Murder Steals the Show (Rooftop Garden Cozy Mysteries Book 7)

by Thea Cambert

  “Doesn’t bode well, does it.” Jake said this more as a statement than a question.

  “We saw the mayor there last night,” Alice said. “He looked . . . sort of . . . smug?”

  “He felt sort of smug,” Jake admitted. “He’d just taken a picture of what he thought was a drunk, passed-out Damon Huxley.”

  “Why would he do that?” asked Franny.

  “Did you read yesterday’s paper?” asked Jake.

  “That editorial Damon wrote? Yep,” said Alice.

  “We didn’t believe a word of it,” said Owen.

  “The mayor was pretty upset by that article—and even more upset that Damon said he was going to make a run for mayor next fall,” said Jake.

  “We know he was upset. We were there when he read the paper,” said Owen.

  “When he was walking home from Town Hall last night, he saw Damon and snapped a photo, then sent it straight to me. He thought there might be a time when the people of Blue Valley would need to be shown who they were voting for. He even thought it might be a good idea to leak the photo to Jane at the Blue Valley Post.” Jake let out a long sigh. “It’s not the way we conduct ourselves at Town Hall, normally. But the mayor was feeling threatened, and a little desperate, and now, well, this looks pretty bad. I mean, let’s face it. He did have motive to get rid of Damon, and the fact that he took a picture of the guy after he was dead, well, that doesn’t look good.”

  “Why don’t you just delete the photo?” asked Owen.

  “Because I don’t want to cover something up or hide something I shouldn’t. It doesn’t feel right. Add to that the fact that Mayor Abercrombie copied both Jane and me on this photo—”

  “And you’re up a creek,” said Owen. “So, the Post has the photo and knows who took it?”

  “Yep,” said Jake, nodding slowly. “I called Jane and asked her not to run it. Told her what had happened. But, she hasn’t made her final decision on that yet. This is a hot news item now. I just . . . I don’t know Officer Dewey that well, but Luke and Ben are personal friends, and I want to ask them what to do about this.” He paused. “You know what would be even better?”

  “What?” asked Alice.

  “If you three could solve this thing first. Before the guys even get home.”

  “Well, we’re—”

  “I know it’s a lot to ask, but the mayor’s reputation has taken a few hits lately, thanks to Damon. With this photo and the fact that it’s common knowledge the mayor had a score to settle with him . . . Look, the job and this town mean everything to Mayor Abercrombie. If I can possibly protect him, I’d like to. Please, if you have any idea who killed Damon Huxley, prove it.”

  “We’ll try,” Alice said, Owen and Franny nodding their agreement.

  “Thank you,” Jake said, and walked on toward his car.

  “Wow, it feels good to get out of that costume!” Alice said, coming into Franny’s cozy living room wearing her comfiest sweats.

  “I’ll be glad to give my gown back to the Clarks in the morning,” said Franny, who had changed into her favorite mommy-to-be elastic-waisted pants and a t-shirt. “I was so afraid I’d trip over something and tear it or get it dirty, as off balance as I’m starting to be with this belly.” She smiled and patted her tummy.

  “I’m going to miss being the elf king,” said Owen mournfully. “Tomorrow when we go to the faire, we’ll just be normal people again.”

  “Oh, I don’t think there’s much danger of that,” said Alice with a laugh.

  They took a little time to play with Finn and Poppy, and then made their way down the gentle slope of Franny and Ben’s yard to the dock, where they took seats in comfortable chairs and watched the last embers of a beautiful sunset on the far side of the lake.

  “It’s so peaceful here,” said Alice. “How do you like living on the lake?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I love our apartment over the coffee shop,” said Franny. “But this place is magical. We take evening walks along Lake Trail. We sit on the dock with our feet in the water on warm days. It’s going to be a wonderful place for a child to grow up.”

  “What’s that they say about a red sky at night?” asked Owen, marveling at the pink-tinged water. “Red sky at night, you’re in for a fright?”

  “Uh, no,” said Alice. “Red skies at night are supposed to mean peaceful sailing, I think.”

  Alice’s cell phone beeped.

