Murder in Moon Water Read online

  A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth as she grasped the obvious. She already had the quintessential busybody right across the street. The one and only Lulu Dupree, who already had a bead on the possible suspect. The mayor, Hank Holcombe.

  Abby quickly jotted down a note for Wyatt stating she'd dusted and cleaned the small bedroom but had not touched the files inside the gray file cabinets.

  She also added an estimate of her time with a calculation of what he owed her then left the note propped up against the jar of instant coffee on the kitchen countertop.

  After locking the front door, she dropped the spare key in the letter drop.

  Then she fixed her gaze on the purple house across the street. A wide grin bloomed on her face. "My lucky day," she chortled.

  Lulu was standing near the birdbath in her front yard.

  Chapter Fifteen

  "So, you've come around to my way of thinking, have ya?" Her mouth twitched. "What spurred this revelation?"

  Instead of answering, Abby chose a diversionary tactic. "Did George have any enemies?"

  Lulu poured water from a rooster-shaped ceramic pitcher into the birdbath. "Can't rightly say. He did rub some people the wrong way, but I guess the only person who I'd call an enemy is, you know who, our charming mayor."

  Lulu's nose pinched in disgust. "Did I tell you he and George had several run-ins?"

  Abby cocked her head. "Oh? What kind of run-ins?"

  "Well, there was the big one shortly after George and Doris moved here. Winston got off of his leash while Holcombe was jogging by, and the little Doxie went chasing after him, barking and growling like he was some kind of Pit Bull. Of course, with those short tiny legs of his, Winston never would've caught up to Holcombe if the jerk had run faster.

  "I believe he was teasing the dog. George yelled for Winston and he came running back, with Holcombe right up behind him, yelling and threatening to have the dog put away.”

  "That's horrible.”

  "Exactly. He's a despicable man. And shady too. That's what George said.

  Shady. Hm. "Why did George call him that?"

  "I gotta get off these feet of mine." Lulu gestured for Abby to follow her to the wrought iron bench situated near a bed of lavender flowers on the other side of the yard from the birdbath.

  As they sat down, Lulu said, "During the thing with Winston, Holcombe made a sarcastic dig about George buying the cottage."

  "What did he say?"

  "I don't remember exactly, but I do remember George was seething when he told me about it. I remember he said the insult made him suspect Holcombe and Gilbert Inglewood, the lawyer and real estate agent who handled the sale, might have pulled a dirty deal on him."

  "Oh? Like what?”

  "According to George, he and Gilbert were standing right over there"—she pointed to the cottage across the street—"on the front porch when Gilbert phoned in George's offer. The seller's agent called back almost immediately. It was a woman. George heard her voice on the speaker when she told Gilbert she'd received a better offer.

  "Gilbert, the lawyer real estate agent, put his hand over the speaker and whispered to George, advising him to bump up his offer by a twenty thousand. George knew Doris loved the cottage, so he did it. He increased his offer and bought the cottage.”

  "Well, that is how it works," Abby said.

  "Yeah, but there's more. Hear me out. When he and Holcombe had the run-in because of Winston, our blockhead mayor said something that made George think he'd been tricked into upping his offer."

  "Tricked how?"

  "I'm not sure. I don't remember the details of what George said. I only remember how angry he was."

  "Did George have any proof?"

  Lulu lifted a bony shoulder. "I wish I could answer that, but to be honest, he wasn't always in, let's call it, a healthy state of mind.

  "With his wife's illness and him being her full-time caregiver, his emotions were in a constant state of turmoil. One morning he'd be lucid and amiable, but by afternoon, he'd be going off on some wacky conspiracy theory and working himself into a paranoid state. I have to admit that sometimes I didn't listen to him as closely as I should have."

  She inhaled a wheezy breath. “Now I think maybe George was right about the mayor being shady and involved in dirty deals."

  Her wrinkled face lit up. "I've got it. What if George threatened to expose him? Here's the motive, right there."

  “Without proof, it’s only a theory."

