Cozy Suburbs Mystery Box Set

by Lisa B. Thomas

  “Sweetened.”

  She picked up the sugar bowl, stirred a generous amount into each glass, and carried them into the office. “Nothing like a glass of sweet tea on hot day to wet your whistle.” Mark, leaning over a pile of letters and documents, quickly stood up.

  “See anything interesting?” She took a sip from her own glass as she handed the other to Mark.

  “No, no,” he said. “Just looking.”

  She set her glass on the desk. “Here are some pictures of Matthew. Maybe you know some of the people he’s with.” Moving a stack of mail over to the side, she put the photos in the middle of the desk. “Why don’t you sit here and have a look.” She turned on the desk lamp and motioned to the chair.

  “Thanks.” He took several big gulps of tea, put down his glass, and sat in Deena’s rolling desk chair. “Have you found anything out about his death?” Mark squinted, trying to make out the faces in the fuzzy black-and-white pictures.

  “Not really. I’m still trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.” She did not want to say anything that might cause him to worry, so she didn’t mention her conversations with Leon Galt or Henry Wilcox.

  He shuffled through the photographs. “These are some of the cousins on my father’s side.” He handed her the photo.

  Deena picked up a ballpoint pen and labelled the back. “Do you know their names?”

  “I can’t remember.” He handed her another picture. “These are people from our church.”

  Could this be Harriet or her friends? Deena continued making notes on the pictures. When her hands were full, she set them on the stack of mail, causing it to topple to the floor.

  “I’ll get that,” Mark said and he bent down to retrieve the letters. For a moment, he froze, doubled over in the chair. When he sat up, his face was a ghostly white.

  “Are you okay? Did you get dizzy?”

  “No. Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Come on into the living room. This room gets all the afternoon sun. I’ll get you some more tea.” Picking up his glass, she stood by the door, waiting for him, worried he might be unsteady from leaning over.

  He got up and followed her out. She went straight to the refrigerator and pulled out the pitcher of tea. “I do have another picture in my purse I want to show you, though.”

  When she turned around, he was standing by the front door with his hand on the knob. “I’ve got to go. I forgot I have to get back. Thanks for the tea.”

  Deena worried something was wrong. “Are you sure? Gary will be home in—” Before she could finish her sentence, he left. She walked to the front window and watched him get in his car and drive off. How strange. Mark was her only cousin on her mother’s side of the family, and he was several years younger. Could it have been his blood sugar? She walked back to the den to get her glass. That’s when she noticed the letter from Gran—purple roses and all—laying on top of the stack of mail. Could that have spooked Mark?

  When Gary walked through the door after work, Deena was sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by the sorted stacks of papers and pictures. She looked like a daisy and the stacks were her petals. “Don’t stop me now,” she said when Gary poked his head in the door to greet her. “I only have this last bunch to sort and I’m done.”

  He returned after a few minutes wearing shorts and sandals, carefully stepping over the piles to sit in the desk chair.

  “There. That’s it,” she said, standing up to stretch. She sat down in the easy chair to admire her work.

  “Congratulations. What’s in all the stacks?” As a type-A financial wizard, he appreciated a good sorting system.

  “I have this small stack of photos of Matthew when he was older. The other big stack has all the pictures I don’t think are important. Then there are military papers, legal documents, and other papers belonging to Gran that seem irrelevant. That huge stack has postcards, letters, greeting cards, and such. It will take me awhile to get through all those.” She put her hand on the last stack. “And these are report cards, school certificates, and things that really don’t involve the case.”

  “Nice job. Does that mean we can pick up some of this mess?”

  Deena knew he was dying to clean the place up. “Sure. I only have to deal with those few photos and the correspondence. Let’s put the rest back in the boxes.” She picked up the pictures and put them on the desk. Gary helped her with the rest.

  “Guess who was here today?” Not waiting for an answer, she said, “Mark Lancaster.”

  “Lucy and Richard’s Mark?”

