Corpse in the Carnations Read online

  Corpse in the Carnations

  Lovely Lethal Gardens, Book 3

  Dale Mayer

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  About Daggers in the Dahlias

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

  About This Book

  A new cozy mystery series from USA Today best-selling author Dale Mayer. Follow gardener and amateur sleuth Doreen Montgomery—and her amusing and mostly lovable cat, dog, and parrot—as they catch murderers and solve crimes in lovely Kelowna, British Columbia.

  Riches to rags. … Chaos calms. … Crime quiets. … But does it really?

  After getting involved in two murder cases in the short time she’s lived in picturesque Kelowna, divorcee and gardener Doreen Montgomery has developed a reputation almost as notorious as her Nan’s. The only way to stop people from speculating, is to live a life of unrelieved boredom until the media and the neighbors forget about her. And Doreen aims to do just that with a tour of Kelowna’s famed Carnation Gardens. Plants, more plants, and nothing whatsoever that anyone could object to.

  But when she sees a fight between a beautiful young woman and her boyfriend, she can’t help but be concerned. Concerned enough that she follows the couple out of the parking lot and through town. And when gunshots interrupt the placid afternoon, it’s too late to worry about how her nemesis, Corporal Mack Moreau, will feel about her getting involved in yet another of his cases.

  With bodies turning up in the carnations, and a connection to a cold case of a missing child from long ago, Doreen has her hands full, not least with trying to keep her involvement in the investigations a secret from her Nan, Mack Moreau, and especially the media. But someone’s keeping up with Doreen’s doings… and that someone can’t afford for her to find the answers to the questions she’s asking.

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  Chapter 1

  Okanagan Mission aka The Mission,

  Neighborhood of the City of Kelowna,

  British Columbia

  Wednesday, One Day Later…

  Doreen sat curled on the couch. All she had wanted was three days. Three days of peace and quiet. Was that in the cards? She doubted it. As much as she desperately wanted to be out of the limelight and rejoice in the peace and quiet of living in her Nan’s house, she had a bad feeling in her gut.

  Her brood was sedate—even Goliath, asleep on the other end of the couch with Mugs—all her furry or feathered babies obviously understanding how Doreen really needed that from them at this time. Thaddeus rubbed his beak along her cheek, then closed his eyes, happy to just sit on her shoulder.

  Unfortunately she found no peace or quiet outside her home, not yet today—but it was early morning—and not for the last two days for sure. The reporters were still at her door, even at this hour. The newspaper journalists were still writing articles about how Doreen had helped solve the decades-old cold case of Betty Miles’s death, and Nan and her cronies were still enjoying being the center of attention by giving numerous interviews, supposedly on Doreen’s behalf. Doreen had told Nan how that was totally fine, just happy that Nan had found something, other than her illegal betting activities, to bring excitement to her life.

  Indeed, Nan glowed with it.

  But, as for Doreen, she wanted to be left alone. At that thought, her phone chimed. She glanced at her cell and groaned. But she hit the Talk button anyway. “You better have a good reason for bothering me, Mack.” She slid farther down on the couch until her head rested on the armrest. Thaddeus shifted his position but refused to give up his spot on her shoulder.

  “I figured for sure that, by now, you’d be all pepped up, raring to go,” he said.

  She could detect the worry in his voice and had to smile. “I am, and yet I’m not. Have you any idea how deep the lineup of reporters is outside my front door? I know this is a small town, but it seems like the news hit the wires all the way across the country.”

  “You’re a celebrity,” he said, laughing. His voice softened. “But, no, that’s not an easy position to be in.”

  “I didn’t murder anybody,” she exclaimed, sitting up straight to peek through the curtains. “Why are they haunting me?”

  Thaddeus squawked, shot her a disgusted look when she disturbed his nap on her shoulder, hopped up to the back of the couch, then he wandered over a few steps and proceeded to close his eyes again.

  “It’s like everybody thinks I’m the one who’s done something wrong,” she said reaching out to pet Mugs, then stroke her fingers across Goliath’s back.

  “Remember the last time?” he asked. “This too will blow over.”

  “Sure, but every time I find a new body,” she said in exasperation, “they look at me as if I had something to do with it.”

  “Not that you had something to do with the making of the dead bodies,” he corrected, his light humor sliding through his voice, “but that your arrival precipitated all this. Or maybe you have some sort of psychic ability. You don’t, do you?” His voice held a curious note to it.

  She chuckled at his tone. “I think, by now, both you and I would know if I did.”

  “Well, you need something to cheer you up.”

  “What have you got for me?” She stood, walking over to peer through the round window on the front door. Instantly camera flashes went off. She stepped back and walked toward the kitchen. “Have you got a nice puzzle for me to work on?”

  “You mean, like another case?”

  “It would get me out of the dumps.” Her tone turned crafty. “You know how I like a good puzzle.”

