Death among the Roses: a Melanie Hart Mystery (Melanie Hart Cozy Mysteries Book 1) (2 page)

I introduced them, explaining that Gary was a cousin from out of town.”

“Really?” Ginger crooned. I tried not to let her flirtatious tone annoy me, reminding myself Ginger usually trilled sweetly whenever she got within a few feet of a handsome man.

“Will wonders never end?” she exclaimed. “I never knew Gary had a cousin.”

Finally, she managed to drag her gaze back to me. “So, I heard you found the body?”

“Yes, but I’ve been told I’m not to discuss the details with anyone.”

“Lucky you.”

“How’s Cordelia?” I asked.

“I haven’t had an update yet. But, as you saw, the doctor sped off with her, and he was muttering something about tranquilizers on the way out the door. My guess is she’s probably sound asleep by now.”

I nodded. “That would be a good thing.”

Ginger took a moment to survey the room. “Do you think the police will keep us here much longer? I mean, what can I tell them? I was cooped up inside the church. None of the bridal party saw anything. Seriously, what do they want from us?”

“I’m sure Gossford will do his best to get through the room quickly.”

“I certainly hope so,” Ginger said with a huff, “I’d like to get home before my feet swell any more than they already have. What was Cordelia thinking? These shoes are a beast.”

“You could slip them off,” I suggested.

“You might, maybe. But I certainly won’t.”

“It was nice of you then,” Josh said with a smile, “to come round with the food.”

Ginger inclined her head and placed a hand on her chest. “It was my pleasure” she purred. Then, she straightened and peered about the room, her eyes large. “Can you imagine? A murder in Cloverton? Poor Gossford will be having fits. Murder is so far out of his league.”

“He’s always seemed highly competent to me.”

Ginger leaned in close and whispered softly. “If Gossford can’t figure this murder out, I bet we can.” She straightened and gave me an encouraging smile.

I took a deep breath, wondering if I’d misheard her.

She punched my upper arm. “Oh, come on. Why not?”

“And right after we scope out the killer, we can climb Mt. Everest, too.”

“Are you saying we’re incapable of helping solve this mess?”

I folded my arms over my chest. “Probably something like that, yes.”

“Hey. You’re a reporter. You’ve got smarts. And I know every dirty secret in town.” Ginger faced Josh. “I hear more about the goings on here than any decent person should.”

“Ginger owns the most popular beauty parlor in Cloverton,” I offered as explanation. “A lot of gossip gets spread there.”

“You two can’t be serious?” Josh looked at us with wide eyes. “Surely, you aren’t planning on sticking your noses into police business?”

“I don’t think so, no,” I said as I felt my cheeks flush. “Ginger’s just come up with another of her outlandish ideas.”

She snorted. “You think about what I’m saying, Melanie.” And she returned her attention to Josh. “Times certainly could have been happier. But all that aside,” she laid her free hand on top of his, “Josh, it’s been very nice meeting you.”

He gazed up at Ginger looking for all the world like a puppy who’d just found his master. “Likewise,” he muttered, a goofy smile playing across his strong, handsome face.

Suddenly realizing the pair looked good together, I folded my arms over my chest and fumed.

I’d found him first, I irrationally thought. But my reaction left me puzzled. I hadn’t been interested in a man romantically since my one and only dumped me two days short of college graduation.

Besides I had no right to be jealous over Josh. One quick hug at the sight of a dead body does not a future build.

But a little issue like knowing someone well never mattered to Ginger. Given another minute or two, she’d have Josh asking her out on a date. I could tell.

Team up with Ginger? Solve a murder? I’d rather face a root canal.

I
hadn't harbored any illusions that Cordelia would move beyond Gary’s death easily. Still, I was stunned at the state I found her in when I finally pulled my car in front of the family home. The house was old and large and lovely, its lawn dotted with ancient evergreens. The graceful turn-of-the-century structure spoke of a successful family, the kind of clan some might assume would never be touched by tragedy.

But I knew better. Cordelia's older brother had died in a swimming accident. Her only male cousin had met his end in a fiery car crash. And now the love of Cordelia's life had been murdered. I sighed, stepped out of the car, and headed for the house.

It was Cordelia’s beloved Aunt Bess who responded to my knock. Hair messed, dress rumpled, the attractive woman blinked yet managed to pull up a small smile. "Melanie, I'm so glad you've come."

We fell into a brief hug.

"I thought I’d get here sooner,” I said, before stepping through the doorway. “but Gossford had other plans. How’s Cordelia?”

Bess grimaced. “I’ve never seen her like this. She just sits there. She won’t speak. She won’t eat. She refuses to take the pills the doctor left her. She’s practically barricaded herself inside her room.”

“She’s still awake then?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I think a few minutes ago her mother threatened to take a hammer to her. She’s that desperate to get Cordelia to lie down.”

I sighed. “Cordelia can be a bit stubborn.”

“The doctor said she needs sleep. Please beg her to get some.”

“Do you think she’ll even see me?”

