Summer Walsh Mystery Series (3 complete cozy mystery novellas) Read online

  It was obvious that something was wrong.

  Chapter 2

  I parallel parked my car at the curb, glanced in the side mirror to check for traffic, and then I got out to check on the person lying on the grass, half hidden behind a freshly clipped shrub. Maybe she passed out from overexertion. As I got closer and saw absolutely no movement, I feared the worst.

  The skirt had twisted around the upper part of the legs obviously belonging to an older woman. The bumps, bruises, and spots on her legs showed signs of overuse, hard work, and probably the wrong shoes. Once I maneuvered behind the shrub, the overall impact hit me hard.

  There was a big hole in the front of the woman's dress, with blood splattered all around. Her hands still gripped some pruning shears, and a basket filled with flowers had toppled over on its side. She'd obviously been shot.

  Once the realization hit me, I leaned over to check for a pulse in case I needed to try to save her. Not only did I not feel her heartbeat, her skin was cold to touch.

  I whipped out my cell phone and dialed 911. Then I stayed on the phone with the dispatcher until I heard sirens.

  The first to arrive was a police officer who appeared to be about my age. He narrowed his eyes as he approached. "Do I know you?"

  He looked familiar to me too. "I'm not sure. My name is Summer Walsh."

  "I know that name from somewhere." He blinked before glancing down at the woman. "What happened?"

  I only had about thirty seconds to talk to him before another officer, an ambulance, and a fire truck arrived. Chaos consumed the area as neighbors came outside to see what was going on. The woman next door peeked outside, but when I glanced up, she quickly darted back in and closed the door.

  "Do you know this woman's name?" the original officer said as the paramedics placed the woman on a stretcher and covered her body.

  I shook my head. "I was just driving by, and I spotted her legs, so I thought I'd see if she needed help."

  We both stepped to the side when forensics showed up to mark the area and search for evidence. This scene was all too familiar to me, and it still made me queasy.

  He glanced up at me and squinted again. "Why were you driving by?"

  I started explaining that I'd just gotten to town for a job interview, but when he appeared confused, I shrugged. "I'm thinking about moving to the area, so I wanted to check out some neighborhoods."

  "This is normally a quiet neighborhood," he said. "In fact, this is the first homicide call I've ever gotten here, and I used to patrol this area for about five years." He pulled out his phone and called in my name. I watched as he chatted with the person on the other end of the line. When he looked back at me, I knew he'd found out who I was.

  "Now I remember why you look familiar," he said. "We met at a seminar shortly after I started the police force. Remember me? I'm Vince Yates."

  Yes, I vaguely remembered him too. He'd hit on me and asked me to join him for dinner. I'd been in a relationship at the time, but if I hadn't, I probably would have gone. He seemed nice, and he was attractive in a baby-face sort of way.

  "Are you still in Nashville?" he asked.

  "I still live there, but I'm not in law enforcement anymore."

  A look of confusion flashed across his face. "What do you do now?"

  I shrugged. "That's what I was trying to tell you. I'm looking for a job."

  The forensics team motioned him over. I stood and watched as they held up a bag with a gun and pointed to the lush flowerbed a couple of feet from where the woman's body had fallen. Vince looked over at me, and I nodded to let him know that I'd been watching.

  A couple of the neighbors had congregated at the edge of the woman's property. After forensics left, Vince came back to me. "I think I know most of the answers, but I still have to ask you some questions." He paused and gave me an apologetic smile. "Do you know anyone around here?"

  "Afraid not," I replied. "In fact, this is the first time I've ever been on this street."

  He asked a few more standard questions before he wound down. "Welcome to Atlanta. I suppose I don't have to tell you that you'll be stuck here in town for a while – at least until we finish interviewing you and your name has been cleared."

  "Of course," I replied. I knew the drill. But I also knew that with the evidence they'd found, I'd be off the suspect list by the end of the day. After I left law enforcement, I got rid of the only personal weapon I'd ever owned. I didn't want anything to remind me of the work that had consumed me for more than a decade.

  "I'll need some more information before I let you go," he said as he lifted a pen and clicked it. "Where are you staying?"

  He asked several more questions before he finally put his pen away. "You will let me know when I'm off the hook, right?" I asked.

  "Yes, of course."

  "My job interview is in the morning at ten. I'd planned to head back home to Nashville immediately afterward, but I can stick around another day or two if needed."

  "Yeah, even if you didn't … I mean, since … well, I'm sure we could use your help."

  His nervousness warmed my heart. I liked seeing the human side of police officers. So many people only saw the uniform, but I knew better than anyone how most of them felt about their jobs and that they truly wanted to help people and make the world a safer place. They certainly didn't get into that line of work to get rich.

  "Talk to you soon," he said before walking toward his patrol car.

  A midsized pale yellow car that had driven by slowed down. There was a man behind the wheel, and as soon as he saw me looking at him, he sped up. No doubt he was curious about all the commotion on the street.

  I got into my car and waited for him to pull away before I turned the key in the ignition. As I approached the stop sign at the next block, I glanced in my rearview mirror and spotted a bunch of neighbors still congregating on the sidewalk in front of the victim's house that now had yellow tape around it.

