Cozy Suburbs Mystery Box Set

by Lisa B. Thomas

  Deena forced a grin.

  “Hurry up, Hitch. I got supper waiting at home,” the other officer said. He tipped his hat. “Officer Linndorf here.”

  Deena and the reverend took turns shaking his hand.

  “The justice of the peace should be here any minute, then we can all get back to doing what we were doing before this mess happened,” Linndorf said.

  “Hold your horses, now. I ain’t taken the witnesses’ statements yet.” Hitchcock tapped the pencil against his tongue, causing the toothpick to fall to the ground. He picked it up and stuck it back in his mouth.

  Deena could see that Mutt and Jeff were getting nowhere fast. “Here’s what happened,” she said, pointing to the ground. “I came in with that cake box looking for Wendy Fairmont. The lights were off. I tripped on that curtain and fell on the floor. Well, actually, I fell on Ray, then I fell on the floor. Stephanie Gander and Charlie Abbott must have been on the other side of the room and came running when they heard me fall. I checked Ray and realized he wasn’t breathing. Stephanie screamed and ran out to call the police. That’s it.”

  Reverend Abbott moved toward Deena. “You’re not implying my boy had anything to do with this, are you?”

  “With what?” Deena asked. “With Ray Brewster drinking himself to death?”

  The door opened, and Ralph Jackson walked in with a handkerchief over his nose. “Did you say Ray Brewster drank himself to death? Can I put that on the death certificate? Are we done here?”

  “Hey, Judge. Come join the party,” Hitchcock said.

  Officer Linndorf checked his watch for the time. “Not much of a party when the guest of honor is dead.”

  Reverend Abbott let out a disapproving gasp. “That’s no way to speak of the dead—I mean departed. Show a little respect. Ray here was a human being and will be sorely missed by this community.”

  Deena raised her eyebrow at Abbott.

  “Well, I’ll miss him anyway. He was my...friend.”

  Jackson turned to the paramedics. “It smells like a distillery in here. Any cause of death? Anything specific, that is?”

  “Not that we can tell. May have been a heart attack. Hard to say.”

  “Well, great. There goes more of the county’s money for an autopsy. I guess you boys will need to transfer him to the medical examiner in Dallas.”

  “Good call, Judge,” Hitchcock said, slapping his notepad against his hand in a gesture of finality.

  “I just have one more question,” Jackson said. “Why does this man have frosting on his forehead?”

  Deena gulped. “That’s mine. I baked a cake—for the bake sale. When I fell—”

  He held up his hand. “That’s enough. I think I get the picture.” He pulled the handkerchief from his face and shoved it in his coat pocket. “Maybe it’s just me,” he said, heading for the door, “but I really hate Halloween.”

  Just wait, Deena thought. Today is just the carnival. Actual Halloween day isn’t until Monday. Who knows what could happen between now and then.

  Chapter 2

  Deena’s husband, Gary, and her mother-in-law were waiting safely back in the suburban neighborhood of Butterfly Gardens. It was actually a misnomer to call it the suburbs since the town of Maycroft itself was but a speck on the map in Northeast Texas. Still, neighbors liked it that way and often said they were “going into town,” which was only a five-minute drive—six, if you had to stop at the traffic light.

  “What did they say?” Sylvia asked as soon as Deena came through the door of their cozy little ranch-style house. “Was the cake a hit?”

  “It was definitely a hit—a direct hit.” Deena hung her jacket on the hall tree and set her purse and keys on the entry table.

  “Whatever do you mean, child? Explain yourself.” Sylvia had little tolerance for Deena’s sense of humor.

  Gary offered up a sympathetic grin and motioned for Deena to join him in the den.

  Hurley, their black terrier, had his nose planted on Deena’s feet, circling and sniffing to identify the unfamiliar scent.

  Sylvia sat down on the sofa and crossed her arms. Patience was not one of her virtues. She had made up her mind when she came to visit the previous month that she needed to domesticate Deena. That is, she had taken it upon herself to teach Deena the “proper way” to cook, clean, and keep house. The cake Deena had made was like her final exam.

