A Simple Shaker Murder (34 page)

Authors: Deborah Woodworth

There was nothing to do but wait. Rose gathered up the sisters and New-Owenite women who had not already made their escape. Leaving Andrew to watch over the ghastly scene until the Sheriff arrived, she sent the women on ahead to breakfast, for which she herself had no appetite. The men followed behind.

On impulse Rose glanced back to see Andrew's tall figure hunched against a tree near the body. He watched the crowd's departure with a forlorn expression. As she raised her arm to send him an encouraging wave, a move distracted her. She squinted through the tangle of unpruned branches behind Andrew to locate the source.
Probably just a squirrel;
she thought, but her eyes kept searching nonetheless. There it was againâa flash of brown almost indistinguishable from tree bark. Several rows of trees back from where Andrew stood, something was moving among the branches of an old pear treeâsomething much bigger than a squirrel.

May

Once upon a time Lily and Robert were the pampered offspring of a rich New York family. But the crash of '29 left them virtually penniless until a distant relative offered them a Grace and Favor house on the Hudson.

The catch is they must live at this house for ten years and not return to their beloved Manhattan
. In the Still of the Night
Lily and Robert invite paying guests from the city to stay with them for a cultural weekend. But then something goes wildly askew
.

IN THE STILL OF THE NIGHT

by Jill Churchill

I
REALIZED THAT
M
RS.
E
THRIDGE WASN
'
T AT BREAKFAST AND
she hasn't come to lunch either. I kept an eye out for her so I could nip in and tidy her room while she was out and about and she hasn't been.”

“She's not in the dining room?” Lily said. “No, I guess not. There were two empty chairs.”

“She might be sick, miss.”

“Have you knocked on her door?”

“A couple times, miss.”

“I'll go see what's become of her,” Lily said.

Robert, who had been ringing up the operator, hung up the
phone. “I think it would be better for me to check on her.”

“But Robert .Â .Â .” Lily saw his serious expression and paused. “Very well. But I'll come with you.”

They went up to the second floor and Robert tapped lightly on the door. “Mrs. Ethridge? Are you all right?” When there was no response, he tapped more firmly and repeated himself loudly.

They stood there, brother and sister, remembering another incident last fall, and staring at each other. “I'll look. You stay out here,” Robert said.

He opened the door and almost immediately closed it in Lily's face. She heard the snick of the inside lock. There was complete silence for a long moment, then Robert unlocked and reopened the door. “Lily, she's dead.”

Lily gasped. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

“Oh, why did she have to die
here
?” Lily said, then caught herself. “What a selfish thing to say. I'm sorry.”

“No need to be. I thought the same thing. It's not as if she's a good friend, or even someone we willingly invited.”

“What do we do now?”

“You go back to the dining room and act like nothing's wrong while I call the police and the coroner.”

“The police? Why the police?”

“I think you have to call them for an unexplained death. Besides, if we don't, what do we
do
with her? Somebody has to take her away to be buried.”

June

Patricia Anne is a sedate suburban housewife living in Birmingham, Alabama, but thanks to her outrageous sister, Mary Alice, she's always in the thick of some controversy, often with murderous overtones. In
Murder Shoots the Bull,
Anne George's seventh novel in the Southern Sisters series, the sisters are involved in an investment club with next door neighbor Mitzi. But no sooner have they started the club than strange things start happening to the members
.Â .Â .

MURDER SHOOTS THE BULL

by Anne George

I
FIXED COFFEE, MICROWAVED SOME OATMEAL, AND HANDED
Fred a can of Healthy Request chicken noodle soup for his lunch as he went out the door. Wifely duties done, I settled down with my second cup of coffee and the
Birmingham News
.

I usually glance over the front page, read “People are Talking” on the second, and then turn to the Metro section. Which is what I did this morning. I was reading about a local judge who claimed he couldn't help it if he kept dozing off in court because of narcolepsy when Mitzi, my next door neighbor, knocked on the back door.

“Have you seen it?” She pointed to the paper in my hand when I opened the door.

“Seen what?” I was so startled at her appearance, it took
me a moment to answer. Mitzi looked rough. She had on a pink chenille bathrobe which had seen better days and she was barefooted. No comb had touched her hair. It was totally un-Mitzi-like. I might run across the yards looking like this, but not Mitzi. She's the neatest person in the world.

“About the death.”

“What death?” I don't know why I asked. I knew, of course. I moved aside and she came into the kitchen.

“Sophie Sawyer's poisoning.”

Mitzi walked to the kitchen table and sat down as if her legs wouldn't hold her up anymore.

“Sophie Sawyer was poisoned?”

“Arthur said you were there yesterday.”

“I was.” I sat down across from Mitzi, my heart thumping faster. “She was poisoned?”

“Second page. Crime reports.” Mitzi propped her elbows on the table, leaned forward and put a hand over each ear as if she didn't want to hear my reaction.

I turned to the second page. The first crime report, one short paragraph, had the wordsâSUSPECTED POISONING DEATHâas its heading. Sophie Vaughn Sawyer, 64, had been pronounced dead the day before after being rushed to University Hospital from a nearby restaurant. Preliminary autopsy reports indicated that she was the victim of poisoning. Police were investigating.

Goosebumps skittered up my arms and across my shoulders. Sophie Sawyer murdered? Someone had killed the lovely woman I had seen at lunch the day before? I read the paragraph again. Since it was so brief, the news of the death must have barely made the paper's deadline.

“God, Mitzi, I can't believe this. It's awful. Who was she? One of Arthur's clients?”

Mitzi's head bent to the table. Her hands slid around and clasped behind her neck.

“His first wife.”

“His what?” Surely I hadn't heard right. Her voice was muffled against the table.

But she looked up and repeated, “His first wife.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DEBORAH WOODWORTH
spent her childhood in southern Ohio near the abandoned sites of several Shaker villages. Before turning to writing, she earned a Ph.D. in Sociology of Religion from the University of Minnesota and spent a decade conducting research and teaching. Author of three previous Shaker mysteries, she has also published sociology articles and nonfiction for children. Woodworth and her husband live in St. Paul, Minnesota.

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ALSO BY DEBORAH WOODWORTH

D
EATH OF A
W
INTER
S
HAKER

A D
EADLY
S
HAKER
S
PRING

S
INS OF A
S
HAKER
S
UMMER

BACK ADS

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

AVON BOOKS, INC.

An Imprint of
HarperCollins
Publishers

10 East 53rd Street

New York, New York 10022-5299

SINS OF A SHAKER SUMMER
. Copyright Â© 2000 by Deborah Woodworth.

Excerpt from
Estate of Mind
copyright Â© 1999 by Tamar Myers

Excerpt from
Creeps Suzette
copyright Â© 2000 by Mary Daheim

Excerpt from
Death on the River Walk
copyright Â© 1999 by Carolyn Hart

Excerpt from
liberty Falling
copyright Â© 1999 by Nevada Barr

Excerpt from
A Simple Shaker Murder
copyright Â© 2000 by Deborah Woodworth

Excerpt from
In the Still of the Night
copyright Â© 2000 by The Janice Young Brooks Trust

Excerpt from
Murder Shoots the Bull
copyright Â© 1999 by Anne George

Inside cover author photo by Bob LaBree

Published by arrangement with the author

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 99-96772

EPub Edition December 2014 ISBN 9780062385284

ISBN: 0-380-80425-5

www.harpercollins.com

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First Avon Books Printing: April 2000

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