by Sonia Parin
“Are you sure? How many fingers am I holding up?” Joshua asked.
“None. Please stop slapping my face. What is it with people wanting to slap my face.”
“Who slapped you?”
Abby groaned. “Faith. A while back… A few days ago. What happened?”
“I think you hit your head against the brass handle.”
“I remember now. Hey, she pushed me.” Abby rubbed her head. “Did she get away?”
“No. We were just pulling up when she burst out the front door. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here?”
“Why are you asking me so many questions?” She tried to sit up. “You’re going to have to help me up.” As he did, she rubbed her hip. “I’m going to be black and blue. And then, I’m going to be yellow and green. Isn’t it strange how bruises change color?”
Joshua cupped her chin. “I’m going to take you to the hospital and have them check you over.”
“I’m fine.” She swooned. “Oh, how pretty. I can see little birds flying around me. I thought that only happened in cartoons.”
Epilogue
“I need to work on my poker face. I didn’t recognize her at first. She looked slightly different from the photo Joyce sent me, but then everything fell into place. My mind made the connection. There I was, at the funeral parlor and… there she was.” Abby pressed her fingertips against the sore spot on her head. “I remember thinking I’d expected to be approached by someone older. I guess my mind played around with that idea and that’s when I noticed the similarities between Laurie Meadows and Helen Forbes. Something about the way she stood reminded me of Helen.” Abby turned to Joshua. “They’re related.”
He nodded.
“I’m guessing Laurie Meadows is a fake name and that’s why you couldn’t find any records of her.”
Joshua gave another small nod.
“What about Helen Forbes? Is that her real name?” Even as she asked the question, Abby looked up at the whiteboard. After she’d been given the all clear at the hospital, she’d returned to Willoughby Park and had spent an hour telling Faith everything that had happened. Abby wanted to spring to her feet but instead she pointed. “There.”
They all looked at the whiteboard.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Faith said. “We can’t read your mind.”
“Put Laurie Meadows’ photo next to Marigold’s. Notice the similarities? It’s in the shape of the eyes. It’s hard to see because Marigold’s eyes are bright and joyful and Laurie’s are hard. You need to focus on the shape alone.”
They were all related.
Abby smiled at Faith. “Remember your far-fetched theory about a long-lost daughter? You only need to make a few changes to the story and you have the answer. We’ve been talking about it all along. Marigold married into this wealthy family and she put her old life behind. But it caught up with her.”
“We don’t have a photo of Helen Forbes,” Faith said as she moved Laurie’s picture and pinned it next to Marigold’s.
“Jealousy and revenge. That’s my guess.” Abby turned to Wadsworth. “I should thank you. If not for your stiff neck, I might never have thought to connect Helen Forbes to the mattress.”
“You are welcome, Miss Maguire.”
Faith grinned. “You must be relieved, Wadsworth. You’re off the hook.”
“Until next time, Miss O’Keefe.”
Charles frowned. “Are you planning to do me in, Wadsworth?”
The butler lifted the edge of his lip and excused himself. Although, Abby noticed he didn’t go further than the entrance to the ballroom. Clearly, the butler wished to hear more.
“Are you ready to hear the rest?” Joshua asked.
“Only if you can make it sound as interesting as Abby’s theories,” Faith said.
Joshua shook his head. “I actually have to write a report about all this. It’s becoming harder to keep a straight face while I do it. Heaven help me if I ever have to use one of your theories when I take the stand.” Joshua cleared his throat. “Abby is right. There is a connection between Laurie Meadows and Marigold. There was some truth to the gossip. Marigold’s mother had another daughter, the product of a brief de facto relationship.”
Faith yelped. “Helen Forbes?”
“Yes. Mrs. Erikson put her up for adoption. Then she had another brief relationship and Marigold came along. When Marigold married, Helen appeared on the scene. She’d tracked her down and she blackmailed her into giving her a job. For many years, she’d been happy to shadow her half-sister.”