“Who knows? But if anyone can get through to her right now, I suspect it's you. She’s in her bedroom. You know the way.”

I seriously doubted Bess’ assessment of my skills. But I thanked her for her vote of confidence anyway.

After pulling a deep breath, I mounted the old staircase with its dark paneling, and banister, and carpet. A long march down a short, dark hallway brought me to her closed bedroom door. After three quick raps failed to draw a reply, I called out, “Cordelia, it's Melanie. Please, may I come in?”

Something in my words apparently got through to her, because Cordelia finally responded. Her voice was low. I had to strain to hear it. “What do you want?” she asked.

I swallowed and took courage in hand. “I'm worried about you. I want to see you.” I endured another lengthy silence. Finally, my patience ended. I reached out, twisted the knob, and pushed the door open.

“Cordelia?” I took a half-step inside the darkened room. She sat in an old rocker before the large bedroom window. The shade was drawn firmly down against the glare of the sinking sun.

Her wedding dress lay draped across the large bed. It’s white finery, which had glowed charmingly inside the church, now looked dingy in the muted light of the darkened bedroom. Her hair sagged from its upswept bun. Loose tendrils drifted about her cheeks and neck. She wore an old, faded bathrobe. I assumed a new one lurked somewhere deep within her closed suitcases. They stood off in a corner, packed for a honeymoon which now would never happen.

I cleared my throat. Cordelia glanced at me. Never had I seen so hopeless a look on my dear friend’s sweet face. I pulled a deep breath, wondering what I could possibly say to comfort this grieving woman. And though I wanted to do better, all I could come up with were the old, trite phrases everyone tosses out at times like these. “My dear friend. I’m so sorry for you loss.”

Cordelia tossed her head. “You and everyone else. They are all of them, every last one of them, so very sorry. But what good does their sympathy do me? It can’t bring Gary back.”

I crossed the room and knelt down beside her. “Cordelia, none of us wanted this for you.”

“And what about Gary?” she protested. “Who is there to comfort him now?”

I reached out and wrapped my hand about hers. “You’re right, Gary is beyond our help. And we’re outraged by that. Trust me. Your Mom, Dad, all of us, we loved him. We’d give anything to be able to tell him that now. Maybe it can’t help him. But for whatever it’s worth, Gary will be missed by a large number of people.”

She nodded and ducked her head. “On some level, I think I know that.”

“Then, please, since he’s not here, at least let us help you.”

“There’s nothing you or anyone can do.” Fresh tears glistened in the corners of Cordelia’s eyes. She blinked rapidly to contain them.

I pulled a small straight chair over next to the rocker and sat. “What about just letting us hold your hand. Or maybe we could offer you a shoulder to cry on?”

She sighed. “If only it were that simple.” She dragged her gaze to mine. “Melanie, somebody murdered Gary. How am I to live with that? Someone stole his life. That big, sweet, dear man of mine is gone. And he was only twenty-five. Why would anyone do that?
”

“Gossford will figure that part out. He came to the church after you left and interviewed every one of us. All the wedding guests. You know Gossford, he's like a bulldog. He won't quit until he finds his man."

My friend smiled sadly. “Mom said he’s coming here in the morning. I have no idea what to tell him.”

“Just answer his questions. That’s all you need to do.” I rubbed her back.

“What kind of questions?”

“I don’t know, exactly. I suppose he'll want to know if Gary had any enemies. If he'd quarreled with anyone lately?”

Cordelia’s head jerked backward. “With me?”

“I doubt very much that Gossford suspects you. You were inside the church. You have bridesmaids for witnesses. Gossford's simply out there beating the bushes, looking for leads. He's on your side. I’m sure he wants very much to catch this killer.”

“But I don't have anything to tell him. You knew Gary. He got along with everyone.”

“Okay, then maybe Gossford will want to know if he had been stressed out over anything?”

Cordelia sighed. Her face grew even more pale. "Nothing I know of.” She wrung her hands. “Oh, Melanie, what am I to do?”

I rubbed her shoulder. “Worrying won’t help. Ginger thought you’d been sedated. I expected to find you asleep in bed.”

“The doctor gave me some pills, but I haven't taken them.” She swung her gaze to the top of a crowded dresser. A little medicine bottle sat at one end. “I don’t want to sleep,” she protested. “Why would I? The man I loved best in the world is dead. I don’t want to shrug that off. I don’t want to selfishly tend to my needs.”

“Cordelia, Gary wouldn’t want you making yourself sick. You know that. And you have days and days of grieving ahead. But to do that, you must first recover from the shock of Gary’s death. You're overwhelmed. You need sleep to face this ordeal.”

My friend stared at me for a long moment. Finally she took a deep breath. “I’m so afraid I’ll forget him. I’m terrified that I’ll carry on with my life. That some day I’ll find another man and betray Gary for a new love. And my poor, dear Gary will remain locked in the cold ground without any future at all.” The tears came. They slid down her cheeks unchecked.

“My dear,” I leaned over and wrapped my arms around her shaking shoulders, “you’re never going to forget Gary. No matter what the future brings, you’ll carry his memory close to your heart all your life.”