  On the way to my hotel, I thought about how my life had been since leaving the Nashville Police Department. When I first became a civilian, I was a tad jumpy, so at Mom and Dad's recommendation, I went down to Florida to stay with my Uncle Bing who lived in a golf course community. Unfortunately, someone had been murdered on the tennis court, and Uncle Bing was framed, so I stuck around to help him out. I knew him well enough to be certain that he didn't have an ounce of murderous intention in him. Fortunately, it didn't take long to ferret out the murderer.

  I had a series of unfortunate jobs that totally didn't suit me, including one working at a lingerie shop in the mall. After walking out the night of Good Friday, Mom and Dad let me take their paid-for reservation at a Bed and Breakfast in Charleston, South Carolina. The instant I walked into the old converted house, I discovered the dead body of the sweet little innkeeper, and I stuck around to help find the murderer.

  When I finally got to go home, my parents sat me down and had a talk with me about reconsidering police work. I knew they worried about me the whole time I'd been on the force, but they reluctantly said they thought it was my calling. Maybe they were right, but I still wasn't ready to give up my search for the perfect job outside law enforcement. For my own peace of mind, I needed to exhaust all other possibilities first.

  And now this. I pulled into the hotel parking lot, put the car in park, turned the key, and closed my eyes for a moment. I couldn't help but wonder why this kept happening to me.

  I finally took a deep breath and went inside to register. Once I had my key card, I went back to my car, got my suitcase, and went back inside to the elevator. I'd barely pushed the button when my phone rang. It was Vince, letting me know I'd been cleared.

  "That sure didn't take long," I said.

  "They got some prints off the gun, and there was no reason to keep you on the suspect list – especially considering the fact that you didn't know anything about the victim, and no one we spoke to on the street had ever seen you before. Oh, and we know that everything in your story c
hecked out."

  "My story?"

  "Yes, you know what I'm talking about—the approximate time you stopped to get gas in Chattanooga—"

  "Okay … well, thanks for calling and letting me know."

  "Oh, one more thing," he said, his voice growing a tad softer.

  I braced myself. "What's that?"

  "Do you … um, do you have plans for … um …" His voice trailed off before he coughed and continued. "What I'm trying to say is I'd like to take you to dinner tonight—that is, if you aren't already …" His voice trailed off.

  Under most conditions, I would have declined, but considering how difficult it seemed for him to ask, I couldn't say no. "I don't have plans, and I'd love to go to dinner with you."

  "You would?" His voice squeaked with disbelief.

  "Yes, but if you don't mind, I'd like some time to rest first. I'm exhausted."

  "I understand," he said. "How about I pick you up at seven?"

  I glanced at my watch and saw that it was only a few minutes past four. "Perfect."

  As I lay back on the bed, I thought about what had transpired. I'd been in Atlanta only a few hours, and not only had I discovered a dead body, I had a date. This was fast, even for me.

  I was about to doze off when I remembered to call Mom. I figured I might as well go ahead and do that so she wouldn't worry. I sat up and made the call.

  "Hey, Summer. I'm glad you made it there safely. You haven't stumbled over any dead bodies yet, have you?" She let out a low chuckle.

  "I …" I sighed.

  "Summer?" Her tone made her concern very clear. "What are you not saying?"

  "I'm fine."

  "Okay, you know I can read you like a book," she said. "What's going on?"

  My mouth went dry as I tried to think of something to say that wasn't a lie. I'd never been a good liar, especially to my mom.

  "Talk to me, Summer."

  "Remember that question you asked? The one about stumbling over dead bodies."

  "Oh my goodness, Summer. What have you gone and gotten yourself into?"

  I cleared my throat, swallowed the lump that had formed, and blurted, "I didn't mean for it to happen, but … you know how things are for me." I swallowed hard. "I did stumble over a body."

  "I can't believe it. How does this keep happening to you?" Mom's shrill voice grated my nerves, but I knew she was worried sick.

  "Nothing is happening to me. I was driving around, and I found this really cute little neighborhood behind the day care center where I have the job interview tomorrow, so I slowed down to get a better look at some of the houses."

  "Get to the point, Summer."

  "Okay, so I saw this precious little cottage-style house with tons of flowers." I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "You'd love it, Mom. There's a row of flowers across the—"

  "Summer." Her warning tone reminded me to cut to the chase.

  I explained what had happened, while she listened in silence. Finally, after I told her everything, she let out a guttural sound.

  "Trust me, Mom," I said. "I wasn't looking for trouble."

  "But it found you," she said. "It always does."

  "I know." And I did.

  "Remember what your dad and I said about going back to police work," she reminded me. "We were both so relieved when you quit, but now that we've seen what happens …"

  "What happens?" I asked. "What do you mean by that?"

  Mom sighed. "I'm not really sure what I mean, but I would like to know you're not out there without protection."

  "You mean like a gun?"

  "Well—"

  "I'm a civilian now. I don't need a gun."

  She gasped. "Even your dad and I have a gun."

  "Yes, and whoever shot that woman I found this afternoon had a gun." I paused to let it sink in. "And look what happened."

