Fireside Homicide Cozy Mystery Bundle Page 11

  “There’s a murder every day,” I finished for him.

  “Sadly, it’s true. I’ve already purchased a larger paper near my home town so I’m really needed there,” he explained.

  “What about the Sugar Hill Herald?” I asked.

  “I’ll find someone to run the paper from here. In this day and age, I could almost run it myself from New York.”

  “That wouldn’t be the same...”

  “I know. I know,” Joe said, catching my hands in his. “I promise to make sure the paper is in good hands.

  His gray eyes sparkled with excitement and he looked even more handsome than he had the first time we met. My heart broke just a little for what might have been.

  “I also want you to know that I’ll miss you and the Dixie Cupp.”

  “We’ll miss you, too,” I said, letting him pull me close. I inhaled his wonderful, musky scent and closed my eyes fighting back sudden, unexpected tears.

  “I’ll be leaving in the morning,” he said, resting his chin on top of my head.

  “So soon?”

  “Yeah,” he breathed, and for a moment I smelled the sweet peppermint from my cupcakes. Then, with a finger under my chin, he lifted my face, kissed me tenderly and walked away.

  “Starla, are you okay?” That was Poppy right beside me.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I told her as I watched Joe Wheeler walk out of my life forever.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “He’s moving back to New York,” I told her.

  “What?”

  I repeated what Joe had told me and suddenly realized just how lonely I was. Yes, I was surrounded by wonderful friends, my employees and my customers at the diner but when it came right down to it, I was pretty much alone. Joe was the first guy I’d really been excited about in a while and, I guess, somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought he would change that. Then Tucker had breezed back into town, complicating things even further.

  Right then, all I wanted to do was go back to my little sanctuary over the diner and be by myself.

  “Poppy, tell Tucker I’ll catch up with him later. If you don’t need me here, I think I just want to go home now,” I told her.

  A little worry line appeared between her eyes. “Let me get someone else to cover and I’ll go with you.”

  “No, you stay and enjoy the fun. I want to be alone for a while.”

  Once Poppy was assured I was going to be okay, she let me go. Leaving her and the festivities behind, I walked back to the diner and trudged up the back stairs. Up in my apartment, I wandered from room to room, touching familiar objects, loving the way they made me feel.

  I lay down across the bed, pulled my favorite purple blanket over me and closed my eyes. My body was saying nap time but my mind would not be still. The sight of Mr. Nettle lying there cold and dead in the snow floated into my brain. Helen Taylor coming into the diner that cold, snowy morning telling me she was meeting someone. Mayor Gillespie’s calendar with the big H and that cryptic message.

  I forced my thoughts to the man Poppy and I had encountered in the park. In my mind, I looked at him closely and came up with nothing. All that seemed like forever ago. And now it looked like Mr. Nettle’s murder would never be solved.

  Joe and Tucker hadn’t been able to pin anything at all on Adam or Robert Taylor.

  Had they even questioned Helen Taylor?

  That thought made me sit up in my bed, the purple blanket falling to the floor.

  I frowned trying to remember. If Joe or Tucker had talked to her, they hadn’t said anything to me about it. Before I realized it, I was pulling on my boots, moving to the door, grabbing my coat on the way out. Robert Taylor was at the Winter Festival. I’d seen him at his booth wearing that long, gray coat. But I hadn’t seen Helen. She might be home.

  And I had to take a chance and find out.

  I found Raven’s Crest easily. Finding her cookie cutter McMansion was a little more difficult. But find it I did, and I half expected the neighborhood watch guys to stop me halfway up the walk and question my presence there. No one was around, though. In fact, the whole neighborhood seemed eerily quiet. I rang the doorbell. Everyone was probably still at the festival.

  Everyone except Helen Taylor.

  She opened the door, looking as trim and put together as always in dark slacks and a royal blue sweater. Her hair was perfectly coifed and her make-up was impeccable. Briefly, I wondered if she was expecting company.

