Cozy Suburbs Mystery Box Set

by Lisa B. Thomas

“Oh, enough about me. I understand you are a retired school teacher. Journalism, I believe? That must have been fun for you.” He reached over and poured more wine in her glass.

  “Fun? I would describe it more as rewarding. ‘If you can read, thank a teacher.’” Deena immediately regretted saying something so cliché. She could feel the blush cross her face as Gary nudged her foot under the table.

  “Well then, thank you, Mrs. Sharpe,” Galt said, nodding his head toward her. He grinned at her as though amused.

  Before she could respond, the waiter arrived and took their order. “I’ll have the baked tilapia and a glass of chardonnay.” She handed her menu to the waiter and excused herself to the ladies room to regain her composure.

  As she stared in the mirror, she took in deep breaths to calm her nerves. What was it about this guy that made her so unsettled? Was it because he was a successful writer and she wasn’t? Was it because he was invading her territory by researching Matthew’s death? She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

  When she returned, the men were discussing baseball. She interrupted and said, “Let’s get down to the real reason we are here, to talk about Matthew Meade.”

  “Of course,” Galt said. He wiped his mouth with the white cloth napkin. “I understand that your family has asked you to look into the circumstances surrounding his death. Is that right?”

  “Yes,” Deena said. “How did you find out about that?”

  “Lucy and Richard Lancaster told me. So, have you come to any conclusions thus far?”

  Deena sat up in her chair. Why the heck was he asking her questions? She should be asking him questions. “Leon,” she said, drawing out his name, “I think my motive is quite clear concerning my uncle’s death. It is yours that is in question. Would you mind explaining why you are pokin’ your nose around in my family’s business?”

  Gary, hating confrontation about as much as he hated the Yankees, knew the fun and games were over. Whenever Deena got serious, she talked more Southern. “Deena...”

  “Of course,” Galt said. “I understand your curiosity. Your uncle had been missing for fifty years. Then, out of the blue, his body is found and identified. His poor mother must be in such anguish. I am so sorry for your loss.”

  Deena rested her arms on the table. “Thank you, but you haven’t answered my question.”

  “The fact of the matter is your uncle was involved in some questionable activities that led to his tragic death. Those activities are part of an extensive investigation that I have been conducting for the past five years. As a result of that investigation, I have written a manuscript that my publisher plans to take to print in the next six weeks or so. I am sure that once you read it and examine all the evidence, you will not only understand your uncle’s actions but also be able to find it in your heart to forgive him for the role he played in this dreadful business.” Galt sat back with the countenance of a man satisfied that he had thoroughly explained the situation.

  “That’s it? That’s your entire explanation?” Deena asked.

  Leon smiled and nodded his head.

  She looked at Gary for help and then back at Galt. “Well now, you see, that dog won’t hunt.”

  Leon, clearly confused, knitted his brow. “I beg your pardon?”

  “That doesn’t me anything. For starters, what ‘dreadful business’ are you talking about?” She made air quotes to emphasize her question.

  “I am not at liberty to say. I know you have only ever published your little school newspapers, but in real publishing, there are confidentiality clauses to which an author must adhere.”

  Deena felt the heat rise in her neck, and this time it wasn’t from a hot flash.

  The waiter arrived with their meal.

  “Well look at this,” Gary said, trying to ease the tension. “Doesn’t that look delicious? There’s nothing better than a good steak. Except for fish, of course.” He looked at Deena. “Yours looks wonderful, dear. Should we order you another glass of wine? Yes, let’s all have some more wine.”

  She knew what Gary was trying to do, so she took a bite of asparagus and chewed slowly. Reaching over to pick up her glass, the fringe on her wrap dragged across her plate. She tried to wipe it off with her napkin without seeming too obvious.

  At last she continued. “Leon, what was your purpose in meeting with us tonight? Obviously, you are not going to share details about your book.”

  “Excellent question, Mrs. Sharpe. My purpose is simply to let you know that you needn’t worry yourself about investigating your uncle’s death any longer. I have all the information you need, and you can read about it in a matter of months. In fact, I will personally send you an autographed copy.”

  Gary jumped in. “An autographed copy. That would be great. Wouldn’t it, dear?”

  Deena didn’t take the bait. “If you were so sure of your information, then why did you talk to Deputy Simms and Gene Collins?”

  “Fact-checking is an important part of any writer’s research. I’m sure you know that. I was just checking to see if Mr. Collins had additional information I might be able to use.”

  “How did you locate Mr. Collins? And how did you happen to see him on the same day as I did?”

  Galt cleared his throat.

  “Were you following me?” Deena’s voice got higher and louder.

  “Following you? Mrs. Sharpe, you are sounding a little paranoid now.”

  “You didn’t answer the question.” It was Gary being confrontational this time. “Leon, I am afraid that the information you have provided us only raises more questions rather than answers them. I am sure you can understand our concern. I would hate to have to get our attorneys involved in this matter.”

  “Attorneys? No, that will not be necessary. You seem like a reasonable man, Gary. I cannot give you any details, but I will give you a general idea of the focus of my work.” He looked over his shoulder and then back at them. Leaning forward as though he were revealing the U.S. nuclear codes, he whispered, “My book addresses new details about the events occurring on and around November 22, 1963, in Dallas, Texas.” He sat back up in his chair.

