Fireside Homicide Cozy Mystery Bundle Page 8

  “I told you this morning.”

  Poppy stopped at the foot of my bed, hands on her hips.

  It’s complicated,” I said.

  “I’ve been waiting for that to happen since we were in middle school,” Poppy told me. “And now you’re telling me it’s complicated.”

  “Joe walked in and caught us kissing.”

  “You told me that already.” Poppy returned to sit on the side of the bed. “What else?”

  “There is nothing else. I mean Joe and I don’t have a commitment to each other or anything. And besides, it was just a kiss. I’ve known Tucker all my life.”

  “You know there isn’t a Mrs. Tucker,” Poppy reminded me.

  “How could I forget? His mama reminded me of that several times today at lunch.”

  “How was it?”

  “Oh, lunch was good. Mrs. Ashe is a wonderful cook...”

  “The kiss,” Poppy said, forcing me to look at her and enunciating each word slowly. “How was the kiss?”

  I licked my lips. Yes, I could still almost taste it. I looked away, looked back again. She wasn’t going to stop until I told her. “Even better than I ever imagined,” I finally said.

  Poppy was off the bed, whooping and dancing around. “I knew it. I knew it.”

  “Listen, Poppy, it doesn’t mean anything. He’s back in town investigating a murder. We just got caught up in the moment. Soon he’ll be gone again when it’s all over and that will be that.”

  “Until then...”

  “But I’m pretty sure Joe is here to stay and he doesn’t have a job that might get him killed. So if we’re talking about stability...”

  “We’re talking about kisses,” Poppy said, hugging one of my pillows to her chest. “Pretty spectacular kisses, I’m guessing, or you wouldn’t be so quiet about it.”

  “Pretty spectacular,” I said, closing my eyes and remembering how it felt to melt into him.

  Poppy hooted again. “I knew it. I knew it.”

  Both of our cell phones rang at about the same time.

  “Hi, babe,” Poppy said into hers and wandered off into my kitchen. That had to be Tom.

  Mine was a text from Barbara Ellen. It simply said 911. That meant she was getting busy and it was time for me to get to work.

  Poppy bundled up against the cold and I followed her down the stairs from my apartment. She slipped out the back door where Tom was waiting, his truck rumbling in the cold, cold wind. What little bit of watery sunshine I’d seen that morning was long gone. The skies were as gloomy and gray as before.

  I waved at him. He waved back from inside the warm truck and then I headed out into the busy diner to help Barbara Ellen.

  Evidently word had gotten out that Gladys had made vegetable soup that morning. If anything drew customers in weather like this, it would be her vegetable soup. The afternoon kitchen staff was busy pulling cornbread out of the oven and the wonderful smells coming from that direction, reminded me it was almost dinner time.

  Barbara Ellen darted from table to table, taking orders, filling coffee cups. I grabbed a fresh pot of coffee and jumped in to help. She smiled her thanks as we passed each other and I smiled back. Working was good. It kept my mind off of the upcoming contest at the Winter Festival and Tucker and the murder.

  Until I looked up and saw Adam Nettle coming into the diner, followed by Helen Taylor and her husband Robert. She wore a soft pink, double-breasted coat with matching hat and gloves. Her husband had one of those long, wool coats. What did Tucker call it? A duster? Did everyone have one of those?

  At first, I thought they had just sort of arrived at the same time. But when Barbara Ellen directed Adam to a booth, he indicated that Helen and Robert were with him and they wanted to sit further back in the diner.

  Now that got my attention.

  Barbara Ellen led them to a booth in the far corner, then placed menus on the table as well as mugs. I gave them a few minutes to get settled and then swooped in, filling them with coffee, sliding a little bowl full of packets of sugar and creamer.

  “Thank you, Starla,” Adam said, giving me a tight little smile.

  “It’s awfully cold,” I said. “I’m surprised to see you guys out.”

  “Adam and Robert were talking insurance and it got late and I decided I wasn’t cooking dinner this evening,” Helen explained. “So we just decided to take Adam out for dinner.”