Cordelia wiped her tears and nodded. “I’ll never, never forget him,” she vowed.

“I know that.” I touched her arm. “Come on, let’s get you to bed. Then, we’ll send those pills down your throat. It's what Gary would want. We can talk more about all this tomorrow. For now, you need rest.”

***

When I finally reached home that night it was nearly six o’clock. Dad was preparing dinner. He stood at the island counter in his recently remodeled kitchen. Taffy, his cocker spaniel, had planted herself by his feet. The room’s walls were white, the windows large, the cabinets plentiful. His beloved copper pots and pans dangled from an overhead rack.

The room stood in glaring contrast to the home’s overwhelmingly traditional exterior. Which boasted white clapboard siding, green wooden shutters, and third-floor dormers which overlooked a well-maintained front lawn. Either side of the graceful brick sidewalk, a pair of evergreens reached skyward. The place reminded me of the kind of house one might see on a 1950s TV show.

The inside tended toward the traditional also. The living room contained a lovely, red-brick fireplace with a glistening white mantle. There were hardwood floors throughout. Scattered here and there, throw rugs provided carefully staged splashes of color in various rooms. The only other nod to modernity was the powder room located just off the kitchen. Dad had installed it to defray wear and tear to his aging knees.

Now, I settled myself on a stool at the kitchen island and busied myself watching Dad work.

“I’m sorry about Gary. He was a good man,” Dad said. He kept his gaze carefully focused on the task before him.

I wasn't surprised Dad had already learned of Gary's death. As the owner and publisher of the
Gazette
, he usually kept an ear out for what was happening around town. He’d obviously been monitoring the police scanner this afternoon. I suspected he'd already heard more about the murder than I had.

He glanced up at me. “So how's Cordelia holding up?”

“How did you know I stopped by to check on her?”

Dad smiled. “She and you are best friends. It's what best friends do 
—
help each other through difficult times.”

I frowned at his words. “She’s not good.”

“She’s young and strong. It won’t be easy, but she’ll recover. I hear you found the body?”

“Yes.”

“And how are you?”

I shrugged. “I’ll survive.”

He shook his head and sliced another section of tomato. “It couldn’t have been easy.”

I watched Dad display his well-honed knife skills. He’d been chief cook and bottle washer in our two person family since Mom's death. I was four then and had very few memories of her today.

“It was difficult. Stumbling across the corpse like that." I shivered. “I suspect that image is going to haunt me a long time.”

Dad shot me a worried glance. “You do understand that you’re knee deep in this mess?”

I sighed. “You’re right. Over the course of my life, I’ve spent a lot of time with those two people.” I swallowed hard.

“Good, I’m glad you agree with me. That makes this next part easier.”

I glanced back up at him. “What part?” Dad occasionally had a way of knocking my legs out from under me. I hoped this wasn’t going to be one of those moments. I’d endured about my limit of nasty shocks for the day.

Dad released a long breath before answering. “I'm sorry, Melanie, but I'm pulling you off the murder story.”

I blinked, almost disbelieving his words. "But if I don't write up the murder,” I protested, “who will?”

Mine was a valid question. Not only was I the paper’s best reporter, I was its only one.

“I’m on the assignment," Dad said, keeping his voice neutral. "I'm taking over the story.”

My head jerked back. “You must be kidding.” I thought about and instantly dismissed protesting the fairness of his decision. Although he pursued fairness in life with a passion, it was doubtful he'd back off in my case.

The look in Father's gray eyes softened. “If you think about it for a moment, I'm sure you'll understand where I’m coming from. You're too close to the murder to be objective. As you’ve pointed out Gary was one of your friends. You and Cordelia have spent almost more time together than we have.”

“If you’re worried about my objectivity, you can do your usual tough editing job. Make me rewrite the story if I go over the top. You’ve cleaned up my work before. Why not this time?”

“That's not good enough. I have to stay personally on top of this one.”

“But why?”

Dad ignored my question. “I’ve talked to Gossford. He’s already aware of how I want this handled.”

I shook my head. “You can’t do this to me.”

“Yes, I can. It’s already done.”

I stamped my foot, wishing even as I did so that I’d outgrow that childish display of ill-humor. But when I’m vexed my foot takes on a life all its own.

Dad scowled. "Dinner will be ready in half an hour."

“You shouldn’t have bothered,” I snapped. I hugged my purse to my chest and blinked back tears. “I’m not the least bit hungry. If you want me, I'll be upstairs.”

With that said, I stomped out of the room.

I knew I was being silly. I was aware that deep down Gary’s death pained me more than any blow I’d ever felt. And that I strongly disliked whoever had robbed him of his life. But this was my first chance to cover a murder, and it hurt to have this story yanked out of my hands.

***

Some twenty minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom. Wrapped in my terry robe, my hair damp from the steaming waters of the shower, I opened the door to my bedroom and stepped inside. I loved spending time in my private lair. It was quiet, and cozy, and warm here.