Gun in the Gardenias Read online

  As she sat here, she absentmindedly looked over at the folders still atop her kitchen table. Her gaze landed on the folder she had photocopied for Nan but hadn’t been delivered yet. It was too late for Doreen to go to Rosemoor now. So she opened her copy of it and went through it, finding the transfer of title from many years ago on the property. Nan had bought the house from the Huntingtons. Brad and Jessica Huntington. Names that meant nothing to Doreen. But she wrote them down and started researching them. She had no idea where they went after selling their home or if they were even still alive.

  She checked for the Huntington family in Kelowna online, and, sure enough, there was some mention of the name. As she continued to follow along, she found an obituary showing that the older couple had died, which was to be expected some forty-odd years later. The Huntingtons were survived by a son and daughter. She wondered at their ages, then reached for the local phone book and found a number for the son, Ron. She called before she gave herself a chance to stop. Ron answered. She explained who she was and said she was tracking down the family of someone named Veronica Phillips from the late 1890s or early 1900s.

  “That’s my great-grandmother, I think,” Ron said. And when Doreen explained further about the hope chest, he sighed and said, “Well, it’s possible, but I don’t know for sure. As far as I understand, she remarried.”

  “Right,” Doreen said. “What name do you know her as?”

  “Veronica Huntington.”

  “Ah,” she said. “I’ll keep looking to see if I can find any research that says your Veronica Huntington is the Veronica I’m looking for.”

  “What was in this hope chest?” he asked curiously.

  “Love letters. Lingerie from way back then, some dishes, and maybe a tablecloth or two.”

  “Ah, so nothing valuable then.”

  “No clue, but it doesn’t look like anything was ever used. That’s why I was curious. It’s just an odd thing to find.”

  “Sure, but in those old houses,” he said, “you could find anything.”

  “True enough.” He appeared to be only interested if a big price tag was involved. In that case, Doreen was interested herself in these items. She rang off and jotted down notes. The thing was, his parents had owned this house. So did they have Veronica’s hope chest items from their grandmother or were they hanging on to it for somebody else? How was Doreen supposed to know? She should have asked Ron for his sister’s contact information. Doreen called him back and asked him about his sister.

  “She passed away quite a while ago,” he said. “Breast cancer.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. So no one cares to see the love letters then, I presume?” she asked, feeling a heartbreaking disappointment.

  “I doubt it,” Ron said. “That’s old stuff.”

  “Yes,” she said. “It definitely is.”

  When Doreen hung up, she felt a huge dissatisfaction with his answers. She understood his point because she hadn’t been at all interested in her own family’s antiques herself. But these love letters were so much more personal and so much more heartbreaking. She hadn’t asked if he had any aunts. She wanted to call him back once more, but figured his tolerance would not likely go too far. She researched his family tree instead. And she came across a Tina Huntington, Ron’s aunt, and the only other survivor of the family from that generation, if she was still alive.

  Doreen found no address, phone number, or anything for anybody by that name. But, given her age, Doreen thought she might have another resource. She picked up the phone and called Nan.

  As soon as she answered, Doreen said, “Tina Huntington?”

  “What about her?” Nan asked, her voice slightly distracted.

  “Do you know anything about her?”

  “More than I’d like. She’s a lousy gambler,” Nan said crossly. “And she’s always whining about her losses.”

  Doreen straightened. “You mean, she’s at Rosemoor with you?”

  “Yes, unfortunately,” Nan snapped. “And she just lost a bet today. You should hear her complain. It’s almost as if she’s saying I cheated!”

  “Oh, dear,” Doreen said. “That sounds pretty rough.”

  “It is. That’s the last thing I’d ever do. If people can’t make up their minds about how to bet properly, then why is that my fault? Really, people just expect me to turn around and make them money.”

  “I’m sorry, Nan,” Doreen said. “Is she of sound mind?”

  Nan snorted at that. “Obviously not because, as I just said, she’s accusing me of cheating.”

  Doreen rolled her eyes at that. “Well, she might be the only link to these hope chest boxes I found in the attic.”

  “Really?” Nan paused.

  Doreen could hear Nan already shifting her track of thinking.

  “Huntington,” Nan said. “What does that have to do with anybody?”

  Doreen explained, and Nan said, “Well, that would make Veronica her great-grandmother, right?”

  “I think Veronica would be Tina’s grandmother and then Tina’s great-grandmother would be the woman who wrote the love letters, Veronica’s mother.”

  “Oh, well. In that case, I’ll have to talk to her about that,” Nan said. “She won’t want any of that stuff either. I can tell you that. Hates having any reminders of her family or her past around her. But I’ll ask.”

  “I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all that stuff then. It’s not like anybody’ll wear the clothing. It’s too bad there isn’t a historical society that I could donate it to. Is there? Something about early settlers?”

  “It’s possible,” Nan said with sudden animation. “I might know somebody. I can ask about that too. Hold tight. Drat. I should ask Tina first though.” Click.

  Doreen stared at the phone, then laughed. “I thought I was the only one allowed to hang up on people.”

