Death among the Roses: a Melanie Hart Mystery (Melanie Hart Cozy Mysteries Book 1) (5 page)

"And what makes you think I know anything more than you do about the guy?"

"You were a member of the wedding party. You spent more time with him than I did. I really only met Tony to talk to tonight."

Ginger pursed her lips, then shoved her chin forward. “So why is everybody so down on Tony?”

“I didn’t know they were.”

"Gossford spent an awful lot of time with him when he was grilling us this afternoon at the church. You haven't heard anything from your end about that one, have you?"

“From Gossford?” I shook my head. “Why would I?"

“I thought you two were tight.”

"In a way we are. He updates me on the local crime reports from his department," I said. "But he never offers me details in an on-going investigation. Especially now, when he’s hot on the trail of a killer.”

“Is he?”

“What?”

“Hot on somebody’s tail?”

“Ginger, that’s my point. Even if he were, he wouldn’t tell me.”

“Whatever. But I'm still waiting for you to explain why you’re so interested in Tony.”

“Well, for one thing," I said, "he's a stranger here. In order to rule him out as a suspect, we need to know more about him.”

“He may be a stranger, but he's not the only one.”

“What does that mean?” I shoved my coffee cup away from me. I’d had enough caffeine for one night.

“It means look to the guy escorting you about town. You don’t know anything about Josh Devon or what he’s after, either. So why aren't you interrogating somebody about him?”

“Oh for pity’s sake. Gary was dead before Josh even arrived at the church. I was standing there beside the body when I heard Josh’s car pull into the parking lot.”

“For all you know.”

“What does that mean?”

“Can you be certain Devon didn’t arrive earlier, kill Gary, then come back when you were conveniently standing there to witness his arrival? That’s what I’d do if I needed an alibi.

I blinked and studied Ginger's face. The woman was possibly more devious than I’d thought. She'd certainly spotted an option I'd missed. I suppressed a scowl. I hated it when Ginger out-thought me. “You could be right,” I mumbled.

“Darn straight, I could be,” she said with a wide grin.

Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about Ginger's enthusiastic defense of Tony and wondering what lay behind her statement. I hoped my new partner wasn’t already convinced of Josh’s guilt
—
or hopelessly committed to Stepich’s innocence, either.

But it wasn’t until I reached home that I remembered I’d forgotten to fill Ginger in on the last minute phone call Gary had received at the church. Little did I realize then, how large a part that call was to play in Ginger’s future.

***

Back home that night, I found Dad in the living room with the television on and his face buried in our competitor’s newspaper. Checking the contents of the
Herald Times
was a daily obsession for us. Published in Provincetown, the largest city anywhere near Cloverton, the newspaper covered events in ten surrounding counties, including our own.

Although the
Times
didn’t write up all the stories our newspaper ran, they hit the big ones. We always checked their pages to be certain we hadn’t missed any important local happenings. Fortunately for us, that rarely occurred.

But Dad and I knew the coverage of Gary’s murder would come out above the fold in tomorrow’s edition of the
Times
, while our story wouldn’t hit the streets until late Monday afternoon. It was one of the hazards of being a small-town newspaper that only published three times a week. Sometimes, we had to run the story a day or two later than our competition. But I knew Dad would work hard to flush out the details, including aspects that the
Times
would never make the effort to develop.

“There’s strawberry crumble in the fridge,” Dad said, turning a page of the paper.

“We ate at Bella’s, thanks. I couldn’t manage to get down another bite of food.”

“I thought I heard the garage door earlier?”

“You did,” I said. “After Josh dropped me off, I went back out to meet with Ginger.”

Dad lowered the newspaper and scowled at me. “Melanie, what are you up to? You and Ginger have never palled around much. And going to her place at this time of night is unheard of.”

“Nothing’s going on. We just wanted to get together. Hold each other’s hands. Gary’s death was a shock for both of us. Plus, we’re both worried about Cordelia.

Lying to Dad was unfamiliar territory for me. But then, I told myself, Dad had never played jailer before, either.

“Hmm,” he said, giving the paper a shake. “Just remember there’s a murderer on the loose, who, for all we know, just might be willing to kill again.”

Taffy, lying beside his feet, emitted a heavy sigh and shifted her head onto his right shoe.

“You can’t possibly suspect Ginger,” I said.