  "I think we should wait until you come back home to finish this conversation," Mom said. "Why don't you tell that man you're interviewing with tomorrow that you've had a change of heart?"

  "Because I haven't," I said as firmly as I could manage. "I really want this job." That wasn't exactly the truth since I wasn't completely sure what the job entailed or how I'd deal with it. But I needed to do something besides sit around in the garage apartment behind my parents' house, eating muffins Mom left on my doorstep, and perusing job listings on my computer.

  "Okay, then, get some rest. Call me after your interview."

  "Will do," I said. "Love you."

  After I hung up, I flopped back on the bed. Naturally, Mom wanted me to go right back to Nashville after my appointment, but she had to know there was no way I could do that after what happened. Surely the police would appreciate a little extra help looking for the murderer. It wasn't everyday they had the advantage of a former police officer—a well-trained one at that—offering to do whatever was needed.

  I closed my eyes and tried to get some rest, but I couldn't get the image of the woman lying on the ground out of my head. Finally, I sat up, grabbed the remote off the nightstand, and flipped on the TV. And of course the news was on, with the woman's murder being the first thing that popped onto the screen.

  As I listened to the anchor tell viewers about what happened in his monosyllabic tone, I had a flashback to doing the same thing when I was a detective in Nashville. They generally only hit on the most dramatic points and often got some of the facts wrong. This guy didn't add his own spin, but after he finished the story, he flashed a big grin that showed off a lack of sincere interest in the case and what was undoubtedly tens of thousands of dollars of cosmetic dental work. I turned the TV off.

  Since I couldn't sleep, and having the TV on unnerved me, I figured I might as well start getting ready for my dinner date … if you want to call it that. Vince Yates was nice looking and seemed like an upstanding guy, but all I felt for him was the closeness and camaraderie one officer felt for another.

  He arrived in front of the hotel lobby at precisely seven. I'd been sitting there for about five minutes. One thing being a cop had done to me to instill a sense of urgency and an aversion to making people wait, and that still stuck.

  "Hey," he said, as he looked me up and down. "You look nice."

  "Thanks." I'd changed out of my faded jeans and bargain-basement T-shirt and put on some nice black slacks, a sweater set, and a statement necklace Mom had given me for Christmas a couple of years ago. "So do you."

  He did look nice in chinos and a button-front shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, but he appeared uncomfortable in his civilian clothes. I understood. After I'd been a patrol officer for five years, it took me a while to get used to wearing street clothes as a detective.

  We made small talk all the way to the restaurant, a small, quiet establishment on the edge of Atlanta. He knew the owner, who led us to a table in the very back. It would have been romantic if we'd had that kind of relationship, but I suspected we were there more for privacy to discuss the murder.

  And I was right. The minute the owner left, Vince smiled at me and said, "Let's place our order before we talk about Essie McClure."

  I lifted an eyebrow. "Essie McClure?"

  "Yeah, the victim."

  "Oh, okay."

  Vince pointed to his menu. "If you want some suggestions, I'll be glad to help. I've had practically everything they have."

  "The shrimp looks good." I closed the menu and studied the surroundings as Vince continued making his selection. After he put his menu down, I grinned. "What did you decide on?"

  "The same. I've always liked shrimp."

  The server came to the table, made small talk with Vince for a couple of minutes, and then took our order. After he left, I made eye contact with Vince.

  "So what do you know about Essie McClure?"

  "You have a good memory," he said.

  "That was one of the requirements when I worked for the Nashville Police Department."

  He blinked as he gathered his thoughts. "Ms. McClure was wi
dowed almost a decade ago. Her children haven't seen her in a couple of years. Apparently there was a dispute about the estate when her husband died. One of her sons thought she should sell the house and divide all the money among the family."

  "That's sad," I said. I'd seen this type of thing before, and it never ceased to amaze me—in a bad way—how calculating and unfeeling children could be toward the people who'd raised them.

  "I know. One of her daughters continued to call, but she was part of the law suit that is still in the system."

  "Still?" I asked. "Even after ten years?"

  He held out his hands. "I know. It's sick. Anyway, Mary called to check up on her mother periodically, but her husband doesn't know about it." Vince winced. "At least he didn't until he heard from us this afternoon. Apparently, he was in cahoots with Ms. McClure's twin sons who are living beyond their means. Mary didn't want to sue her mother, but since her husband and brothers did, she didn't feel that she had much say."

  "Do you think any of them might have killed her?" I asked.

  Vince paused. "Look, we know a lot about you and the fact that you were one of the best detectives Nashville ever had. We also know that you helped solve murder cases after you left the force. But I'm not supposed to—"

  "I know," I said, interrupting him. "Confidentiality and all that. I understand."

  "But …" He glanced around before turning back to me. "I'll tell you a little bit as long as you promise to keep it under wraps."

  I didn't expect this, but I nodded and pretended I wasn't surprised. "Yes, of course."

  Chapter 3

  Vince leaned forward and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. "Essie McClure didn't have many friends. She tried, but people thought she was weird, and they mostly stayed as far away as possible."