  Her grandmother called her back immediately though. “Tina wants nothing to do with it. So you’re off the hook there. I’m still trying to get answers on the best place for you to donate those items, so leave it with me.”

  Well, that was an answer, maybe not the one she was looking for, but it helped to remove the last direct member of the family. Now it was all about finding the best home for the items.

  Just then she heard a noise outside. She turned to look at Mugs, staring at the door. The hair on the back of his neck had risen, but he wasn’t growling. In other words, he was confused and didn’t understand what was going on. Well, that was okay; she was too. She walked to the front door, set the security alarm, and turned on the outside porch lights so she could take a look outside. Mugs was quiet at her side.

  “We’re back to needing a dictionary of animal signals,” she muttered.

  She went to the kitchen and opened the garage door, turning on the lights. It was empty, but, of course, the garage door on the other side wasn’t locked. She still hadn’t gotten that fixed. She went back to the kitchen, grabbed a chair, and jammed it under the doorknob. And then she did the same for her kitchen door. Sleeping tonight wasn’t looking good.

  As she went to bed, she considered sleeping on the living room floor. That wouldn’t be very comfortable, and Mack would be seriously pissed at her for getting herself into so much trouble. But then a fire started on the ground floor did not give people on the second floor many options. She looked out the window and checked all around. With all the security set and the extra things she’d done, she was reasonably safe, but she knew it made no difference when it came to a fire.

  As she thought about it more and more, she realized how much Penny would like Doreen to disappear. And Steve would too. But it had to look accidental. Yet any fire, especially arson, would point to all those other open arson cases. And Steve couldn’t afford that. Neither could whatever remained of the biker gang he’d been dealing with.

  When she woke in the middle of the night to the sounds of sirens, she bolted upright, her heart slamming against her chest. She held all t
he animals close to her, sure her house was on fire. Yet, as she sat here shivering in the cool evening air, she saw nothing but darkness around her.

  No smoke curling. No flames.

  Nothing but the darkness of night.

  She shook the sleepiness from her brain and studied the neighborhood. There were fire engines, but they appeared to have gone down the road.

  Her heart sank. Intuitively she knew what had happened. She got dressed, rearmed her security, and raced down toward Steve’s house via the creek path. It was dark out, somewhere around four or five o’clock in the morning, but still not quite light enough to be sure of her footsteps. She tripped a couple times but caught herself before she fell. As soon as she came around the corner, she knew she was right because she could see the orange halo in the sky. She made it to the edge of the property and just stood here.

  Steve’s house was completely engulfed in flames.

  And she knew his body would be inside.

  Chapter 26

  Wednesday Late Morning …

  Doreen, animals in tow, had come back several hours after watching the fire put out and crashed on the grass in her backyard, looking for a few hours of sleep in the early morning sunlight. She should have made it to her room, but she was afraid she was covered in smoke and knew she was too tired to take a shower right now. She dozed off and woke up to Mugs warming her on one side and Goliath on the other. Thaddeus had taken to sleeping on a weeping maple right beside her.

  As she opened her eyes, she saw the tree was leafing out beautifully. It would be beautiful. She sat up, then groaned, her whole body aching and sore. Why was that? She looked down and saw the lumpy sod she’d been sleeping on. She stood and said, “We’re heading in for a shower, guys.”

  She led her bedraggled family back inside and stepped into a hot shower. She stood under the water for a long moment, trying to shake off the terrible night so she could think. When she was dressed and back downstairs again, she made her coffee a little stronger than normal, thinking the caffeine might help. As she waited, her phone rang. It was Mack. She groaned and said, “Good morning, Mack.”

  “You sound terrible.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that,” she said sarcastically.

  His voice changed. “Are you okay?”

  “Outside of the fact that Steve’s house burned to the ground last night, I’m fine,” she snapped.

  “I wondered if you’d heard.”

  “I bolted out of my house in the middle of the night when I heard the sirens. So I have you to blame for my lousy night’s sleep.” Then she smiled. Of course, he wasn’t to blame—it was Steve’s house on fire that had necessitated the sirens. But it was a great way to bug Mack.

  There was a shocked snort on the other side. “You’re welcome,” he said. “Remember that part about not getting yourself into danger?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Remember that part about not scaring me unnecessarily?”

  “It’s hardly unnecessarily when Steve’s house just burned to the ground,” he said quietly.

  She winced. “All right, you get a point for that one. I’m not very awake. I fell asleep on the grass after I got home from watching the firemen work, and I’m still waiting for this very slow coffeepot to make me coffee to kick me awake.”

  He chuckled, his voice low, deep, and husky. “I wish I could have seen that.”

  She cracked a smile. “You probably would have been hollering at me, but Mugs was curled up on one side while Goliath was on the other. Thaddeus was on the closest tree. So it was definitely a fun way to wake up. I’m exhausted though.”

  “I’m sure you are,” he said. “But maybe we can get some answers now.”

  “I figured that Steve was probably dead inside his house. Have you heard reports of that yet?”

  “Not yet,” he said. “I’m there now.”