  “Starla,” Helen said, sounding surprised.

  “Hello, Mrs. Taylor,” I said. “Do you have a minute to talk?”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” she said, backing into the house and opening the door wider allowing me inside.

  The home was as neat as a pin and beautifully decorated. I felt as if I was stepping into a magazine.

  “I was just making myself some tea,” she said, leading me toward the back of the house.

  As I followed her, I glanced into a room that had to be an office. All I saw was dark leather furniture and a deer head on the wall.

  “That’s Robert’s office,” she said, quickly closing the door. “He does enjoy hunting when he has the time.”

  “Would you like some tea as well?” she asked, finally leading me into that magnificent kitchen.

  “No, thank you,” I said, suddenly wondering how I was even going to start this conversation. “But, please go ahead.”

  That kitchen was gorgeous, with stainless steel appliances, granite countertops and the most unique backsplash I’d ever seen. It glittered like sea glass in the afternoon sun pouring in through the windows.

  “What a beautiful kitchen,” I said, unable to hide my awe.

  “It is, isn’t it?” she said with a smile. “A little big and a little too modern for me, but it was what Robert wanted.” Then she pointed toward the massive island in the center of the room. “Have a seat.”

  I found a stool and sat, resting my elbows on the slab of granite that must have costed more than my car.

  “So, what did you want to talk to me about?” she asked, pouring hot water into a mug and dunking her tea bag up and down a few times.

  “Mr. Nettle,” I began, still not quite sure where I was going with this.

  She shook her head, added honey to the steaming mug and stirred it. Her spoon clinked on the sides of the cup. “Such a shame. And they never figured out what happened, did they?”

  “No, ma’am,” I said. “I know they questioned Adam.”

  “And Robert as well. Looked into our financials, that sort of thing. He didn’t tell me much about it, but I know it made him angry,” she said, turning to face me, leaning back against the counter.

  “I’m sure they just had to make sure and leave nothing to chance,” I said.

  “And there was a great deal of money involved, which all went to Adam, of course,” she sipped her tea.

  I took a deep breath. “You had a meeting with the mayor that morning.”

  “Mayor Gillespie and I are good friends. We meet on a regular basis,” she said.

  Did I see her hand tremble?

  She looked at me. “What does that have to do with Mr. Nettle?”

  I shrugged. “Not sure. They found a note in his pocket that had your name on it, the time and the location in the park where he was killed.”

  Her chin shot up a notch. Yeah, I’d hit some kind of nerve. Very carefully, she placed her cup on the island.

  “Are you accusing me of something, young lady?”

  “No, ma’am. I just think it’s odd that Mr. Nettle would be out in the middle of the park in a snow storm with a note with your name on it. And you did have a meeting with the mayor that day. It was on his calendar with a note underneath it. ‘I have to know’ is what it said.”

  “That is none of your business.”

  “In fact, he cancelled a meeting with Joe that morning to meet with you,” I said, afraid to push her much further, afraid to bac
k down.

  “How does that have anything to do with Mr. Nettle?” she asked, her eyes flashing fire, like green diamonds.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know, but somehow I think it does.”

  Just then, the front door opened and closed.

  “Helen,” Robert called out.

  “In the kitchen,” she answered not taking her eyes off of me.

  Robert strode into the kitchen, his long, gray coat swirling around his legs. “Starla? What are you doing here?”

  “She was just setting up an appointment for us to study her family tree,” Helen lied without batting an eye.

  Now, it was my turn to look surprised. “Actually, I was here trying to figure out why your wife’s name was written on a piece of paper found in a dead man’s pocket.”

  “What?” Robert looked from Helen to me and back again.

  I stood and faced him. It was obvious he hadn’t heard that bit of information either.

  “We found a note in Mr. Nettle’s pocket. It had Helen’s name written on it with the location and time,” I explained. “I was trying to figure out why.”