  “Maybe that’s Luke telling you they’re coming home early,” said Franny hopefully.

  “No. It’s Dewey,” said Alice. “He says Zeb just figured out for sure what killed Damon.”

  “Really? Was it a drug, like he thought?” asked Franny.

  “Yep. Something called diazepam,” said Alice, squinting at her phone. “Oh—he says it’s the same thing as valium.”

  “Valium? Isn’t that a pretty common drug?” asked Owen.

  “Apparently, it can be deadly given in a high dose when it’s mixed with alcohol.”

  “Uh-oh,” said Owen. “Does this mean someone mixed up a deadly cocktail and served it to Damon?”

  “I don’t know,” said Alice, feeling sick at the thought that Taya’s ‘complimentary drink’ might’ve had a bit too much of a kick to it.

  “Valium isn’t that hard to come by, is it?” asked Franny. “What if Taya accidentally killed Damon? Maybe she was just trying to teach him a lesson and didn’t know he would react that way.”

  “That would explain why she turned fifty shades of pale when Alice told her what killed the guy,” said Owen.

  Alice’s phone dinged again. “Dewey says he talked to Art Ross, over at the Bauble Box.”

  The Bauble Box was Blue Valley’s one and only jewelry shop, and Art Ross was a full-fledged jeweler.

  “Dewey asked him how someone could have removed the little stones from the Scarlett Lady, and Art said not just anyone could do that with a necklace of that quality. It would take a person with specialized tools who knows a thing or two about gem settings.”

  “I like that Dewey,” said Owen. “Ben and Luke never want to tell us anything about their investigations. We always have to pry information out of them. But Dewey’s an open book.”

  “I think Dewey’s giving away as little as he can,” said Alice. “With Ben and Luke away, he needs our help.”

  “We keep looking at this thing as a murder,” said Owen, “but, it’s really a robbery and a murder. If Damon went into the museum through the open window, then ran out the front door—and the only thing on him was the Grand Ole Gal—that means someone else came in first and painstakingly removed those little red stones, one by one.”

  “Leaving the big diamond behind,” added Alice. “Wait a minute! What if Damon walked in on the thief just as he finished picking apart the necklace? Maybe Dewey swiped the big diamond simply because that was all that was left.”

  “But if he was smart enough to go in through the window, why be so sloppy and trip the alarm on his way out?” asked Franny.

  “Because he was drugged!” said Owen. “He wouldn’t have been making great decisions at that point—and that also explains why Pearl Ann said he was stumbling along, mumbling and acting so strangely. His system was full of both alcohol and drugs! Hold on a second. I just remembered something.” Owen whipped out his phone. “Let’s revisit some of the crimes from the other towns the faire has been to.” He scrolled and read, nodding to himself. “Yep. Just as I thought. Most of the thefts in the other towns were jewelry, too. That, plus a few small paintings I’ve never heard of. A vase. Some collectible coins. Small items taken from small museums, mostly. Nothing with any world-class security. And there’s another common thread. Get this: Security Guard Found Asleep on the Job.” Owen pointed at the headline from an article in a neighboring city. “Or how about this: Guards Wake to Find Gems Missing.”

  “So . . . No one was ever killed. But it sounds like they were drugged,” said Alice, feeling her heart begin to pound.

  �
��Maybe that’s the thief’s MO,” said Owen. “He or she knocks out whatever security is present, then makes off with the treasure.”

  “Remind me why we think the thief didn’t take the Grand Ole Gal,” said Franny.

  “We still don’t know why,” said Alice. “But this does point to the idea that someone connected with the Nottingham Medieval Faire is both the thief and the killer.”

  In unison, three pairs of eyes looked across the lake to Cozy Bear Camp and Glamp.

  “Pretty much everyone on the staff is staying right over there,” Owen said.

  “And they’ll all be at the clearing for at least another few hours,” said Franny.

  “Someone should really go over there and do some snooping,” said Owen.

  Alice turned to Franny. “Franny, how are your feet?”