  Lulu's gaze strayed to the birdbath. "That's a Western Meadowlark," she said, nodding at the yellow-breasted bird perched on the lip of the shallow bowl. "It's our state bird." She turned back to Abby. "What did you say, Buttercup?"

  "I said it's a theory.”

  "Of course, it's a theory. That's where we start. And our next step is to snoop around. Don't ya think?"

  It wasn't an actual question. It was a declaration.

  Abby kept her gaze on the thirsty Western Meadowlark. She'd heard the 'our next step' in Lulu's statement and realized the implication. No way was she going to partner up with Lulu.

  Just then the bird soared skyward, and Abby twisted in the conversation away from snooping with Lulu.

  "You know that note you showed me from George. The one you found stuck to your screen door. Did you show it to Sheriff Moser?

  Lulu piped up. "Of course I did. He blew it off. Didn't think it mattered at all. Some sheriff, he is."

  Lulu glanced at the gold bracelet watch on her tiny wrist and jumped up from the bench. “I'm late." She walked off, stopped and called out to Abby. "I'm going to the town meeting. You should come with me. You could meet some folks, and"—she wriggled her brows—"we can snoop around to see if there's any gossip about Mr. Mayor’s dirty real estate deals.”

  Lulu parked her baby, a 1998 Rolls Silver Spur with a coughing muffler, across the square from Mr. Steed's Bookstore.

  It had been an impulsive decision to come with Lulu to the meeting. Actually, more than impulsive. It was, Abby admitted to herself, a shade opportunistic.

  She had envisioned getting to know more townspeople at the meeting while casually informing them that she was looking for a job. Word of mouth worked wonders, sometimes.

  The trip into town had started out fine although the diminutive Lulu could barely see over the steering wheel since she had misplaced her "driving cushion" and refused to use something else.

  Abby soon grasped that Lulu's eyes weren't the problem. It was her mouth.

  She babbled on and on with the habit of glancing over at Abby when she was speaking, which was ninety-five percent of the time.

  Twice, due to her inattention, the Rolls had swerved onto the narrow shoulder of the mountain road, which caused Abby to white-knuckle the door handle for the rest of the trip.

  The topic that most captured Lulu's attention was birds.

  She'd been introduced to birding by her third husband, Lowell Dupree. "Dear old Low, he taught me how to follow the migration pattern of purple martins down into Mexico. You know anything about birds, Abby?"

  "I can tell the difference between a red-headed woodpecker and a blue jay."

  Lulu sniffed. "So can a three-year-old. Reach into the glove box and get me that cassette.”

  Abby hastily pushed back the jumbled paperwork that tumbled out when she opened the glove box, then poked around to eventually pull out a cassette. She read the label. "Mix tape."

  Lulu gushed. “Lowell, my prince, made it for me. Stick it in the player." The Rolls was old enough to have a cassette and a CD player.

  Expecting love songs, Abby flinched hard enough to smack her elbow into the door handle when the speakers blasted out a high-pitched screech similar to a raging tea kettle.

  Then came soft, hushed sounds of trilling mixed in with wheezy whistles.

  Lulu started identifying each bird by its song. "That's a Cedar Waxwing. It's small so its voice is higher. Oh, this one is a Canyon Wren. Hear how it changes pitch wit
h descending whistles."

  "Fascinating," said Abby, half-sarcastic and half, well, fascinated.

  "Hear that? That's the Common Raven. It's a large bird with a 'krock' sound, like a basso profondo burp."

  She giggled, amused by her own humor, then went on. "A lot of people get ravens mixed up with crows. Crows are smaller and make that 'caw, caw" sound. Ya know, I should take you out birding with me sometime soon."

  The Rolls slid into a space on the other side of the town square.

  As they cut cross the park, Lulu tugged on Abby's arm. "We can't walk in together. You wait by the gazebo for five minutes, then come in."

  Abby hustled over to the gazebo in the center of the park and waited until Lulu disappeared inside the bookstore.