Faith’s eyes widened. “Helen and Marigold. Sisters. Who would have thought?”
Abby laughed. “Well… You did. Sort of…”
“Yes, but… I was only making up stories.”
Joshua continued, “Shortly before getting the job, Helen had a baby.”
Faith yelped again. “Laurie Meadows?”
“Yes. Helen put her up for adoption and settled in to take her position as Marigold’s assistant.”
Abby leaned back and closed her eyes to listen to the rest.
“Helen’s daughter grew up and tracked her down. Seeing her mother leading a life of servitude, she became embittered and enraged. Her mother had given her up for adoption, and all for what? So she could kowtow to a bunch of silver spoon fed wannabe aristocrats?” Joshua looked at Charles. “Sorry if that offends.”
“Not at all. I’ve heard worse.”
“Anyhow, she tapped into her mother’s deeply buried feelings of resentment. Marigold hadn’t been given up for adoption and, worse, she’d risen above her station in life. Also, Marigold had promised her half-sister she wouldn’t leave her behind, but she had. Helen had become nothing but her servant.” Joshua sat back and smiled.
“What’s that smile about?” Faith asked. “There’s something you’re not telling us.”
“I’m keeping the best until last.” He turned to Abby and nudged her. “Motive.”
When Faith yelped again, Abby sat up.
“What? There’s more? But we already have jealousy and revenge.”
“Laurie Meadows spent quite some time poisoning her mother against Marigold.” Joshua shook his head. “She came undone during the interview. There’s always a breaking point. It’s not enough to commit a crime, the perpetrator reaches a point of bursting to tell someone, as if they have to justify their actions. Anyway, Laurie exploded. Apparently, she finally got through to Helen Forbes and convinced her Marigold deserved to be preserved alive in the life she’d chosen.”
“Yes, but what pushed Helen to agree?” Faith asked.
“She found out her half-sister, Marigold, had excluded her from her will. In life, she’d thrown her a few breadcrumbs, and in death, she’d planned on cutting her right off.” It seemed everyone had been hiding behind a mask…
“Ah, I see.” Faith nodded. “That’s where the deeply held resentment reared its ugly head.” Faith turned to Charles. “Who are your beneficiaries?”
Charles shifted. “After hearing this story, I think I might have to include everyone I know.” He looked over his shoulder at Wadsworth. “Rest assured, you stand to inherit.”
Faith frowned. “I think you’ve just provided Wadsworth with a motive.”
The doorbell rang. Moments later, Sebastian appeared. “What have I missed?”
“Everything,” Faith said. “We’ll have to start from the beginning.”
When Faith finished giving him the full rundown, Charles said, “All’s well that ends well.”
“Not quite.” Faith shifted to the edge of the couch. “There’s still the matter of Abby not getting an invitation to the Venetian ball.”
Charles looked at Abby. “She did get an invitation.”
“No, she didn’t. In fact, Abby had to gate-crash the event.”
Charles turned to Wadsworth. “You allowed someone without an invitation in?”
“Yes, my Lord. I thought it would be amusing to see what she did next. I do
n’t spend much time in town, but I’ve lived in the area long enough to know the locals enjoy creating their own entertainment.”
“So, did she or didn’t she get an invitation?” Faith demanded.
“She did. I delivered it personally.” Charles looked up at the ceiling. “At least, I think I did.” He turned to Wadsworth.
The butler nodded. “I distinctly remember you slipping the envelop into the inside pocket of your Houndstooth jacket. You then set off for the pub. When you returned, your assistant asked if she needed to do anything more about the invitation and you assured her it had all been taken care of and that she shouldn’t worry about it anymore.”
“Really? What an odd thing for me to say.”
“Yes, my Lord. We both thought so.”
“Well, I’m sure I gave Abby the invitation. I must have.”
Without anyone noticing, Wadsworth left the room and appeared moments later holding the Houndstooth jacket and the invitation. “At the risk of coming across as indiscreet… Perhaps not, my Lord.”