  “Robert, I can explain...” Helen said.

  “You don’t have to explain,” he said in a voice as dead and cold as the wind whistling around the house. Slowly, he began unbuttoning his coat. “I took care of that one. It was quite a surprise finding out you were having a tryst with that old geezer.”

  I held my breath.

  “I think Mr. Nettle had a crush on me. He was always showing up, trying to help me with groceries or stopping by the historical society office and asking me to lunch. But I never, ever...”

  “I found a note in the mailbox,” he sneered. “Since I couldn’t be sure who it was from, all I could do was be there at the same time and put a stop to it that way. Mr. Nettle showed up and...”

  “Evidently, Mr. Nettle found that note as well,” I reasoned.

  “He left it there for my wife to find. A sure fire way to get her attention without leaving any sort of trail like a cell phone call or text.”

  “Robert,” Helen gasped. “You killed that poor old man!”

  “You were the one we saw walking out of the park that morning,” I guessed. “I recognize the coat now.”

  “Yeah, I was afraid you would recognize me, but evidently you didn’t,” he said. “Actually, I was kind of glad to see you and Poppy. I knew you’d find Mr. Nettle pretty quickly and you covered my tracks very well.”

  I was still trying to put all the information together in my head. As I’d followed Helen through the house earlier, I hadn’t seen any rifles of any kind but maybe they were locked up somewhere. Frantically, I tried to remember if he’d been carrying a gun when we saw him.

  “You thought Mr. Nettle and I were...?” Helen moved toward her husband, lifted a hand to touch him but let it drop.

  “Helen, I know you’ve been having affairs for years,” Robert said. “Maybe Nettle was a mistake.”

  Helen shook her head slowly. “No, Robert, I swear, there’s never been anyone but you.”

  “But you weren’t carrying a rifle and Tucker said...”

  Robert laughed harshly. “What a couple of jokers.” Then he turned his angry gaze on his wife. “While those two were sniffing around in mine and Adam’s finances following the money trail, I’ve already figured out who your real boyfriend is.”

  “I don’t have any boyfriends,” Helen said, her eyes pleading for him to believe her.

  “Yeah and it was right under my nose. I saw the two of you driving around in your new car the other day. You know...the one I bought you?”

  “Mayor Gillespie.” I said. Something was still wrong about this whole scenario but I couldn’t figure out what.

  Robert nodded, still looking at Helen. “He’s next. After I take care of Miss Nosy here.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  That’s when I saw the gun in his hand. It was big and looked like an old fashioned dueling pistol, but it had a scope mounted on top like a rifle. The barrel was thick and about as long as my forearm, but the hole in the end seemed small in comparison to the rest of it. Until he raised it up and pointed at me. Then it looked big enough to swallow me whole. I instinctively knew I was looking at the murder weapon. It fit neatly in the holster under his coat.

  “Robert,” Helen said softly. “No.”

  “Yeah, I wasn’t planning on this and I really hate doing it here in the kitchen,” he said.

  I barely heard him. All I could think of was that no one knew I was here and if he’d gotten away with Mr. Nettle’s murder, he could easily cover up mine.

  “She was trying to come in through the back door there,” he said, already concocting his story.

  The sound of the gun deafened me but I didn’t dare make a sound. I expected to see the door disintegrate like they do in the movies but instead it just got a neat little hole as though someone had drilled it there. One hand disappeared into his pocket. Then tipped the barrel down and back as he changed out the spent shell for a new one. The fact that it was a single shot pistol would have been good information to have two seconds earlier. Now that gun was trained on me again.

  Helen was beside me screaming his name.

  “I thought it was an intruder, what with Mr. Nettle’s murderer still being on the loose and all. Sugar Hill isn’t as safe as it used to be. A man has to protect his home,” he was yelling as well, obviously aware that my ears were still ringing and I could barely hear him.

  The yelling didn’t scare me as badly as the way he was waving that gun around. Pointing it first at Helen and then at me and then at the ceiling. And I was too terrified to move or take my eyes off of him.