  “Yes. When I got back from Oak Cliff, he was sitting in his car outside the house.” She told him about the strange visit.

  “Maybe you should call later tonight and check on him.”

  “I don’t have his phone number, but I’ll call Aunt Lucy tomorrow. I was going to call her anyway because I want to drive back up there and talk to her and Gran.”

  Gary stacked the boxes in the corner under the window. “I want to hear all about your meeting with this guy today.”

  “If his story turns out to be true, we may have figured out the mystery.”

  “Can you tell me about it while we eat?” Gary asked. “I’m starving.”

  “You fire up the grill, and I’ll get the chicken ready.”

  It was too hot out to eat on the patio, so they sat at the kitchen table. Deena, still full from lunch, pushed food around her plate as she described the meeting with Wilcox.

  “Do you think this guy is legit?”

  “I think he truly believes what he told us. He doesn’t seem to have a motive to lie. I think the part about stealing from the warehouse probably happened, but I’m just not sure someone would kill Matthew because of it.”

  “That would seem to require a big leap of logic. What do you plan to ask Gran?”

  “I want to know as much as I can about Matthew’s army and work experience. Russell said that if there is no other reasonable explanation for the murder, Leon Galt is free to say just about anything he wants.” She swirled the ice around in her glass.

  “Speaking of that, I talked to one of our lawyers at work today. You’ve met Scott Myers, right? I gave him a short synopsis of the situation, minus the JFK part. He said that once Gran dies, no one else in the family would really have a case to sue Galt for libel unless they were directly implicated.” He looked at Deena. “That means the clock is ticking.”

  “The clock was already ticking because of Galt’s book.”

  The phone rang, and Deena got up to answer it.

  Gary set about cleaning up the dishes and was just finishing up when she returned. “That was Russell,” she said. “Seems like Galt was telling the truth about having other obligations in Dallas. He is going to be signing books at a shop outside the Sixth Floor Museum on Saturday.”

  “His new book?”

  “No, his CIA book. Russell wants to go, and I haven’t been there in ages. It might be interesting. What do you think?”

  Gary scratched his head. “Umm, one problem. Texas is playing the Yankees Saturday night, and Scott invited me to the game. I can cancel if you want me to.”

  “No, that’s fine. Russell and I can go. You try to catch a foul ball, and I’ll try to catch a killer.”

  Chapter 23

  Now that she was no longer a working gal, Deena could not keep making excuses about the clutter in her car. The cargo area of the SUV was a travelogue of her life, reflecting her appearance, adventures, habits, correspondence, and even culinary choices. It might have stayed that way a few more months had it not been for the leftover barbeque sandwich that had made its way under the passenger seat. The stench, much like the port-a-potties at the beach, blasted her senses when she opened the car door to retrieve her sunglasses.

  “Oh, lordy,” she said, slamming the door shut. “Gary is going to kill me.” He was one of those men who took his car as seriously as he took his finances. He liked to say, “Take care of it, and it will take care of you.
” She decided to back it out into the driveway and leave the doors open while she pulled out the contents. Hopefully, her nosy neighbors weren’t watching.

  Dragging a garbage can up to the door, the autopsy began. A pair of shoes, a winter scarf, a broken umbrella, empty soda cans, potato chip bags, three Sharpies, seven pens, newspapers, one glove, and finally, the barbeque sandwich. She was surprised there wasn’t a family of mice living in there.

  The car was hot as coal, but at least it looked more presentable. A half a can of Lysol later, it was suitable for driving. Knowing she was running late, she opted not to go by the store on the way to Lucy and Richard’s. They would understand if she showed up empty handed this time. After all, she was family.

  The drive seemed shorter, probably because she had a lot on her mind.

  Just as before, Lucy had prepared sandwiches, iced tea, and a plate of sugar cookies. Richard was reading a fishing magazine, and Gran was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for her.

  “Gran,” Deena said, “I’m so glad to see you.”

  “Oh sweetie, give me some sugar.” Gran reached up and wrapped her arms around Deena’s neck. “How are you?”

