eye with the back of a knuckle. “I loved Penny dearly. She was my best friend. But Claire? She never knew our father like we did. He was a good man, stable and kind and hard working. By the time she was a teen, our mother was having health issues. Penny and I raised her. She’s like a daughter, and I want her found.” She slammed her hand down on the table, then winced at the impact.