“Probably not. But what do you know about those two young men you went out with tonight?”

“Dad, I can’t stay locked up in my room until Gary’s murder is solved.”

He scowled. “You would if I had my way.”

I crossed to his chair and kissed the top of his head. My father was, without a doubt, being an overprotective dude, but he meant well. I offered him a fond good night and headed for the stairs.

“You’re turning in already?”

“Yes. I’m bushed.” My answer wasn't too far from the truth.

But once upstairs, I whipped out my cell phone and punched the speed dial for a highly familiar phone number. Alan Larkin was a sheriff's deputy, who’d been locally grown and raised right along with me. We’d been moderately good buddies on the school playground from first grade on. And he had, for the past couple years, served as my deep-throated snitch in the sheriff’s department.

As I drifted into a fitful sleep, I wondered if those feelings of faith in my fellow man could ever be restored?Once connected, he immediately agreed to my request to meet up with him tomorrow.

Finally, the last of my tasks completed for the day, I sat down on my bed. The memory of Gary’s body stretched out among the roses immediately popped into my head.

Ultimately, I wound up curled up in a ball on the bed, sobbing quietly into my pillow. Gary was dead. Cordelia was overcome with grief. This wasn't, I thought, the way their lives were supposed to go. And as I mourned for them, I was also aware that a large part of my faith in the goodness of the world and of the people around me had been shattered as well.

FIVE

T
he next morning, Ginger managed to beat me to the restaurant. My elderly neighbor, Mrs. Cray, had asked me to drop a jar of jam off at her son’s house. While there, his wife had cornered me for a bit of a talk. I couldn’t blame her. Locked home with three kids under five, her life had to be a bit short on adult conversation.

Now, scrambling in through the door at Howies, I found Ginger perched in a booth just beyond the front door.

Since it was a Sunday, the scent of bacon and sausage mingled with the more typical aroma of burger and fries. Howie’s on Sundays served a killer breakfast buffet. And seats in the house were at their usual premium for the affair. Children and parents, elderly groups and youthful folks were all stuffed into the restaurant. Their babbling voices filled the room with happy noise.

“Am I late?” I asked, as I slid into the booth across from Ginger.

“Nah, more like you’re disgustingly early.”

I shrugged off my shoulder bag and slid it onto the seat and glanced at my watch. I could hardly believe the time. It was five minutes before we were to meet. “You’re ahead of me. So why are you giving me guff?”

“Yeah, I know. All being early means is that we’re both compulsive types. Don’t tell anyone.” She lifted her coffee cup and took a quick sip.

“Have you ordered?”

She scowled. “Are you kidding? I’m not eating this stuff. It’s carb heaven. I’m fine with coffee. How about you?”

I felt my tummy emit a low, rumbling growl, and ignored it. “I’ll wait for Julie.”

Ginger glanced over at the doorway. “Huh, looks like that’s not going to take long.”

I twisted my head and caught sight of a woman looking to be somewhere in her mid thirties approaching our table. She had large hair, puffy eyes, and a beaten down expression. She also looked like she’d burned both ends of her candle last night.

So much for waiting tables at Bella’s Place, I thought.

“Hi,” she said, sliding into the seat beside Ginger. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

Ginger grunted. “We’re just grateful you were willing to turn out for us at all. I hope we haven’t shortchanged you on sleep.”

She shook her head and shot us a smile. “No foul. I pull the late shift at Bella’s. I’m also raising two sons who love to hop out of bed before the sun gets up. My nights are always short.”

Ginger grunted in apparent sympathy and double checked that we knew each other. I confirmed that, if nothing else, we had seen each other around town.

“You want breakfast?” Ginger asked.

“No thanks. I made the boys waffles this morning.”

My stomach set up another protest, which I did my utmost to ignore. If neither Julie or Ginger were ordering, I’d be darned if I’d scarf down any food in front of them. And I deeply regretted having told Dad I'd catch breakfast out.  He’d been making French toast at the time.

Our waitress joined us at the table. Julie and I requested two coffees.

The server gave us a disgusted glance. Then she marched off to fill our request.

I made a mental note to leave the woman a generous tip. It wasn’t her fault we weren’t eating.

“So,” Julie said, “what’s this meeting about? It’s not time for another class reunion, is it?”