  “I’m just fine. You look good. Russell and Gary send their love.”

  Sitting around the table reminded Deena of the old days when her mother would take the family on holidays for visits. She was suddenly back in her pleated, plaid dress and black velvet Mary Janes, listening to the grown-ups, leaning on her mother’s arm. An ache, deep inside, reminded her that life was like the snapshots she had brought with her, one memory captured at a time.

  “Deena, dear, aren’t you hungry?” Lucy asked. “Maybe you need some iced tea to cool down.”

  “Yes, that’s what I need,” she answered politely, remembering she had said the same thing to Lucy’s son. “By the way, how is Mark. Is he feeling better?”

  “What do you mean?” Richard walked over to rotate the small countertop fan toward the kitchen table.

  “When he came by the house yesterday, he seemed a little dizzy. He left in a hurry, and I thought he might be sick.”

  “That’s odd,” Richard said. “He didn’t say a word to us about driving to Maycroft. Let’s go into the front room where it will be more comfortable.” He helped Gran out of her chair.

  When they were all settled, Gran started right in asking Deena questions. “Have you been able to find out anything about Matthew? Have you found out who took his life?”

  Deena was surprised by her directness, expecting tears and tales of midnight apparitions. “I’m following two different leads. I have several questions, but first I have these pictures to show you.” She pulled out three photographs. “I’m hoping you might recognize the people in them.” The first one was of Matthew in his army uniform standing next to two other soldiers.

  “Isn’t he handsome?” Gran held the picture in her trembling hands. “I still have that uniform in the cedar chest. This was taken shortly after boot camp.” Moving the picture forward and backward to get just the right focus, she said, “That boy on the left is Bill Barnett. They lived next door. I don’t know who that other boy is.”

  Deena made a note on the back and passed it to Lucy and Richard who shook their heads, confirming they did not know the identity of the other person either. She handed Gran the second photo, showing Matthew leaning against a blue Chevy and standing next to a man and woman.

  “That’s when he got his new car,” Gran crooned. “He was so proud of it. That’s Jackie and Ed. Now, what was their last name? I can’t remember right off hand. Matthew lived in a garage apartment at their house for about a year after he got his discharge. They were nice folks and took good care of him in Maycroft.”

  The last picture was the one that Sandra said looked like an engagement photo. “This is the last one.”

  “Oh yes,” Gran said. “Katherine. She was such a pretty little thing. My, my. I haven’t seen this picture in years.”

  “She and Matthew look to be pretty close. Were they engaged?”

  “Yes. Engaged to be married. Katherine Clark.” Gran fell silent. Perhaps she was dreaming of what might have been if only Matthew had stayed with her.

  Deena interrupted her grandmother’s thoughts. “What happened to them?”

  “Matthew called it off. I know he loved her, but he said he didn’t want to marry her.”

  “Did he tell you why he called it off?”

  “He said it was to protect her. That’s the same reason he gave for leaving Bingham—to protect his papa and me.”

  Lucy stood up and came over to look at the picture. “Did he say what he was protecting you from?” she asked.

  “Ghosts,” Gran said. “Ghosts from his past in the army. That’s all he would say.”

  Deena took the picture and wrote Katherine’s name on the back. “Do you know what happened to her after that?”

  “We heard she married a rancher and moved to West Texas. Matthew would say, ‘Oh Mama, don’t worry about me. You and Papa are all the family I need.’”

  Deena studied the three photographs. “What can you tell me about his service in the army?”

  “They gave him a lot of important assignments. He talked to his papa about it some, but they never would tell me. Frank said it would upset me too much. I always wondered if that was why Matthew disappeared—that maybe he was hiding from someone. We hired a private detective, you know, but he never found anything.” She took a breath. “Now, I know that my son was dead all along.”

  Deena knew her grandmother was emotional, but it was, after all, her wish to find out the truth. “Right before he went missing, did he mention anything unusual going on at work?”