  “And what better place than here,” Adam added, acting like the compliment tasted bad in his mouth.

  “Why thank you,” I said simply.

  Robert simply studied the menu, looking as grim as he always did.

  I returned to their table a few minutes later to take their orders and put them in to the kitchen. The order was simple, vegetable soup and corn bread so it wasn’t long before I was able to load it on a tray and carry it back to their table.

  “Adam, again, I am so sorry about your dad. He’s really going to be missed around here,” I said, sneaking a look to see Helen’s reaction

  She simply looked sad and nodded in agreement. Robert was doing something with his phone.

  “I’ll miss him as well,” Adam said.

  Perhaps Adam spoke with his dad on a regular basis even if he didn’t come to see the elderly man, but I doubted it. I know how much I missed talking to my grandmother since she passed.

  I left them to their dinner only to find that Tucker had come in. He was at the counter with a big bowl of vegetable soup and a stack of biscuits. His cheeks were still ruddy from the cold and wind.

  “I see you have some interesting customers this evening,” he said, quietly when I refilled his coffee cup.

  When I didn’t respond, he glanced at Adam, Robert and Helen sitting together in the back booth.

  “Oh, they were talking insurance and Helen decided she wasn’t cooking and...”

  “I’ll bet they were talking insurance. Mr. Nettle had a couple of pretty big policies. Way too much insurance for a mail carrier,” he said, tearing a biscuit in half and dunking it in his soup.

  “You’re barking up the wrong tree,” I said, sounding pretty sure of myself.

  “I’ve pulled bank records for Mr. Nettle and Adam. We’re going over them now. Seems Adam’s dad was worth more dead than alive,” Tucker told me, his voice hushed.

  “That doesn’t mean...”

  “And now Adam is having dinner with his dad’s insurance carrier. That looks pretty suspicious to me.”

  “Maybe they’re just working out the details. Maybe Adam is buying insurance,” I argued.

  “Or maybe both of them are a little upset because I won’t release the body,” Tucker said. “I’ve asked the coroner to stall his report until I do a bit more digging into the finances.”

  “So the insurance won’t pay off until...”

  Tucker nodded.

  “Everyone knows he was murdered,” I said, struggling to keep my voice down. “You mean the insurance won’t pay off until you find out who did it?”

  “Bingo.”

  Adam and Robert and Helen Taylor paid for their meal and left, making it a point to ignore the fact that Tucker was sitting at the counter big as life.

  “He was pretty belligerent when I interviewed him,” Tucker said, watching them leave.

  “Adam?”

  He nodded. “Swore up and down that he didn’t have a thing to do with it. Still, I had to get a warrant to get his financial and phone records.”

  “And what have you found out so far, detective?” I asked, crossing my arms in front of me.

  “Nothing. Yet,” Tucker said.

  Joe Wheeler strolled into the diner like he owned the place, just like he always did. “Tucker, my man,” he said, slapping Tucker on the back. “You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

  “Not avoiding. Just busy,” Tucker said with an easy smile. “I do have a murder to solve, you know.”

  “And then you’ll head back to where, Richmond?”

  “Wherever the n
ext case takes me,” Tucker answered. Why was his southern drawl so much more prominent when Joe was around?

  “Well, I want to get the scoop on this story for the paper,” Joe reminded him.

  “I know and I’ll give you the story when I know the story.”

  “Rumor has it that you think it was related to money,” Joe coaxed.

  Tucker glanced at me.

  “Hey, I haven’t said a word to anyone about this,” I said, holding up my hands in surrender. “You know I wouldn’t do that.”

  “My sources said it originated from the mayor’s office,” Joe said, rescuing me from Tucker’s hot gaze.

  Suddenly, I remembered that the mayor had cancelled a meeting with Joe the morning Mr. Nettle died. While the two men talked, I struggled to remember what Mayor Gillespie had said. All I really could remember was that he said he had a meeting he’d forgotten about and had to cancel. I busied myself re-filling Tucker’s cup and pouring a fresh cup of coffee for Joe. I refused to believe that Mayor Gillespie was involved in this.