  Deena had assumed she passed the course, but with this latest wrinkle, she wasn’t sure. Maybe she should fib and just say it won the blue ribbon and leave it at that. However, there were no prizes, and Deena was too honest to deceive her husband and mother-in-law. She confessed to the catastrophe.

  “Ray Brewster. That’s not a big surprise,” Gary said after she finished the story. “From what I’ve heard, he’s spent more time inside of jail than out.”

  Sylvia, however, was more concerned about the dessert. “What a waste of a perfectly good cake. Are you sure there was no possible way to save it?”

  “A dead man fell on it. Would you really expect someone to want it after that?”

  “No, I don’t suppose.” She picked up a magazine from the coffee table. “I knew I should have gone with you.”

  It was easier to ignore the comment than try to rationalize with Sylvia, so Deena chose to let it go. Instead, she turned to Gary. “You know that Ray Brewster was the custodian at our church, right?”

  “Yeah. Apparently, Reverend Abbott was trying to reform the old guy.”

  “Old?” Sylvia said. “How old was he?”

  Gary scratched his chin. “I’d say about sixty-five, although he looked a lot older. Hard living will do that to a person.”

  “My, oh my. You young people don’t have a clue what old is. You two are sixty—”

  “Not for another month,” Deena interjected.

  “Just wait until you get to be my age, and then you’ll understand what old is,” Sylvia said. “Your father lived to be eighty-nine. I plan to be around longer than that.”

  Hopefully not at my house, Deena thought. Just how long was the Queen Bee planning on staying? Now that Deena had been schooled in all things June Cleaver would have done, she hoped her mother-in-law would hop back into her Buick sedan and roll on up to Tulsa.

  Deena decided to broach the subject. After thirty-seven years of marriage, she had finally gotten used to calling Gary’s mother by her first name. “Sylvia, you know I’m going to be taking over at the thrift store as soon as Sandra’s baby comes, I’d hate for you to be sitting around the house bored all day. Do you need us to help you pack your things?” That was probably more direct than Deena had intended.

  “Why, that sounds like you are ready to get rid of me.”

  Gary came to Deena’s rescue. “It’s not that, Mother, but Gloria and the kids need you. We can handle things around here. Besides, we’ll see you in a few months for Christmas.”

  “I was hoping we could all come to your house for the holidays,” Deena threw in for good measure.

  “Well, it would be nice not to have to drive all the way back here to Texas.”

  Deena held her breath.

  “I suppose I could leave on Tuesday. You know I promised Christy Ann I would go to her house across the street to give out Halloween candy on Monday while she takes her children around the neighborhood.”

  Relief washed over Deena as though a new dawn was breaking. Were those angels she heard singing? Hallelujah. This was Saturday night. That meant only two more days until she was free. It wasn’t that Deena didn’t like Sylvia—although she often made it difficult—Deena was just ready to get back into their old, comfortable routine of being Deena and Gary: one dog, no cats, and no children.

  “By the way, why did your church hold its carnival tonight rather than on Halloween day?” Sylvia asked.

  “Because the kids have school. Carnivals have become more of a tradition in most places, I believe. Lots of parents don’t feel safe letting their kids go to strangers’ houses to
get candy.”

  “Hogwash. Back in my day, we just dressed you all up, handed you a bag and a flashlight, and sent you on your way.”

  Deena laughed. “Times have changed. It’s called ‘stranger danger.’ There’s even people here in this suburb I wouldn’t want my kids around—if I had any, that is.”

  “If you’re talking about your next-door neighbor, I would agree,” Sylvia said, nodding “He’s creepy.”

  “Ah, so you’ve met Edwin Cooper.” Deena picked up Hurley and scratched his neck.

  “Not formally. But every time I go to the backyard to water your roses, I see him staring at me through the fence.”

  Gary peered around his newspaper. “We have an automatic sprinkler system, Mother. You don’t have to go out there to water.”