  “The Kennedy assassination?” Deena asked a little too loudly.

  “Shhh. Yes.”

  “You think my uncle had something to do with that?” She could not hide her astonishment. “May I remind you that Matthew was killed in October of 1963.”

  “Not killed, disappeared. There is no evidence to prove he was killed on the day he disappeared.”

  Deena’s mind raced. It had never occurred to her that Matthew may not have been shot on that same day. “Are you suggesting he was kidnapped or something?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything in particular. I am simply telling you that I have evidence to support my conclusions. This manuscript is very detailed and includes much more information than your uncle’s involvement.”

  “Is that so,” she said.

  “I had not anticipated that Matthew Meade would be found and identified just prior to the publication date. It put a wrench in my plans, I must admit. I have spent the past week making sure there are no loose ends that might cause the publisher to delay the launch date. I have found none and plan to return to New York next week after fulfilling my obligations here.”

  Again, with the vague responses. Deena needed to know more. “Have you tracked down Donna Morrison?” she asked, ignoring Galt’s attempt at closure.

  “Mrs. Sharpe, I have already said more than I should. As I told you before, you should just return home and get back to doing whatever it is you do, and you will be one of the first ones to get to read all about it.”

  Gary was ready to put a stop to the conversation before his wife blew a fuse. “Galt,” he said, turning the name over in his head. “Wasn’t there a ‘Galt’ who played for the White Sox back in the day?”

  “I don’t recall, but I know there was a Bud Sharpe who played for the Pittsburgh Pirates in the early 1900s. Died young, poor fellow.” Galt
took a sip of wine and peered over his glass at Deena.

  Was that a threat? This wouldn’t be the end of her dealings with Leon Galt.

  Chapter 18

  “Have you tracked down Donna Morrison yet?” Leon Galt asked. He was not a patient man. “Well, keep trying.” He slammed down the receiver causing the telephone in his motel room to sound like a bell ringing on a child’s bicycle. He stood up and paced back and forth for a few minutes.

  Finally, he pulled out his wallet and sat down. Searching through the slotted pockets, he found the right slip of paper. He dialed the number. After three rings, a man answered.

  “This is Galt. I thought you were going to take care of Deena Sharpe for me. That’s what I’m paying you for.” He sat on the side of the bed with its tacky floral coverlet and gold fringe. “Trust me. I met with her tonight and she is definitely not planning to back off.”

  He waited for the man on the other end of the line to finish his list of excuses.

  “I think you know how important this is to me. I am not going to let some retired teacher from Texas ruin it all. Now take care of it!”

  Chapter 19

  Sandra Davis loved animals so much that she chose keeping her old dog over her first husband. Good thing, too, since it turned out her Pekingese was more loyal than that no good cheatin’ man. Three years later after falling for and marrying Ian, she turned her love of animals into a business. She opened the Second Chance Thrift Shop to support the local no-kill animal shelter.

  Deena loved to stop in the store every chance she got to search for vintage items for her antique booth as well as to visit with her friend. Although Sandra was more than fifteen years younger, she and Deena had a lot in common and had become good friends. After the frustrating evening she had the night before, this was the perfect place for Deena to kill an hour.

  “Whatcha got for me today?” Sandra asked Deena when she entered the shop carrying a bag of goodies.

  “Shoes. I went through my closet today and pulled out all my heels to donate. I also have a pair of red pumps that are just too young for me.” Deena set the bag on the counter and walked over to a chair Sandra kept at the front of the shop for visitors.

  “Are you limping?”

  “Yes. I hit my ankle on the dresser when Gary was pushing me around.” She saw the wide-eyed look on her friend’s face. “Not like that,” she said. “Gary thought it would be fun to ballroom dance in the bedroom.”

  “You worried me there for a second,” she said and walked back to the storeroom to set down Deena’s bag. She returned and sat behind the counter on her padded stool. “Speaking of dancing, we missed you two at the Pets & Patriots Ball. We brought in quite of bit of money for the shelter, though.”

  “Things have just been a little crazy with this family stuff. We’ll go to the fall event, I promise.”

  The shop door opened, jingling the bell Sandra kept tied to the handle. A man and woman, obviously tourists, walked in. Sandra greeted them, and then leaned over to Deena and whispered, “If you’re shopping today, you might want to check out the glass aisle. There’s some new pottery over there.”

  Deena got up and went straight to her favorite section. She immediately spotted two pieces she knew were of good quality. The first was an orange Blenko glass decanter. She had sold similar ones in her booth before. The other was an aqua vase with a matte finish. She picked it up and turned it over, hoping to see the name of her favorite Colorado pottery. Bingo! Van Briggle. She carried the pieces to the front counter and winked at her friend.

  One of the things Deena liked about shopping at thrift stores and antique malls was the chance it gave her to stroll down memory lane. She would see an old cross-stitch picture or a set of china and think, “My mother used to have that.” Occasionally, she bought something simply because she had once had it as a child. Gary would look at the tattered lunch box or Ponytail vinyl 45-record holder and know she was trying to re-capture that feeling—the one you get when suddenly thrust into another time or place by a memory. After a few months, the items would find their way into the booth or back to the thrift shop. Deena referred to re-donating these items as “renting memories.”