  “Thanks, Doll-face,” Joe said with a wink. “And could I get some of that vegetable soup I’ve been hearing about all day?”

  “Sure thing,” I said and scurried off toward the kitchen.

  “If it’s okay, I think I’ll be heading out,” Barbara Ellen said, once she helped me get Joe’s meal ready.

  “Go ahead. I think we’re just about finished here tonight,” I said, following her back out to the little hall where everyone hung their coats. She’d already sent everyone else home due to the cold. “I’ll take care of the register once these guys get moving.”

  “Starla, be careful,” Barbara Ellen said, pulling on her hat and gloves.

  “I’ll try not to fall up the steps on my way home, okay?” I said, surprised at her statement.

  She took a deep breath and hugged me. “Mr. Nettle getting shot like that just worries me. Things like that just don’t happen in our little town.”

  “Times are changing, Barbara Ellen,” I said, hugging her back. “Besides, I have Tucker and Joe sitting in my diner. What could possibly happen?”

  “You have a point,” she said. “Although judging by the way both of those men look at you, you might have to fight them both off.”

  “Oh, hush” I said, waving her away. “I’ve known Tucker since forever and Joe’s a big city guy. He’s not going to hang around here long.”

  Even as I said it, I realized I hadn’t thought about Joe’s kisses since Tucker had come to town.

  The men were deep in conversation when I cleared their dishes. It looked like Joe was getting an informal interview whether Tucker knew it or not.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning, Poppy and I braved the cold and wind and walked to the bank. The trip was pretty uneventful. At least we didn’t find any more dead people. Bundled up in coats, hats and gloves, we trudged along Main Street leaning against the wind. Tiffany’s health food store, Naturally Yours, wasn’t doing much business even with her new line of natural beauty products in the window. In fact, she was stepping into the yoga studio, A Beautiful Balance, just as we passed it. She didn’t miss the opportunity to turn and smile at us.

  “Just got back from Harrisonburg,” she said. “We are learning so much from Sylvia.”

  “Good for you,” Poppy said.

  My lips were frozen together so I couldn’t reply. My face was too cold to smile back. At least that’s what I told myself.

  In the bank at Mrs. Snyder’s window, I caught a glimpse of a small blue plate of beautifully frosted cupcakes. The white frosting, swirled just perfectly, looked like sparkling snow and two delicate, pale blue snowflakes that looked like they were made of sugar were perched on top.

  “What pretty cupcakes,” Poppy commented as she unzipped the pouch and handed to the older woman.

  “Aren’t they. I believe Eva and Anna Lord made those,” Mrs. Snyder said. “They’re practicing for the baking contest at the Winter Festival.”

  “Starla is, too,” Poppy said, glancing at me.

  “Well, I’d be happy to taste test them,” Mrs. Snyder said with a shaky little laugh. “These are almost too pretty to eat.”

  “Food isn’t supposed to be too pretty to eat,” I grumbled while unwrapping my purple sucker.

  Poppy laughed.

  Neither of us were too keen on walking in the park. I told myself it was the weather but that wasn’t the real reason. Heck, I wondered if we would ever walk in that park again, even after the weather cleared up. All I could remember was seeing Mr. Nettle lying dead in the snow. I told her she could use my treadmill if she really felt like she had to exercise.

  Instead, Poppy suggested we walk a little further away from the diner along Main Street and then back up the other side. That brought us within shouting distance of the police station (a shiny new red brick building) and then right past the mayor’s office which was located in one of the oldest buildings in town. It had originally been an old mill transformed into offices which housed all the city and some county offices. The historical society, which took up part of the ground floor, was where Helen Taylor held art shows, quilt shows and other events. She actually hosted the mayor’s victory party there after the last election. The Mayor’s office was on the first floor as well.

  As we approached the building on our way back down the street, a beautiful ruby red Lincoln Navigator glided into a parking space.

  “Who is that?” I asked, my voice muffled by my scarf.

  In answer, Helen Taylor climbed out from behind the wheel looking as put together as usual. Mayor Gillespie got out of the passenger side, struggling against the wind.