  “Son, you remember how big and beautiful my polyanthas used to get?” She tossed her head toward the backyard. “Why, those shriveled up weeds out there barely even look like roses. You have to nurture them. Talk to them. Encourage them.”

  Deena stifled a chuckle. Oh brother! She wondered how the woman could send her innocent children off unsupervised to maneuver the treachery of the neighborhood streets, cold and alone, but would spend time playing peek-a-boo and reading nursery rhymes to a bunch of foliage.

  Sylvia flipped another page of the magazine. Not-so-under-her-breath, she said, “You spend so much time with that junk at your booth, you’d think they were people. Someone needs to get their priorities straight.”

  Deena rolled her eyes and buried her face in Hurley’s soft fur. She’s really gone off the deep end now. Next thing you know, she’ll be having tea parties with Christy Ann’s garden gnomes.

  Chapter 3

  The pews emptied out like salt from a shaker. People were all a-twitter at what they perceived as a failure by Reverend Abbott. How could he have conducted the entire service, read announcements from the bulletin, and invited folks to stay for the spaghetti luncheon and not have made even a single mention of the death of the church’s very own custodian, Ray Brewster?

  But what most people really wanted to know was how Old Man Brewster died.

  Deena had risen to minor celebrity status overnight, having been the lucky winner of the “Who found Ray dead lottery.” She could hardly get out of the sanctuary without being accosted by curious parishioners.

  “What happened?”

  “Was he murdered?”

  “Was it suicide?”

  “I heard he once tried to kill the mailman.”

  Deena waved off the speculation, saying they would all have to wait for the autopsy results. “My best guess is that he had a heart attack,” she said. “He was still warm when we—I—found him.” She decided against telling everyone she had sat on his lap.

  “Well, I’ll be darn,” one man said.

  “Such a shame,” said another.

  It wasn’t until she, Gary, and Sylvia were seated with their plates heaped with pasta that they got the real public reaction.

  Three women from the Bluebonnet Club were sitting across from them. Everyone knew Penelope Burrows to be a terrible gossip, which was why Sylvia picked that very spot at which to sit.

  “I hear you found yourself another corpse,” Penelope said, shooing away her husband to sit at another table. “What did he look like? Was he foamin’ at the mouth?”

  “Oh my stars, Penelope!” Mildred said. “Not at the table. You’re going to make Doris sick.”

  Doris nodded and put her napkin to her mouth.

  The Bluebonnet Club was made up of old fuddy-duddies from the Maycroft society bunch who preferred donating money to the community more than donating their time. They knew everyone in town and everybody’s business. If you needed information about someone, you’d go straight to a member. However, some of the ladies were more gossipy than others.

  When Sylvia had first come to church with Deena and Gary six weeks earlier, she had found kinship with these ladies.

  Deena, on the other hand, was more of a gossip-listener than a gossip-spreader. She tried to rationalize that it was okay because she needed to keep her hand on the pulse of the community as teacher-turned-journalist-turned-investigator.

  “Oh, come on now,” Penelope said. “You all are as curious as I am.”

  “Actually,” Deena said, “he looked like he was asleep. Like he could just sit up and start talking to you. It wasn’t until I checked his pulse that I realized he had already passed.”

  “You didn’t try any of that mouth-to-mouth stuff on him, did you? Lord only knows what kind of germs that crazy old kook was carrying around.”

  “No. It was too late for that.” Deena’s stomach lurched at the possibility.

  “Well, I heard he was drunker than a skunk,” Mildred said, adding, “Bless him,” just to appease her conscience.

  “Bless him, my a—”

  “Penelope!” Sylvia said with a gasp. “We’re in church!”

  Shrugging her shoulders, Penelope reached in her handbag and pulled out a small silver-toned flask. She poured some of the contents into her glass of iced tea then picked it up to make a toast. “Here’s to Old Man Brewster.” When no one returned the gesture, she took a long drink and wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

  “Now, Penelope, you don’t have to be so gauche on purpose,” Mildred said. “We all know you didn’t particularly favor Ray.”