Ginger laughed. “Fortunately no. The last one must have aged me ten years. I mean did you see Dolores Bettner?”

Our last reunion had been our first and had been well attended. I remembered seeing Dolores, too. The sight had been memorable and scary. She must have aged twenty years in the past five.

“Yeah, that’s a shame,” Julie said. “I can’t believe how young her husband looks.”

“Anyway, what we’d like to know is,” Ginger continued, “did you work Gary Pepper’s bachelor party?”

“That was Thursday night, right?” Julie asked, glancing my way.

“It was.”

“Nope. I have Thursday nights off. I understand it was well attended though, and I heard that a good time was had by all.”

Ginger gave Julie a knowing look. “Maybe a little extra good time was had by my friend, Tony Stepich?”

Julie grimaced. “I wouldn’t know. As I said. I wasn’t there.”

“You didn’t hear any gossip from those who were working the event?” I asked.

Julie shook her head. “Candy Collins handled that one almost by herself. She’s off on a vacation. Left Friday morning. So I’ve not heard any details. I know the bar tab was hefty. But that’s all I can say with any certainty.”

“Will you keep an ear out?” Ginger asked. “Cordelia would appreciate it.”

“Cordelia?” Julie’s face darkened. “What’s this all about? Is the party tied in somehow to Gary’s murder? I don’t want to get involved in anything dangerous here. I’ve got my boys to think of. And Candy has a daughter. She’s not going to want to risk putting Becky in harm’s way.”

“Nah,” Ginger responded. “It’s just Cordelia is a little upset. Apparently she heard some silly story or other about the party. We thought you could maybe put her worries to rest.”

I sat back amazed. When it came to lying, Ginger had me beat and then some.

Julie sighed. “I’d do anything to help Cordelia. You know I would.”

I cast a quick glance at Ginger, but she kept her gaze carefully averted from mine.

What, I wondered, were we getting ourselves into? Lying to friends? Chasing down rumors? Tracking a possible killer?

Still, I remained committed to our goal. Even if this session had come to nothing. I had my appointment with Larkin this afternoon. He heard a lot of gossip from all over the county. There was a good chance he’d have the scoop. If he couldn’t provide answers, when I stopped off at Cordelia’s place afterward, I could pump her little brother about the party. I was nearly certain that at his age he’d have tracked down something on the proceedings.

But, as they say, hope springs eternal and often for no good reason at all.

***

Mid-afternoon Sunday, I eased my car off a gravel road and onto a patch of neglected ground five miles east of Cloverton. This spot was the hidey-hole where Deputy Allen Larkin and I exchanged confidences.

I winced internally as my little Fiesta bounced over the uneven ground located along County Road 341 East. Once upon a time, this square patch of grass had served as a farmer’s barnyard. The house had long since vanished, probably pulled down to shave a bit of money from the property tax bill. Ditto apparently for the barn.

But a decaying shed still stood near an ancient fir-tree, giving testament to the fact that some family in time long gone had called this little plot of ground home.

I found Larkin’s car hidden behind the sagging shed. It was unusual for us to meet during daylight hours. The sheriff would hardly approve of our sessions. Certainly, Larkin would not fare well if it became publicly known he was meeting with me. I wouldn’t care to face the sheriff’s anger, either. Hence our near obsession to hide ourselves as best we could.

I had also avoided mentioning this session to Ginger. The way I saw this, Larkin was more tied into my job as reporter than my role as Ginger’s partner in crime. A part of me knew I was fudging, but I absolutely refused to share my trade secrets with anyone outside the profession. Even my father didn’t know about Larkin.

After switching off my engine, I looked up to discover the deputy standing outside his squad car. He squinted in the bright sunlight, his sandy locks tossed by a brisk, northerly wind.

Larkin was a tall, lean man, who in turns could be deathly serious or wildly funny. His face was too long, maybe, to be handsome. And his nose was maybe a bit too large for the rest of his face, but his eyes were a deep, penetrating blue. And I knew a lot of local women who considered them the perfect color to grace their bedrooms.

At this particular moment, those eyes were twinkling merrily at me.

I took a deep breath and exited my car. I never knew what kind of tack the man might take with me next. He’d always gotten great pleasure in keeping me just a bit off-balance. But his attitude didn’t cost me anything, and his information was always solid.