  Scanning the housewares, she spotted a vintage avocado-green crockpot like the one she got years ago as a wedding gift. It made her smile even though she knew it was not something that would sell in her booth. She picked up a teak-covered ice bucket from the sixties but put it back when she saw the inside liner was cracked. Deena had several pieces of vintage art in her booth and saw the tourist couple looking through the stack of pictures. When they walked away, she went over and picked up a vintage framed paint-by-numbers picture of a circus scene. She knew it was kitschy, but those pictures always sold in her booth.

  “You know you have these pieces underpriced,” Deena said and set her final item on the counter.

  “I know, but that’s how I get people like you to keep coming in to find the treasures. And sometimes they buy the junk, like this ugly clown picture.”

  They shared a laugh.

  Deena set her purse on the counter. Pulling out her billfold, the picture of Matthew with the girl fell out. Sandra picked it up.

  “I love these black-and-white pictures from the Sixties,” she said. “I wish those dresses were back in style. Do you think I would look good with a bouffant?” She held the picture next to her face.

  “Absolutely. I’m sure Kristy could fix you right up.” She handed her credit card to Sandra and put the picture back in her purse.

  “I’ll remember that if I ever take a third engagement picture.”

  “Why did you call it an engagement picture?”

  “That’s what I thought the picture was,” Sandra said. “I’m just guessing.”

  Deena pulled it back out, and Sandra pointed to the girl’s hand. “See how she has her hand posed to show off her ring?”

  “I hadn’t noticed that,” Deena said. She looked at the picture more closely. “Hmm. That changes things.”

  She had no idea that Matthew had been engaged. Could this be another clue to his cause of death? Anything seemed more likely than Galt’s wild theory about Matthew’s involvement in the Kennedy assassination. It was time to track down this mystery fiancé.

  Chapter 20

  Working in his office was rare for Trey Simms these days. The Bingham County Sheriff’s Department had a big drug case with the ATF and most of the deputies were in the field. Simms stopped by to fill out some paperwork before heading home for the day. He went by the front desk to pick up his messages from Renee.

  “Please call Henry Wilcox,” she said. “He has called at least five times in the last two days.”

  “Who is he? What does he want?”

  “I don’t know, but he says he can only talk to you.”

  Simms headed to his office and unlocked the door. Something made a shuffling noise near his desk. He put his hand on his pistol. Turning on the light, he glimpsed a mouse leaping off the desk and escaping behind a file cabinet. He spied the half-eaten bag of crackers left there since Monday. He threw them out and dialed the number for Henry Wilcox. The man on the other end answered on the first ring.

  “This is Deputy Simms. What can I do for you?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about that murder case. Matthew Meade. In the paper it said to call you if anybody had information. Well, I got some information.”

  Simms was surprised. He hadn’t expected to hear anything about the case, especially after a month had gone by since the news was released. “What information do you have, sir?”

  “It’s about some of the goings on at his place of business. Some illegal stuff you know. And there’s more.”

  “I’m all ears.” Trey leaned back in his chair waiting for some wild story about inter-office politics.

  “This ain’t the sort of thing I can talk about over the phone. I think you need to hear it in person.”

  Simms tapped his pen on the notepad in front of him. H
is in-laws were coming for dinner and his wife would kill him if he got home late. At least half an hour of paperwork was staring him in the face. “Just a minute,” he said. He put the line on hold and called the sheriff’s secretary. “Is he in?”

  “Yes. I’ll connect you.”

  Simms explained the situation to his boss.

  Sheriff Lowry was clear. “Look Simms, we don’t have time to chase rabbits right now. Tell this guy to come in and make a statement. If there is anything there, we can follow up. Hey, ask him if he wants you to put him in touch with the family. That might keep him out of our hair for a while.”

  Simms switched back over to the other line. “Mr. Wilcox. I am not going to be able to meet with you for a week or so. You are welcome to come down to the office and submit a statement. The other thing I can do is put you in touch with the Meade family if both of you are willing. They are very anxious to learn any new information.” He held his breath.

  “Well, they might not like what I have to say, but they probably need to hear it,” Wilcox grumbled.

  “Fine. Fine,” Simms said. “I’ll get in touch with them and give them your number. If they are interested, they will give you a call.”

  He hung up thinking, This won’t be the only murder case around here if I don’t get home soon.

  Chapter 21

  Russell was more than happy to go with Deena to meet Henry Wilcox. Gary insisted that she not go alone even though they were meeting in a public place. Frankly, she did not want to go alone either.

  “This is real Watergate stuff,” Russell said, getting in Deena’s car. “It’s like we’re going to meet Deep Throat.”

  She recognized the Tommy Bahama shirt he had on as one she gave him for Christmas. “Yes, except that we are meeting him in a restaurant and not a parking garage. Oh, and we are going to Dallas, not D.C.”

  “Kill joy. It’s still pretty exciting.”