  “What?” She straightened and looked at the coffeepot. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m a cop, remember? I’m checking out the circumstances of the fire.”

  “I can tell you the fire started well after midnight because the sirens woke me about four or five a.m. And, for sure, you’ll find a male body in the house.”

  Silence. “Do you really think so?”

  “Hell yes. Like you said, a cheetah never changes his spots.”

  “I didn’t say that,” he said. “And the phrase is, a leopard never changes his spots.”

  She waved her hand in the air. “Whatever. You said this would happen.”

  “No, I said it would likely happen to you, and I thought Steve would skip town.”

  “I don’t think he acted fast enough,” she said. Finally, the coffeemaker beeped in front of her, and she grabbed the pot and poured herself a cup. Then she stepped outside into the early morning sun. “He probably told somebody about my file and got himself killed for his carelessness.”

  “You could be right about that,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “Which means you’re next.”

  She glared at her phone. “I’ve already had a night from hell, so, if you’re using your scare tactics again, I really don’t need it.”

  “I’m not using scare tactics,” Mack snapped. “Be sensible. If a body is found in this fire scene, and, if it’s Steve, it only makes sense that you could be the next victim.”

  “There have been no other victims in the last twenty-plus years, so I highly doubt it’ll be an issue.” The thing was, she knew Mack was right. She just didn’t want to admit it; there’d be no living with him if she did.

  “You do have fire insurance on the house, right?” Mack asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “I asked Nan yesterday.” And then she realized what she had said.

  He chuckled. “At least you’re taking it seriously. Or at least a little bit seriously.”

  “I’m taking it seriously, but there’s a limit to how seriously I can.”

  “Just take it easy. Have a couple cups of coffee, and maybe I’ll stop by when I’m done here.”

  “Good. I need an update.” Just then she yawned loud and long. And she groaned and said, “I’m getting off now.” And she hung up. Even hanging up on him again made her smile. She walked out to the front porch steps and sipped the strong black coffee.

  As soon as it hit her throat and moved down to her stomach, she let out a happy sigh. “This might be the devil’s brew, but I’m definitely in heaven right now.”

  Chapter 27

  Wednesday Noonish …

  Doreen had gone through more of Nan’s unorganized paperwork, sorted it out, put aside another stack she had to take to Nan to confirm whether to toss this stuff or to save it. Otherwise, as far as she could see, everything else was done in the house. And, even if the place did burn down now—God forbid—all the files from Solomon had been put into digital format, so they would at least always be there. She refilled her coffee and went out to the deck to enjoy it.

  She hadn’t had a chance to look into her other mystery that also interested her, the newspaper clippings from Nan’s friend on Bob Little. Or was it Bob Small? Brian Small? She shook her head, her brain too confused to even remember that much. She had more than enough to work on without adding anything else.

  The prime problem now was Steve. She wanted names for all those people who’d been paid off. The trouble was, if the payout was also so they would disappear, then the biker gang had done a good job of it. Because no one seemed to know where these widows had gone; they hadn’t been heard from again. Doreen wondered, Or did they? Maybe they hadn’t. Maybe they’d been helped to disappear. Had those checks ever been cashed? She sat here on the deck, pondering that, when she heard a voice out front.

  When Mack walked into the front door of the house, Doreen felt somewhat better. But not necessarily a whole lot. She called out, “I’m in the back.”

  Mack walked outside to join her, and she looked at him. “That didn’t take long.”

  “I’d been there since about six o’clock this
morning,” he said. “So now we’re waiting for reports from the fire chief and the coroner.”

  “Coroner,” she said, jumping on it.

  His face was grim as he nodded and said, “There was a body. A single male in the house.”

  “Aha!” She stabbed the air with a finger in his direction. “See? I told you so.”

  He glared at her. “Yeah, I know. It’s not nice to say, I told you so.”

  “But I tell you, you need to investigate one other thing a little closer …”

  “And what is it you think needs to be investigated?”

  “If those checks he supposedly handed over to those women were ever cashed.”

  Mack stopped, twisted in place, and looked at her. His eyebrows shot up.

  She nodded. “Wouldn’t it be nice to know that?”

  “You’re thinking that, if they weren’t cashed, the women weren’t around to take them to the bank?”

  “Steve doesn’t strike me as somebody who’d waste money on a deal like that. What if later one of the women decides to talk? Or if all the women get together and decide to talk? Steve would have to worry about that forever. But … not if he can dispose of the women and at the same time keep the money for himself.”

  “You have a very devious and twisted mind.”

  She beamed at him. “Thank you.”

  “I’m not sure that’s something you should be thanking me for.”

  “You can check though, can’t you?”

  “Potentially. But you’re right. It’s a good line of inquiry.” He motioned at her coffee cup and asked, “Is that the end of the pot?”

  “Yes,” she said, scrambling to her feet to get inside before he could. She poured herself the final coffee in the pot. He turned and looked at her in outrage. She smirked. “You can put on the next pot.”

  He snorted at that and said, “Are you that desperate?”

  “I’m not kidding,” she said. “I woke up on the grass outside.”