  “No. He liked his job and said he had some friends there. We hadn’t talked to him in about a month before he went missing. If only...”

  Deena waited a minute for Gran to regain her composure. “Do you know the names of any of the people he worked with?”

  “He had an address book. It’s in the cedar chest. Richard, help me up and I’ll get it.”

  Leaning on her cane and Deena’s arm, Gran shuffled into the bedroom and sat in a straight-back chair next to the old wooden chest.

  Richard lifted the hinged lid and stepped back out of the way. The acrid smell of mothballs cleansed their sinuses.

  Gran gently pushed aside items on top to reach the bottom. “Here it is,” she said and pulled out a small black book with yellowed edges. She held it out for Deena. “Please don’t lose this, dear.”

  “I’ll take good care of it, I promise.”

  Gran, tired from the visit, said she wanted to lie down for a spell. Deena said her goodbyes and promised to return as soon as she had news to report. They went back to the kitchen where Lucy refilled their empty glasses.

  Lucy and Richard looked at Deena expectantly.

  “I have a lead that is related to Matthew’s job,” Deena said softly. “It seems a little far-fetched, but right now it’s all I’ve got.” She filled them in on some of the details. “And another thing, I met with Leon Galt.”

  “Leon Galt? For heaven’s sake.” Lucy clutched the edge of the table. “Is that the man who came by here asking all those questions?”

  “Yes. You talked to him recently, right? You told him I was investigating the murder.”

  “We haven’t seen or heard from that man since his first visit,” Lucy said, her eyes full of fear, “Oh my, I hope he isn’t stirring up any trouble.”

  “Don’t worry,” Deena said, trying to sound reassuring. “I have talked to him and everything is fine. He is just interested in the case.” There she went lying to old people again.

  “You know,” Lucy said, “maybe Mark talked to Mr. Galt. Richard, I remember you showed him that man’s business card.”

  Deena reached for her purse. “Can I have Mark’s phone number? I’d like to call him myself.”

  Her cousin Mark, she decided, apparently had as many secrets as the mysterious Leon Galt.<
br />
  Chapter 24

  Selling found treasures, whether online, at a flea market, or in a store, allowed a shopaholic to drink the wine without getting drunk. The thrill of the hunt, the power of possession—all thirsts quenched without any of the bitter after-taste. Buy, own, sell, repeat. The perfect diet requiring no self-control.

  Even Gary supported Deena’s entrepreneurial endeavors. Fewer knick-knacks sitting around meant more room for an even bigger big-screen TV. Circle of life, he called it.

  With inventory piling up in the guest room, Deena knew she had neglected her booth long enough. She opened the door, and projects put off until summer glared at her with their unfinished surfaces and not-yet repaired parts dangling like broken limbs from a tree. Not today, she thought, brushing past the bigger pieces in favor of some smaller items. She wrapped newspaper around the breakables, carefully placing them in plastic crates she could easily carry into the antique mall.

  After almost an hour, her treasures were tagged and ready to go in search of new homes. Hopefully, rich people’s homes. After placing the crates in the car, she picked up her small kit filled with pins and pens, nails and knobs, bits and bobs—everything she might need to organize her small booth space.

  Texans rarely throw a fit when they get mad; they throw a hissy fit. That was Deena’s first inclination when she saw her booth in total disarray. The regulars who frequented the mall throughout the year were careful with collectibles that filled the shelves and hung from the walls. The summer tourists, however, treated shopping like dumpster diving, tossing merchandise here and there with no regard for its value.

  Deena spent a good fifteen minutes taking items that belonged to other dealers up to the front desk to be returned to their rightful spaces. In the process, she found several broken items that had to be tossed.

  Each piece of glass and pottery had to be dusted separately and placed carefully to catch the best light and a potential customer’s eye. Deena liked to put little cards in front her special pieces with the maker’s name, such as Roseville, McCoy, and Weller. Gary often teased her, saying she enjoyed displaying her collectibles more than selling them.