Faith nudged Abby. “See, I told you. Absentminded.”
“As I said, all’s well that ends well. This calls for some champagne, Wadsworth.”
I hope you enjoyed The Last Dance!
Merrily Murdered
Book 6
About Merrily Murdered
There’s no dashing through the snow for Abby Maguire who is experiencing her first Christmas in the small town she now calls home and having a hard time dealing with the sweltering heatwave, made worse by the fact there’s no ice at the local café - her home away from home.
When she accompanies the local antique store owner, Bradford Mills, to collect the lights for the town’s annual Carols by Candlelight, she meets Harold Moorhead, a retired electrician. The only way she can convince him to fix the local café owner’s refrigerator is by listening to one of Harold’s long-winded stories. It’s a small price to pay. They now have ice but they also have a murder victim.
With no murder weapon, no witnesses to the crime and no obvious motive, Abby and the local detective, Joshua Ryan, deal with one dead-end after another.
It’s up to Abby to find clues where none appear to exist.
Chapter One
“Did you know, Putnam, more people are murdered at ninety-two degrees Fahrenheit than any other temperature? I read an article once – lower temperatures, people are easy-going. Over ninety-two, it’s too hot to move. But just ninety-two, people get irritable.”
It Came From Outer Space (1953)
December, the small town of Eden
“This is my favorite time of the year,” Faith chirped. “The Christmas decorations are up and everyone is so cheerful. The place just lights up with joy and everyone just wants to wish you happiness. I’ve finally finished my Christmas cards and sent them off yesterday.” Holding the office door open, Faith added, “I think I have writer’s cramp.”
“You’re sending out real cards?” Abby asked.
“Of course. What else would I send? Are you about to tell me off for adding to my digital footprint and contributing to the destruction of forests?”
“Nope. That would require too much thinking and I’m not up for it.” Abby turned and called out, “Are you coming, Doyle?”
The stray she had picked up when she’d first arrived in the small town of Eden looked up and yawned.
“Is that a yes or a no?” Abby asked.
Doyle rolled over onto his back and pumped his little legs in the air.
“I don’t think he’s coming,” Faith said.
“You’re choosing the air-conditioner over me? So much for being my faithful companion.” Abby followed Faith out of the office. Two steps away from the Eden Rise Gazette and she could already feel a trickle of sweat sliding down her back. “The pub’s closer. Let’s go there for lunch,” she couldn’t help suggesting.
“But Joyce is expecting us.”
“Yes, well… Joyce should provide a back entrance to her café or some sort of tunnel from the newspaper to the café.”
“What are you talking about?”
December, Abby thought. For as long as she could remember, by this time of the year, she had already put away her summer clothes and had started layering up. Yet here she was, wearing shorts and flip flops.
“Abby?” Faith prompted.
“Never mind.”
“No,” Faith chortled as she insisted. “There’s clearly something on your mind.”
Yes, she thought, the heat. But she couldn’t very well complain. It would be… Abby searched for the appropriate word and came up with uncouth. As a newcomer to the town, indeed, to the country, she felt awkward complaining about something as trivial as the weather.
“Do you want me to quote Shrek?” Faith asked.
“Pardon?”
Faith rolled her eyes. “Better out than in.”
“Oh, right… Well, if you must know, it’s the sun. Going to Joyce’s means walking on the sunny side of town.”
“Oh, yeah. Isn’t it glorious? I love summer. Joyce has the tables and chairs out. Oh, and umbrellas with icicles. She put them out yesterday. We can have lunch outside and watch everyone rushing around doing their Christmas shopping.”
“Summer and Christmas.” Abby tapped the side of her head. “It still doesn’t compute.”
Faith laughed. “Are you short-circuiting?”
“Short-circuiting. Overheating. Melting. Call it what you will, every step I take feels like my last one.” To illustrate the point, she slouched, hung her tongue out and gasped for air.
