Read COZY MYSTERY: Murder At The Festival: A Cozy Mystery in the Mountains (Book 4) Online
Authors: Liz Turner
COZY MYSTERY: Murder At The Festival: A Cozy Mystery in the Mountains (Book 4)
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Other Cozy Mystery books by Liz Turner
A Cozy Mystery In The Mountains Series:
A Rare Catch Cozy Mystery Series:
Murder at the Renaissance Fair
A Margie Lauderdale Cozy Mystery Series:
Murder At The Wine Tasting
(coming soon)
Copyright 2016 by Cabo Publishing Group - All rights reserved.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictional manner. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No part of this publication or the information in it may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Liz Turner, Cabo Publishing Group.
Table of Contents
Weather in the Rocky Mountains in May is more unpredictable than a pregnant woman’s moods.
Victoria smiled at that thought, as she served Bessie Jacobs, who was six months in, and looking fresh and happy. That is, until her husband Nicholas, who was browsing the menu, decided to unwisely say the words, “There’s a triple cheese omelet, of course, but you could do without.”
Bessie’s mouth turned down, and her eyes narrowed. Nicholas, blissfully unaware, continued to run his fingers down the list. “Ah, heart healthy whole`wheat pancakes with lite syrup and nuts.” He said.
“What did you mean I could do without?” Bessie asked, her voice dangerous.
Nicholas looked up, “Well obviously I...” He froze like a deer that has just seen a mountain lion emerge from the bush. Nervously, he put a hand to his collar and pulled. “What I mean is… well.”
Victoria, deciding to save Nicholas, jumped in. “Well, you know that omelet has Brie- and mold ripened cheeses like that should be avoided by pregnant women. That’s what Nicholas meant, probably.”
Nicholas, who did not know the difference between a Brie and a Cheddar, nodded enthusiastically. “That’s exactly it. That’s what I meant.”
Bessie’s lips were still pressed together.
“Husbands are such a trial sometimes.” Victoria laughed. “I remember the second month I was pregnant with my son Byron, and my husband, Michael...”
“I’m still not sure what you meant by that,” Bessie said to Nicholas, who turned to Victoria desperately.
Victoria, shrugging, abandoned the poor man to his fate. “I’ll come back soon,” she said, leaving them with the menu. “As for you, Bessie, I saw Milly the other day, and she was telling me your class put up an absolutely fantastic play.” She said before parting.
Immediately, a distracted Bessie cheered up. “I wrote that play myself.”
“A brilliant job, too,” Nicholas said sincerely. “I especially loved the part where the mafia don is crying over his long-suffering wife.”
“Oh if only Margie Thompson hadn’t messed up her lines,” Bessie said. “But you were a champion, Nicholas, you supported me unflinchingly while I wrote.”
Five minutes later, the happy couple had placed their order of blueberry pancakes, maple syrup, and scrambled eggs with toast.
Smiling, humming to herself, Victoria called the order in, and moved to the counter. From the picture window of Cafe Spring Hopes, she saw mist descend from the Rocky Mountains and a soft, shimmering rainfall on the bright green meadows below them.
The door jangled, and Victoria’s smile grew brighter. Her twelve-year-old, Annie, and her son Byron, seventeen, wandered in, along with their aunt, Karen.
“Victoria! Get us all milkshakes, would you? I lost a bet with Annie about who could hold their breath longest.” Karen said, plonking herself on one of the stools.
“Annie cheated, she tickled Aunt Karen.” Byron laughed.
“I want mint chocolate, mom,” Anne said. “And I... Mrs. Bessie!” Anne skipped away to talk to her favorite teacher.
“Look at that. Not a hug for her mom.” Victoria said with a grin.
“Hey, if you put up a play with Anne as the lead, she’ll have plenty of hugs for you,” Karen smiled.
“What’s new?” Victoria asked Byron, as she created the milkshake.
“Byron’s dating a new girl,” Karen said, giving her nephew a little nudge with her elbow.
“Aunt Karen!” Byron turned a shade of strawberry.
“Well, go on then, tell your mom all about the dream girl.”
“Aunt Karen!” Byron turned even redder.
“I don’t know much myself.” Karen said, “I walked into the house today, and Byron was ushering some girl out the back door.”
“Byron!” Victoria looked at him.
“Mom, no, it’s not like that, she was just there to help me with my homework. Honestly.” Byron protested. “Aunt Karen’s got it all wrong.”
Aunt Karen, who had a mischievous smile on her face, took a sip of her milkshake.