  Chapter 11

  They decided to ride their bikes around the back of the lake to avoid passing by the clearing where the faire was still in full swing. Lake Trail was an asphalt road that circled the entire lake, running past houses, weaving through trees, and along the water. The back side of the lake was less developed than the front, but cozy cottages were scattered here and there, and there were numerous trailheads for hiking from the lake to the mountains, as well as a lovely little park at the edge of the Cozy Bear Camp and Glamp property.

  In years past, the place had been known simply as Cozy Bear Campground—owned and managed by Harve Anderson. It featured primitive camp sites, a smattering of charcoal barbecue grills, and a community bathroom with lukewarm showers. Harve considered this last feature to be something of an unnecessary luxury, but realized he needed to cater to campers who were less into roughing it than Harve himself was.

  But that was before he fell in love with Sue, who brought to the table an appreciation for the finer things and an impeccable sense of style. Nowadays, visitors to Cozy Bear could pitch their tents or check into a luxurious yurt-like accommodation, complete with comfortable beds and electricity. Customers could enjoy hiking the trails up into the Smokies by day, and come home for a hot shower, a hearty meal, and lively entertainment by night. The barbecue pits were upgraded, and charcoal could be purchased in the camp store, along with scented candles, fine chocolates, and Cozy Bear Cub t-shirts. The trail heads were clearly marked and the trails inviting and well-kept. As a result, the place stayed pretty well booked year-round, and all kinds of “campers” looked forward to their visits to Blue Valley. All said, Harve loved Sue’s influence in spite of himself, and he adored Sue even more.

  As they approached the campground, Alice, Owen, and Franny got off their bikes and walked.

  “So, we’re looking for tools used by jewelers,” said Owen.

  “And valium,” said Franny.

  “Right,” said Alice, as they approached the Cozy Bear’s arched entryway, which was looking festive even in the dark, covered with lights and climbing roses that were putting on early blooms with the arrival of spring. When the three passed the little check-in building—a stacked-log affair that resembled a tiny cabin—Harve popped his head out.

  “I was wondering if you three would show up,” he said with a conspiratorial grin.

  “We don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Owen, giving Harve a wink.

  “There’s been a robbery and a murder in Blue Valley. That means you’re making the rounds, asking the questions. It was only a matter of time until you got to us,” said Harve with a laugh.

  Franny, who was looking at the board where Cozy Bear’s daily activities were always posted, read aloud: “Moonlit canoe rides across the lake to the faire. How cool is that?”

  “Well, we do have quite a few guests who are in town for the faire,” said Harve. “Course, we’re mostly booked up with the faire people themselves. It’s pretty entertaining, to tell you the truth. Sue and I can’t step outside without seeing someone juggling or tumbling or telling fortunes. These people are a hoot! We had karaoke last night, and the whole group showed up. With all those talented show-offs, you can imagine how amazing that was.”

  “Indeed, we can,” said Owen. “So, Harve, what time was karaoke?”

  “It was supposed to run from seven-thirty to eight-thirty, but with all those hams competing for the mike, it went on until nine-thirty, I’d say.”

  “Can you remember who was there? I mean, were all the faire people there?”

  “Almost all of them,” said Harve.

  “I can tell you exactly who was there,” said Sue, who’d just come out of the check-in cabin. “I was in charge of giving out the awards—you know, silly awards, like Kookiest Dance Moves, and Most Fabulous Outfit. Anyway, I passed around a sign-up sheet.” She handed a clipboard to Alice. “We’ve got thirty guests staying here from the faire.”

  “And twenty-nine of them were here for karaoke,” said Alice.

  “That’s funny. I thought I counted twenty-seven,” said Sue, frowning at the list. “I know that because I passed this sign-up sheet around at the beginning of the event and numbered them all for our door prize.”

  “Who’s not on the list?” mumbled Owen, scanning the page.

  “I don’t see Wamba,” said Franny.

  “Nor is there a Ralph,” said Owen. “What was Wamba’s real last name, again?”

  “Woods,” said Alice. “Nope, Wamba’s definitely not on this list.”

  “Is he the jester guy?” asked Harve. “No, he wasn’t here for karaoke. A whole big group of them had gone into town, to the Smiling Hound. Most of them came back in time for karaoke. But not the jester.”