  “That’s an understatement. I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with that old fart,” she said. “I wouldn’t have thrown him a glass of water if he were on fire.” She practically spat the words from her mouth. “Unless it had alcohol in it, that is!” She laughed wildly at her own joke, causing people at other tables to turn and stare.

  Gary picked up his empty plate. “I’ll be over there when you’re ready to go. Don’t be long. The Cowboys game is starting soon.”

  Deena smiled, knowing Gary could only stand the Bluebonnets in small doses. However, she couldn’t contain her curiosity. “I know that Ray was down on his luck. Supposedly, he had a few run-ins with the law. But why was he so disliked around here?”

  Mildred and Doris busied themselves with their forks and spaghetti.

  Penelope, on the other hand, took another drink and then crossed her arms. “Because, he was a lying, cheating snake. You couldn’t trust a word that came out of his mouth. His family moved here when he was about fourteen. When they moved away about five years later, they left him here to make do on his own.”

  “Why, that’s terrible,” Deena said. “Tragic, even.”

  “Nah. He had tried to burn down the house when the whole lot of them were asleep. When the fire was out, he said he was actually trying to save them all instead. He went on for weeks about how the fire department should have given him a medal and put his picture in the newspaper. They should have put him in jail right then and there and thrown away the key. Would have saved a lot of people a lot of grief over the years.”

  Doris cleared her throat. “And don’t forget how he sold everyone those fancy door knockers.”

  “Right. That was just one of his many get-rich schemes. He showed us all pictures of these beautiful door knockers shaped like a big ol’ Texas star. Said they were gold-filled and would last a lifetime. They were pricey, from what I remember, but definitely worth the money considering the gold fillin’. Turns out they were no heavier than tin foil and spray-painted to look like gold. We all tried to get our money back, but Ray claimed someone stole it.”

  “Sounds like a real rat to me,” Sylvia chimed in.

  “You can say that again.” Penelope glanced over her shoulder and leaned in. “No one could believe it last winter when Reverend Abbott hired him as the church custodian. We knew it was just a matter of time until he stole every single gold-plated cross off of every single pew. Just because it didn’t happen, didn’t mean it wouldn’t have. Ask Darlene Watson about it. She hated him worse than anybody. Why, I heard there wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t threaten to quit as churc
h secretary if Reverend Abbott didn’t fire him.”

  “Reverend Abbott is a good man. He thought he could turn Ray’s life around,” Mildred said. “Problem was that Ray didn’t want to change. He liked taking advantage of people and went right on playing in to Reverend Abbott’s good nature—at the church’s expense, that is.”

  Deena looked around the hall for the preacher. He usually spent time after the last service mingling among his flock, making small talk like a politician, shaking hands and kissing babies. Today, though, he seemed to have disappeared.

  Gary walked up to the table and gave Deena the look—the one that meant it was time to leave.

  Deena knew it well. She and Sylvia said their goodbyes and headed for the exit.

  Gary held the door open as a cold blast hit Deena in the face. She glanced down for just a second and then it happened.

  As if in slow motion, she saw Sylvia’s foot slide out from under her as she fell down onto the hard brick steps.

  Deena reached down to grab her arm, but it was too late.

  Her mother-in-law was down for the count.

  DEENA HAD BECOME A regular in the Maycroft Memorial Hospital emergency room. When she and Gary brought Sylvia in, the doctor greeted Deena like an old friend.

  Except he wasn’t a friend—he was Deena’s worst nightmare. After taking Sylvia for x-rays, he held Deena’s life in his hand. Would he release Sylvia to get in her little Buick and head back to Oklahoma, or would he subject Deena to weeks’ worth of home nursing care? She fidgeted with her phone, trying to avoid speculation. She counted the green linoleum tiles and breathed out of her mouth to block out the strong smell of bleach.

  Finally, the doctor returned to the exam room and asked, “Do you want the good news or bad news?”

  Deena couldn’t imagine there could be any good news after witnessing Sylvia’s fall and then watching her ankle swell up like a cantaloupe. She could just imagine the next six weeks with her mother-in-law hanging around the house, unable to return home.