“Come on. Lunch will revive you. At least we get to wear shorts to the office. I bet you couldn’t do that back in Seattle.”
“Are you about to suggest I look on the bright side?” Abby dug inside her handbag and retrieved her sunglasses. She slipped them on and then stretched her hand out, palm up. “If I hold my hand like this long enough, you could crack an egg over it and I can assure you, the egg would fry.”
“Overreacting? Just think how lucky we are to have the best holiday of the year in summer.”
Abby fanned herself. “It somehow isn’t the same. And I’m the first to admit it’s turned me into a grouch.”
“I’ve noticed, but you’ve been very good. You haven’t complained until now. You should have said something.”
“Why? It’s not as if you can actually do something about the heat.”
“No, but we can focus on getting you into the spirit of Christmas. I get it, you’re used to Christmas being in winter. You could start by thinking of it as a novelty. Have you finished your Christmas shopping?”
“You want to know what I got you.”
Faith grinned. “I promise to act surprised.”
“Sorry, my lips are sealed.”
“Okay, what else can put you in the mood? Let’s see…” Faith hummed.
“Are you about to break into a song?” Abby asked. “If so, choose wisely my friend because, honestly, if you sing Jingle Bells, I ain’t buying it.”
“What do you mean?” Faith hummed the tune. “Oh… I see. Dashing through the snow in a one-horse open sleigh…”
“Yep, that’s it.” She held up a warning finger. “No snow, no song.”
“Heavens, you are grumpy.”
“Fine. I recognize the error of my ways.” Abby pushed out a breath. “I won’t mention the heat again. Although, in my defense, my brain is sizzled so I might lapse.”
Faith snorted. “You’ve only been outside for two minutes.”
“And your point is?” Abby asked as they turned the corner. Yelping, she shrunk away.
“Oh, come on. Anyone would think you’re a vampire about to be turned to dust. It’s just a little sun.”
Abby pressed her back against the wall. “I’m sure I’ll go through a charred stage first. That sun stings.”
Faith grabbed hold of her arm and tugged her along.
“At least let me walk on the inside. There’s a sliver of
shadow there.”
Halfway to Joyce’s Café, they saw her coming out of the café carrying a tray with tall glasses.
Abby rubbed her eyes. “I think I’m experiencing the first stage of sunstroke. Is that Joyce and is she dressed as an elf?”
“Oh, yes. This is your first Christmas here. You’re in for a treat. On most days, Joyce loves dressing up as her favorite Christmas tree decoration. The rest of the time, she’s an elf.” Faith called out a greeting. “I see she’s making a concession for the heat. She’s dressed as a summer elf.”
Abby wanted to question the idea of a summer elf but decided to take the road of least resistance and accept the concept without question.
When she saw Joyce pulling out a couple of chairs, she blinked hard as if trying to clear her vision. “Is she nuts? I’m not sitting out here when there’s air-conditioning inside.”
“Careful, she’ll hear you,” Faith warned. “We don’t want her feelings hurt.”
Joyce gave them a cheery smile. “I’ve reserved the best table for my favorite customers.” She gestured to the chairs she’d drawn out.
“Hear that?” Faith asked. “We’re her favorite customers.”
Abby steered toward the café door. “I’ll see you inside.” She only got as far as the door. Peering through the window, she didn’t see a single vacant table in sight.
“We’re having a busy lunch,” Joyce said. “The Alpine Trail Carolers are having their pre-Christmas get together to iron out the details for Carols by Candlelight.”
Abby wanted to say they would come back later when the crowd had cleared out, but Faith had already sat down. Scooping in a breath, Abby dashed toward the table, literally ducking for cover under the candy-striped umbrella. “Where are the icicles I’ve heard about?”
“They melted,” Joyce said, her tone matter-of-fact.
Abby must have looked sufficiently puzzled for Joyce to explain, “They were stick on icicles. You know, made of plastic with an adhesive backing. Anyway, the tape held until midday, but then they started coming unglued.”