“Honestly, Byron, this is really wrong. At your age, you should be focussing on studies and working hard for college, not...”
“You were about his age when you met Michael, weren’t you, Victoria?” Karen asked, before taking another sip of her shake.
Victoria gave her a sideways look. “Karen, something tells me I should be giving you a talking to, about doing mischief.”
“Me?” Karen pointed a finger at herself and made her eyes go wide. “I’m innocent!”
“About as innocent as a fox in a hen house,” Victoria said. “I know that look, Karen. Why so excited?”
“Our mayor was speaking to me about the Open Doors Festival,” Karen said. “He absolutely loved my idea of keeping cookies and a pot of tea in every venue for people to munch on, free of charge. It’s a little thing, but well within our budget, and I think it just adds to the hospitality so much! We’ve got the catering job, of course.”
“What’s the Open Doors festival?” Byron asked.
“A really unique idea,” Karen said. “You know I’d be the last person to say that I like our new mayor, but the man knows how to draw crowds, that’s for sure. He used to be a priest, I’m told. He’s still Catholic, but he’s given up the cloth now. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of the festival, Byron. Isn’t your school preparing a lot for it?”
“Yeah, I heard we’re doing a bunch of plays, and the school band is practicing, but I guess I was too busy to think about it.”
“Too busy thinking about someone to think about this, hmm?” Karen teased.
Victoria spoke to Byron, “It’s a festival celebrating the heritage of our town, darling. You know who founded our town, right?”
Byron shook his head.
“Jebediah Larch. He came here from England to build a better life for himself back in the 1800s.” Victoria said. “He and his brothers founded Larch Hot Springs. Jebediah Larch settled this place back in the late 1800's, you know. He was an unusually clever business man. He started the grocery store and began selling cheese and bread to the rich men who came here in winter. Amos, his brother, was an artist who spent all his time drawing the sunset. He was pretty good at it too; some of his paintings are in the Calgary Museum. But it was the third brother, Peter Larch, who created the famed Larch Locks. They sold all across Canada, and I hear the Prime Minister’s office has them installed too.”
“Oh, I remember those locks,” Byron said. “Granddad used to love them. He said every lock in our house was an antique.”
Victoria nodded, but her eyes were on Karen, who was still looking down at her milkshake. At the mention of their father’s name, Karen had flinched subtly, but distinctly. It had been two years since he had died to save them, and Victoria knew that Karen who had been far closer, still missed their daddy.
“The open door festival is Calum’s idea,” Victoria said. “Us residents will open up our houses to tourists, and give them tours of our favorite spots. A lot of people are excited about it.”
“He’s descendent of the Larches, right?” Byron asked.
“Yep,” Victoria said. When Larch Springs’ old mayor had died an untimely death in a shooting incident, the town had chosen a relatively young new mayor. Calum Larch was working hard to prove to the town that he was more than just the rich kid who had been elected because of daddy’s money.
“Then, at night, we’re organizing ghost tours,” Karen said as she finished off her drink. “That’s going to be exciting too.”
“Ghost tours aren’t my thing,” Victoria said. “But we’ll have handy mountain men like Corporal Jager giving them a brief tour around the hot springs and the many trails.”
“Sounds like fun,” Byron said. “Now if only the town can get through it without any more… incidents.”
“Byron!” Karen protested. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”
“Oh just that we’ve had three murders in town already.” Byron shrugged. “We’re not the kind of idyllic town the mayor is trying to pretend we are.”
“Larch Hot Springs is perfect as far as I’m concerned,” Karen said. “Now we may have had a few untoward incidents, but that’s human nature. You can’t prevent a crime. I’m sure this time it’ll be just fine, though.”
Unfortunately for them all, it wasn’t.
Michelle Thompson was awake ten minutes before her alarm clock rang.
She’d trained herself to do this, and it gave her a queer kind of joy to start her morning with a “win” by beating the alarm clock. She’d lie in bed and either meditate or, more often, scroll through Pinterest on her iPhone. Then, ten seconds before the clock was about to ring, she’d disable the alarm and get up. She stretched, did ten minutes of yoga, and glanced at her sleeping husband. He lay tangled up in the sheets, his mouth open, gentle snoring.
Michelle gave an impatient little grunt as she got out of bed. The wooden floor that she liked to keep so clean had some dirt on it. Had to be Jonas. She kept telling him not to wander about barefoot in the yard, yet he insisted.