  “You could pick up some jigsaw puzzles,” he exclaimed. “That’s a much safer hobby.”

  “Murderous puzzles are much more fun.” She chuckled, knowing he’d hate her answer.

  “And much more dangerous,” he snapped. “You could have been killed last time.”

  She shrugged. “You live and you die. At least I’d be doing something I wanted to do.”

  “Solving cold cases?”

  She grinned, hearing the hesitation in his voice. “You have another cold case you’re looking into, don’t you?”

  Silence.

  For the first time since she had awakened before dawn today, her boredom and sense of a dark cloud hanging over her almost lifted. “It’s not my fault this town is a den of iniquity,” she stated. “Just think of all the nastiness hidden here for so long.” She could feel that same sense of excitement surging through her when delving into Mack’s cold cases. “Are you going to tell me the details?”

  “No,” he said, no hesitation in his voice this time.

  “And why not?” She waited. If he wanted to play a waiting game, that was no problem. She could play that game too.

  Finally he said, “It’s not really a priority.”

  “Maybe not to you,” she said. “Cold cases are a priority to the families.”
/>   “I didn’t say a death was involved.”

  “That would be even better,” she said. “Then I wouldn’t trip over any more bodies, at least not right away.”

  “I’d be totally okay if you wouldn’t trip over any more anytime,” he said.

  “Suits me,” she said. “I’m okay to not find dead bodies ever again.”

  “Besides, it’s not a cold case I wanted to talk to you about. I’ll think about that first.”

  “Damn.” She let out a heavy sigh. “So what is it then?”

  “I was talking to the city council. They want to redo the big sign with the garden as you enter the city limits. You know the Welcome to Kelowna sign surrounded by flower beds?”

  “Yeah, mostly begonias I think,” she said. “At least one of the rings around the sign are begonias.”

  “Ugh,” he said. “I’d be happy not to see any more of those anytime soon.”

  She nodded. “They’re nice to look after, and they don’t grow too crazy outside, so they don’t need a ton of maintenance. They’re easy for large gardens and make great borders or plots.” At the word plot she winced.

  He chuckled. “I can see that having you around will be a constant reminder of dead things and everything associated with them.”

  “Maybe. And what about the city council? What were you talking to them about?” Her mind zinged to her ever-dwindling pile of money, and she was deeply concerned about it. “Hope it’s important. And, if it involves money for me, the answer is yes.”

  He chuckled. “You don’t even know what it could entail.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’m about out of the money I found in Nan’s pockets before donating and trying to resell some of her unwanted clothes. Which means I’ll be diving into that little bit of savings I have.”

  “And the gardening you did at my mom’s place? That’ll be a regular thing, if you’re okay with that.”

  “I am absolutely okay with that,” she said. “What you pay me will put food on my table.”

  “Speaking of food,” he said. “Did you turn on the new stove?”

  She pivoted and walked out of the kitchen. “What stove?”

  He sighed. “The stove you paid one hundred dollars to replace. A lot of people went to a lot of trouble to make sure you had something safe to cook on.”

  “There’s the trick,” she said, “the word cook.”

  “I’ll tell you what. How about this Sunday I bring over the fixings for something simple for breakfast or lunch, and I’ll show you how to cook it.”

  “Simple would be, like, eggs,” she said, “and I highly doubt you want eggs for lunch, do you?”

  “Not an issue for me. I love eggs anytime,” he said. “Don’t you know how to cook eggs?”

  She pulled the cell from her ear so she could glare at the blank screen.

  “Okay, okay, okay,” he said. “Stop glaring at me.”

  She gasped. “How did you know I was glaring at you?”

  “I could hear it in the heavy silence of the phone’s speaker,” he said drily. “And eggs are easy. How about we do omelets? They are a little more substantial than plain eggs.”

  Her mind filled with the soft fluffy omelets her chef used to make for her. “With spinach and caviar and gruyere?”

  Mack replied with that heavy silence again.

  “Oh. Okay, so what do your omelets normally contain?” she asked.

  “Well, spinach is one possible ingredient,” he said, “but anything I have on hand. Like bacon, ham, leftover meat. You can put veggies in it if you want.” His tone said he really didn’t see the point. “Meat and eggs are a perfect combo. … Plus cheese.”

  “Well, ham and cheese omelets are good too,” she said. “Can we add mushrooms?”

  “Sure,” he said. “We can sauté a few mushrooms. So are you up for a cooking lesson?”

  “Yes,” she said slowly. But she needed to ask him something, and it was kind of embarrassing.

  “Speak up,” he said in that long-drawn-out sighing way of his.

  As if he knew she was making a big deal out of nothing but needed to get it out first. “Am I paying you for it?” she asked in a rush.

  He laughed. “No, you’re not paying me for a cooking lesson. Not with money, not with gardening work, not with bartering or any other method.”