“Ah,” he said now with that wicked grin of his, “Like the swallows, you’ve returned to me.”

I pulled a face. “What
are
you babbling on about?”

“Well, last I heard, you were wrapped up in some stranger’s arms.”

“Sheesh, I guess gossip reigns supreme in small towns.” I couldn’t imagine how he’d heard about me and Josh. “Plus, if I ever find a dead body again, I could do worse than to have Josh Devon around. For your information, it was his steady hand that pulled me out of my hysterics. He’s also, by the way, one very nice guy.”

Larkin gazed at me steadily. “That's my problem, then. I have bad timing. I’m never around when you need me.”

I swallowed. “Whatever.”

I sometimes suspected Larkin would like us to be much closer than we were. But as far as I was concerned, it was a suggestion doomed to failure. A news reporter and a sheriff’s deputy were like fire and ice
—
an impossible mix. Besides, Larkin had always been something of a bad boy when it came to women. And if rumors were true, he still was one.

A slow smile spread across Larkin’s face. “Come on.” He motioned to his car. “Let’s get ourselves in out of this wind.”

I didn’t argue. Last night's storm had ushered in a cold front. The temperature difference between yesterday and today had to be at least thirty degrees.

Larkin swung the car door open. I scurried onto the passenger seat. After he’d closed the door, he crossed in front to the driver’s side. Finally, he slid behind the steering wheel and asked, “So what can I do for you this time?”

I shrugged. “I’m chasing rumors.”

“Not about the murder, I hope. ’Cause I got to tell you, I’m not in the loop. The Cloverton Police are handling the case. They’re not likely to share what they know with any of us on the sheriff’s payroll. Besides even if I possessed facts from their investigation, you’d get nothing out of me. It’s police business.”

“I’m not after information on the murder. At least not directly. I can see how you’d be protective of information like that. I’ve just heard this odd comment. I thought maybe you’d caught a reference or two on the subject around town.”

As a reporter I'd quickly learned that cops were better at scooping up and passing along stray stories than little old ladies armed with knitting needles.

Larkin blinked. “Odd comment?”

“Yeah. It was something Bella Gravits said.”

Larkin folded his arms and looked at me expectantly. He didn’t like Bella much, although I had no idea why she was in disfavor with him.

“So what rumor are you pursuing?"

“I had dinner at her restaurant last night, and she made a point of teasing a fellow about his behavior at Gary's bachelor party.”

“Which guy?"

"His name is Tony Stepich. He was Gary's best man."

“So why were you having dinner with him?”

“It was Devon’s idea.”

“He’s the fellow who wrapped himself around you in the parking lot, right?”

“Yes.”

Larkin frowned. “So what were you three up to?”

What was with this guy?
He sounded just like Dad. “Nothing much. We were just being neighborly. I wanted to thank Devon for his good deed in the parking lot and the two of us thought Stepich, being on his own here also, might like to tag along.”

“So you were only being thoughtful? I got that right?”

“Listen, what we were doing there doesn’t matter. What matters is that Bella took one look at Stepich and remembered him from Gary’s bachelor party.”

“So?”

“So don’t you think he must have done something rather spectacular to be remembered by Bella like that?”

“And you think his behavior might tie in with why Gary was murdered?”

I squirmed under the weight of Larkin’s penetrating stare. “I don’t know, maybe. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking for information on Gary’s death. I just wondered what had happened and if you knew. I thought I might be able to help Cordelia if something ever surfaced about the event. That’s all. She’s been through enough, If I can shield her from anymore trauma, I feel duty bound to try.”

Larkin sighed. “As much as I might dislike the woman, the fact is Bella’s excellent at what she does. Remembering customers is part of her job description. Trust me, if something is important to the health of her restaurant, you can bet she’s going to remember it. You’ve gotta understand. Bella would sell her soul for a nickel. And that son of hers is worse than she is.”

“But,” I protested, “it was the way she delivered the line, and the fact that Stepich’s face turned thirteen shades of red when hearing it.”

“So maybe Stepich got a little blotto and made a fool out of himself. These things happen. And if that kind of behavior became the motive for a murder, it would be the first time ever. Lots of men make fools of themselves at these things. In some ways it’s what those kinds of parties are for.  But few men are killed for it. That is unless they’re married.”