  “That note was from Mayor Gillespie,” Helen finally confessed. “But we’re not lovers.”

  My ears were still ringing but I could hear Helen struggling to make her husband understand.

  “Please put the gun down and listen to me,” she begged.

  “Too late,” Robert snapped and aimed the gun at me again. “This is all your fault, Helen. I killed Mr. Nettle by mistake in the park. Now I have to kill stupid Starla and then I’ve got to somehow get to the mayor. I tried to take care of it today when the snowmen exploded but someone got in the way and I missed.”

  “You tried today?” I asked.

  “Yeah, that’s why they all detonated at the same time.”

  “I’m helping Mayor Gillespie look for his biological mother,” Helen said suddenly.

  I managed to glance at her and knew, without a doubt, she was telling the truth.

  “Sure you are,” Robert snapped.

  “No, really. He was adopted when he was just a baby and he asked me to help him figure it out.”

  “This is the first I’ve heard of this.”

  “He just found out, sort of by accident while going through some of his dad’s old papers and he didn’t want anyone in town to know,” she explained. “That’s why we were meeting at the park that morning. I wanted to share the information with him about his birth mother. It was the only place we could meet without drawing attention to it.”

  “But then the storm hit,” I put in.

  “Yes, the storm. We spoke briefly at the diner and I convinced him to let me come to his office so I could show him everything I’d found.”

  “So you weren’t meeting an old friend?” I asked.

  She simply shook her head.

  “Shut up,” Robert growled, leveled the gun at my head. He was sweating and shaking and I prayed that he would have a heart attack before he pulled the trigger. “I don’t believe a word you just said.”

  “I can prove it,” she said quickly and began backing away from her husband. “I have the paperwork in the drawer right here.”

  He shot her a suspicious look. “Either way, this one has to go. She knows too much. I know how to keep your mouth shut.”

  The next gunshot wasn’t nearly as loud, more of a pop than anything else. But a small, neat hole appeared in
Robert’s chest. He looked surprised, blinked at Helen and then looked at me. There was another pop and another hole appeared. I dived to the other side of the island where Helen stood, holding a small pistol in both hands.

  “Call 911,” she said, handing me her cell phone. Her voice was as calm as if she was telling me to order pizza.

  “Are you okay?” I asked as keyed in the number.

  “Yes. I’m okay,” she said quietly and placed the gun carefully on the granite and approached her husband lying on the floor. “I’m okay.”

  I was happy that my call had been routed through the state police and I didn’t have to scream to make Thelma understand what I needed. I explained as calmly as I could, my ears still ringing that I needed an ambulance and the police. I carefully told them who I was and where I was.

  Robert groaned. Helen knelt on the floor beside him and brushed his thinning hair back off of his forehead. “I’m so sorry,” I heard her whisper. “I am so, so sorry.”

  I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the fact that she had just shot him or something else, but I could already hear sirens and I raced for the front door.

  Tucker was already out of his SUV, running toward the house. The rescue squad right behind him.

  “What happened?” he demanded to know.

  “Robert’s been shot,” I explained, moving aside to allow the paramedics to get to him. I pointed. “In the kitchen.”

  “Are you okay?” Tucker was running hands up my arms, across my head as if searching for bullet holes.

  “I’m okay,” I said, allowing him to pull me close. God, it felt good to be held in those big strong arms, hearing his heart beating steadily. “Helen is okay, too. She saved me.”

  “What?” He held me at arm’s length.

  “He shot Mr. Nettle. He tried to shoot the mayor this morning at the festival and missed. And he was going to kill me to shut me up,” I explained.

  “Excuse me,” a timid voice beside us.

  “Mrs. Taylor. How can I ever thank you?” I gasped, tears forming in my eyes when I realized that she was crying. Black streaks of mascara decorated her cheeks and her lipstick was smeared.