  “Wamba was the only one who wasn’t here when the crimes were being committed,” Alice said, still scanning the list. “Harve and Sue, could we take a very quick peek at Wamba’s tent? Just to see if we need to call Officer Dewey to come out with a warrant?”

  “Well, if you just happened to be walking by the tent at Campsite 8 and accidentally peeked in, I think that’d be okay,” said Harve with a wink.

  “I still can’t figure out how I counted wrong,” mumbled Sue, taking the clipboard back.

  Alice, Owen, and Franny thanked the Andersons and walked over to Wamba’s tent, which could probably be categorized as something between “glamp” and “camp.” It was roomy, lit by a couple of battery-powered lanterns. Inside were juggling paraphernalia, props, costumes, and wooden scepters like the one Wamba had pulled out of his pocket earlier.

  “This is eerie,” Owen whispered, picking up the scepter with the smiling jester’s head on top.

  “Look at this,” said Alice, who had just picked up a blanket that was wadded up on the floor, revealing a toolbox underneath.

  Owen reached down and opened the lid. “Ah-ha! Needle-nose pliers!”

  “I bet you could remove precious stones from a necklace with those,” said Franny.

  “There are some other really unusual tools in here,” said Owen, digging around in the toolbox. “Wire cutters. A tiny, tiny file. The smallest drill bit I’ve ever seen.”

  “Why would a jester—or an accountant for that matter—need those?” asked Alice.

  Suddenly, they heard footsteps approaching and someone said, “Hey!”

  Alice, Owen, and Franny spun around, and were relieved to see that it was only Harve and Sue, standing at the entrance to Wamba’s tent.

  “We figured out why Sue’s count was off at the karaoke,” said Harve.

  “These last two came late,” said Sue, handing the karaoke list back to Alice, who held it to the lantern light.

  “The Clarks,” whispered Alice. Then she looked up at Harve and Sue. “Can we see their tent, as well?”

  “Of course,” said Harve. “We can stroll over that way together.”

  Lois and Drake had opted for Cozy Bear’s finest accommodation—a glamping tent right on the water. The interior boasted wood flooring, cheerful lamps, and twin beds covered in plush comforters.

  “Nice digs,” said Owen, taking in the space. “I approve.”

 
“Those dress forms are kind of creeping me out,” said Franny, nodding at the two forms standing along the wall opposite the beds.

  “That one is clearly supposed to be a male,” said Owen, pointing at the more masculine form. “Do you still call it a dress form?”

  “Who knows,” said Alice.

  “I’d be afraid of waking up and thinking one of them was an intruder lurking in the shadows,” said Franny with a shiver.

  “We should definitely bypass Attack of the Killer Dress Forms for movie night tonight,” said Owen, patting Franny on the shoulder.

  “What’s this?” Alice opened a plastic case that looked like a tackle box. “Never mind. It’s just a colossal sewing kit.” She marveled at the accordion trays and tiny drawers and compartments, all filled with buttons, beads, needles, and tools. “I don’t sew, so I don’t know what any of this is for, but—"

  “Someone’s coming!” Harve, who’d been standing guard, whispered. “Hurry!”

  Alice closed the sewing kit and they all scuttled out and moved far back into the shadows. As it turned out, the “someone” was only Javier, the friendly burro who lived on the grounds and enjoyed browsing the campsites for snacks when no one was around.

  “Oh. It’s Javier. Whew!” said Harve.

  “Doesn’t he sleep in a pen at night?” asked Alice, her heart still pounding.

  “Yep. But he’s an escape artist. That burro is a wild one.”

  All eyes turned back to Javier, who was by then standing near the tempting grass at the water’s edge, and appeared to have nodded off mid-chew.

  By that time, Alice, Owen, and Franny were all well and truly spooked, and decided not to tempt fate any further. The faire across the lake was beginning to show signs of wrapping up for the day, and the first Cozy Bear campers were already paddling across the lake from Town Dock in their lantern-lit canoes.

  “We’d better be going,” said Alice, turning to Harve and Sue. “If you notice anything suspicious, let us know or call Dewey.”

  “You know we will,” said Harve, with a little salute.