  “Starla. Poppy,” Mayor Gillespie shouted, his gaze darting nervously from us to Helen and back again.

  “Ladies,” Helen Taylor gushed, fighting the wind to keep her coat around her. “Did you see my new car?”

  How could we miss it? “It’s a beauty,” I said.

  “Robert bought it for me just yesterday. When Mayor Gillespie saw it, he asked me to take him for a spin. Even on these bad roads, it handles beautifully. And now our mayor is thinking of buying one of his own,” Helen rambled on while she tucked her car keys in what looked like an expensive purse that matched her expensive looking boots.

  “Helen. Ladies.” The mayor nodded. “I have a meeting in just a few moments. So if you’ll excuse me...”

  “Why, yes,” Helen said. “I have a meeting as well so I’d better get running, too.”

  We watched the two of them cross the sidewalk and step into the old building. The wind whipped their coats around their legs. Mayor Gillespie paused and held the door for Helen. She smiled up at him.

  “What was that all about?” Poppy asked as we began walking again.

  “I don’t know, but I’d love to find out if they were together the morning Mr. Nettle was killed,” I said, mostly to myself.

  “You don’t think one of them...” Poppy said, her brown eyes watering from the cold.

  “No but I have a feeling the Helen that was written on Mr. Nettle’s note was referring to Helen Taylor,” I said as we hurried back to my apartment.

  I was in my little kitchen, squeezing soft butter out of the corner of a plastic bag, practicing my cake decorating skills on what would be our grilled cheese sandwiches. Poppy was running on the treadmill in my bedroom. The rhythmic thump of her shoes on the mat made me sleepy.

  “I’d like to see his calendar,” I said when Poppy came into the kitchen dabbing sweat off of her face with the corner of a towel.

  “Well, I’m pretty sure you can’t just waltz into his office and ask to see it,” Poppy said, sitting down in front of a bowl of tomato soup.

  I expertly flipped the sandwiches in my grandmother’s iron skillet and smiled at the perfectly grilled, golden brown bread.

  “You’ve been practicing your decorating skills,” Poppy said, lifting a cracker off the plate in the center of the table.

  I had swirled so
me spreadable cheese across the crackers and sprinkled them with parsley and red pepper flakes.

  “I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to do more than that to win the contest at the festival,” I told her, cutting our sandwiches into triangles.

  “I’m telling you, YouTube,” Poppy said, digging into her soup.

  “Uh huh,” I said, absently.

  My thoughts kept returning to the way Helen had looked up at the mayor when he opened the door for her. They’d been out in her new car, which I was sure Tucker was going to equate with some sort of a payoff for Mr. Nettle’s murder. They had talked at the diner that morning and then Mayor Gillespie had cancelled his meeting with Joe. And, Helen’s neighbors talked about how the mayor was a regular visitor at her house.

  “Earth to Starla,” Poppy said, waving her hand in front of my face.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I was just thinking.”

  “About how to get into see Mayor Gillespie’s calendar?”

  “Sort of.”

  “If he was having some secret old person sex thing with Helen, do you think he would write it on his calendar?” Poppy asked.

  “He might.”

  Poppy shook her head.

  “We might be able to find out,” I said, carefully broaching the idea that had just popped into my head.

  “How?”

  “If we got into his office after he left for the day,” I suggested.

  “How? You know Darcy is not going to let you past her desk,” Poppy reminded me.

  Darcy Sours was Mayor Gillespie’s secretary and guard dog and had been for as long as I could remember. She reeked of cigarette smoke even though the office had No Smoking signs everywhere. And no one but no one got past her desk without an appointment. I wondered if Tucker or Joe had been able to charm their way past her.

  “We could break in,” I suggested.

  “Break into the mayor’s office,” Poppy gasped, almost choking on her first bite of grilled cheese. “Starla, it’s right beside the police station.”

  “I know but tonight it will be cold and dark and none of those guys will be out and about. Besides, his office is on the back side of the building,” I argued, a plan forming in my head even as we talked.