  She beamed. “In that case, I’m looking forward to cooking lesson number one coming up. Omelets it is.”

  “I’ll bring the ingredients. You’ll write down everything I do, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “And, on Tuesday, you’ll repeat the menu, on your own,” he said. “You’ll take a picture and send the final results to me, so I can see how you did.”

  She chuckled. “Probably better if you come back and watch me make it the second time, and then you can taste the results.”

  “Done,” he said.

  She frowned suspiciously, wondering if he hadn’t planned on that in the first place. “So you need to bring ingredients for two meals,” she said swiftly.

  He howled with laughter. “You know what? You might not know how to cook, but you sure know how to negotiate a deal.” And, on that note, he hung up.

  She grinned to herself, until she realized he hadn’t told her all about the city’s Welcome garden—or about the cold case. She called him back, but he didn’t answer. Then she sent him a text. What about the city?

  He sent her a map and a handout with his return text. They’re looking for suggestions about what to put in these two beds.

  She walked to her laptop, turned it on, and transferred the image and the PDF on her phone to her computer. There was the sign, Welcome to Kelowna. She could see the mature plantings around it. And the indicated beds were on each side of the sign. Suggestions for what?

  Types of flowers, why those flowers, money, as in a guesstimate for the cost.

  I haven’t a clue on the money, she typed. And, even if I do tell them what I would do, what’s that got to do with anything?

  They’re looking for bids. The winning bid gets to do the job and to make the money.

  She perked up when she heard that. Then she opened the PDF and read the one-page document. Okay, but it says to submit this by midnight tomorrow night.

  Yeah, he replied. That’s why I called you earlier this morning. So get at it.

  Chapter 2

  Getting at it was complicated. Doreen was in the third local greenhouse, checking out the prices of perennials, Mugs walking patiently at her side. She had all kinds of ideas from lipstick plants to carnations. She thought carnations would be gorgeous. But, to get the color she wanted at a wholesale price, that would be the trick.

  So far nobody she had talked to was interested in giving her a bulk-buy deal. She knew somewhere in the Okanagan region she could set up something like that, but she hadn’t done very well tracking that down. She wondered if she could put in a bid for doing the work and have the city pay for the cost of the flowers on their own. Surely the city gardeners had access to plants she couldn’t even comprehend and at bulk pricing.

  It made sense to her, but she didn’t know if that was the proper procedure or, if not, if the city would go for it. Still, she could try. But, at the moment, she was running out of ideas of where and what she could put together. She loved the idea of roses, but they took work. Carnations, not the long-stemmed ones though, she could do in layers. Longer in the center and then shorter as they went out to the edge. That might look pretty cool.

  With ideas buzzing in her head, she wandered through the greenhouse, writing down notes. When somebody called out her name, she turned without thinking, and a camera flash went off in her face. She growled. “Stop doing that.”

  “You’re a celebrity in town.” The man chuckled as he turned and walked away.

  She sighed and slipped out the side entrance back to her vehicle, Mugs at her side. There she sat in her car for a long moment.

  Somehow she hadn’t associated get
ting out of the house as also being her first step into the public eye after the latest news had broken on Betty Miles. Doreen had been so focused on escaping the house that she had forgotten what she’d be escaping into. But her exit had worked out better than she had thought. She’d forced the media crowd to part to let her drive away, and she wouldn’t return until she was darn good and ready.

  As she sat in her car, she watched an old couple arguing nearby, standing at another parked vehicle. They looked so comfortable, as if the calm complaints had been told many times over. When they finally got into a vehicle and drove away, she wanted to laugh and to cry.

  A loud engine had her turning to watch as a young woman drove up in a fancy scarlet Mini Cooper. Although what was mini about the new model, she didn’t get. It looked bigger than her Honda. She watched as the woman got out, perfectly coiffed top to bottom. Doreen recognized all the work that went into that look; yet she had absolutely no interest in looking like that again.

  She studied her currently close-cropped fingernails. They were clean, but her hands showed the ravages of gardening—no weekly manicures or special fingernail soaks to keep her hands perfect anymore. Just healthy outdoor work in Mother Nature’s glory. But still, Doreen needed to pick up some good hand cream. As she glanced back at the gardening shop, she wondered if they’d have a working hand cream—like, for professional gardeners. She was well-past using fancy hand lotions for her skin now. But the gardeners at her former home had small green pots of stuff they used daily. A drugstore might be a better option for that—and cheaper.

  Then she thought about making yet another stop and decided she’d check here anyway. She hopped back out of the car, held Mugs’ leash, and beelined to the far corner containing the walls of shelves for everything associated with gardening. Sure enough, the hand creams were on a triangle-shaped display.

  As she studied the different choices, she could hear somebody speaking in the background.

  A man said, “After what you’ve done, you’ll now do as I tell you to.” His tone was ugly.