“I’ll probably have to clean the sheets too.” She thought, feeling a wave of resentment rise up inside her.
Calming herself with a deep breath, she walked to the bathroom. Her irritation grew when she saw the door to the medicine cabinet hanging open. She knew what had happened, of course. She’d been telling Jonas for ages he needed to fix that hinge, and he hadn’t bothered. Nor had he bothered to hold the door shut for the two extra seconds it needed, without which it inevitably swung open of its own accord.
Muttering under her breath, she straightened a fallen bottle, then paused. Shaking it, she heard the pills rattle about inside. She shut the door of the cabinet.
Later, in the kitchen, she cooked herself an omelet and poured out a fresh orange raspberry smoothie for herself. Surprisingly, Margie didn’t wake up. She was such a light sleeper, and the sound of the mixer usually had her clumping down the stairs, complaining to her mother about the noise.
Michelle finished her breakfast, cleared up, and with no sign of Jonas or Marge, finally headed upstairs to wake them both.
Marge’s room had a giant poster on the door, “NO ENTRY: GENIUS AT WORK” written in electric hand drawn font colored a neon green, on a background of black skulls. Barely noticing this, Michelle leaned on the door and knocked.
“Maaaaargie!” Michelle shouted, her voice getting louder. “You’ve got your play, remember? Wake up baby!”
Jonas stumbled out of their room next door, looking dazed. “Morning. What’s new?” He yawned, rubbing his eyes.
“Jonas. Did you take my pills last night?” Michelle asked, her voice a little sharp.
“Pills?” Jonas gave her an instantly alert look. “Why would I take your pills?”
“It’s just… the door to the medicine cabinet was open again, and…” Michelle trailed off, realizing she’d offended him. “Well, I thought you might have wanted something to help you sleep a little better.”
“I slept just fine,” Jonas said coldly. “I know that medicine cabinet door keeps swinging open on its own, and I’ve told you, I’ll fix it.”
“You told me that six months ago.”
“Don’t nag, Michelle. It’s very unattractive.”
That silenced her. She turned back to Marge’s door and knocked louder.
“What time did you get home last night?” Jonas asked her, scratching his back with one hand, and rubbing an eye with the other.
“Jonas…”
“I’m just curious, Michelle.”
“The entire town was celebrating the festival, Jonas. Quite a few of them were wondering why you weren’t.” She said. “It was good fun. We danced, we sang, we had ridiculously greasy and utterly delicious food and bottles of wine.”
“I think these festivals are tacky,” Jonas said. He gave another loud yawn, stretched his arms wide, bent down to touch his toes, then sprang up. “There. I’m awake now. No caffeine needed. Though I’ll make myself a good hot cup just in case.”
“Go ahead,” Michelle said. “I’ve got to run down to the boutique.”
“Ah yes.” Jonas gave her a smile. “La Boutique de Michelle. Attendezvous beaucoup de clients aujourd'hui?”
“English, Jonas, please.”
“I just said, Good luck today.” He said, “I know you’re expecting a lot of tourists.”
“I am,” Michelle said. “I’m hoping for a lot of sales today.”
“Sad that you’ll have to shut the boutique while we’re watching Marge at her little play,” Jonas said.
Michelle’s face fell a little. She’d been feeling anxious all along about that play. Did she really have to attend? Three hours away from the store at a peak time. Marge would understand if her mother didn’t show up. Wouldn’t she?
Michelle sighed. Her teenage daughter was moody. Sometimes, she’d be an absolute angel, understanding her mother’s wants perfectly. Other times… well, there was last week, when Michelle had made lasagna for dinner. Marge had thrown a huge tantrum, insisting that her mother was trying to sabotage her and ruin her life because she was trying to feed her carbs.
“I’m going to grab something to eat.” Jonas leaned over and kissed Michelle on the cheek. Her earlier irritation at him melted away as he rubbed his scruff against her cheeks. “Come down soon, yes?”
“If Marge ever wakes up.” Michelle joked, kissing Jonas on the nose.
“Here, let me.” He banged on the door. “Wake up, kiddo!” He banged twice again and received no answer.
“That’s weird isn’t it?” He asked. “She’s such a light sleeper, normally.”
“I know.” Michelle sighed. “What time did she get home last night anyway?”
“Last night?” Jonas looked surprised. “She was with you last night, right?”
“We went together, but then she told me she was feeling tired and was going home,” Michelle said.
“She didn’t come home,” Jonas said. “At least, I didn’t see her.”
They banged on the door again and received no answer.