  Then she defied the bossy old lady by waiting only three minutes before she entered the bookstore.

  No one was at the counter. She heard a voice and followed it to a side room that had been set aside as the children's area.

  The child-sized tables and chairs had been stacked in a corner to allow space for folding chairs. Not many. Maybe fifteen or twenty.

  Abby spotted Sheriff Moser, arms folded, leaning against a wall, watching with hooded eyes. His head lifted almost imperceptibly. Had he seen her? Or was it her imagination?

  A woman in a black-and-white checkered suit, low heels and a cheerless face stood at a music stand lectern facing the meager audience. "Like I stated last month, it's imperative that every merchant participates this time around. It's the usual time frame. First weekend in December, but the fee deadline is no later than October 27th."

  She wagged a scolding finger. "And any merchant who doesn't adhere to the deadline will not benefit from the publicity campaign or be able to participate in any of the Winter Festival events, including the raffle."

  A raspy voice complained. "I already know I need an extension, Edwina."

  She huffed back, "There will be on extensions."

  A white-haired older gentleman of slight build and wearing a hunter green sweater with a matching bowtie rose to his feet. "Mrs. Holcombe, I'm Mr. Steed."

  "Yes, Mr. Steed. We all know who you are," Edwina Holcombe said, unsuccessfully hiding her impatience.

  "The fee you've set for participation is gosh-darn high this year."

  A smattering of applause.

  Annoyed, Edwina patronized him with a smarmy smile. "I understand, Mr. Steed, but the cost of living is rising. Don't you agree?"

  "I do," the old man said with a nod.

  "Every merchant in Moon Water needs a growing customer base. It's that simple. We need more tourists during our summer season, and we really do need them showing up in the winter too. This year's Winter Festival is aimed to attract the regional population of the southern area of our state. I'm implementing what I believe will be popular attractions. For example, we're having an ice-skating event, a square-dancing competition, a team tug-of-war weather permitting, along with our usual Santa parade and our cake and a pie contest. Plus, of course, the merchant raffle."

  Mayor Holcombe, seated in the front row next to a light-haired man in a navy pinstriped suit, rose to his feet and turned to face the audience.

  "Mr. Steed and you other merchants, I want you to know we will be publicizing the festival much more than last year's. With my wife in charge now, I can guarantee a far greater success than in previous years. Isn't that right, darling?"

  Edwina beamed at the fawning comment. "The mayor is correct. I have devoted myself to making it a tremendous success."

  A voice griped, "Gimme a break. This is not what we need to be chewing on. We've got a murder that needs solving."

  Loud gasps of surprise. All eyes turned to the voice. Lulu's voice. "Folks, we can't brush this aside," she bellowed as she marched to the front row. "George Perkins was murdered."

  "That is not true, Lulu Dupree! You are spreading false nonsense and I won't have it," snapped the mayor.

  Sheriff Moser dropped his folded arms stance and stood ramrod straight. "Tallulah, he's right. That's inflammatory talk."

  His voice was calm but serious. "Mr. Perkins died because of a fall. It was an accident, not murder."

  With a sweep of her hand, Lulu dismissed his comment. "Totally and completely wrong, Sheriff Moser. Dead wrong."

  Her eyes darted to various people in the crowd. "Every one of us needs to be concerned, and we need to find out who did it, and who"—her gaze went to the mayor—" is involved in the cover-up."

  The sheriff countered, his tone slightly more irritated. "There is no cover-up."

  "I say there is."

  "You're wrong." Hank Holcombe declared. "You, Mrs. Dupree, are shamefully ginning up this tragic accident into some theatrical plot because you're so desperate for attention."

  Lulu planted her tiny hands on her thin narrow hips. "Spare me your psychoanalysis, sonny boy. You're not fooling me. I'm on to you."

  The mayor lost it. "On to me? For what? You crazy old ninny!"

  The townspeople reacted with howls and jeers, entertained by the clash.

  Sheriff Moser held up a hand. "Settle down, settle down, especially you, Tallulah, and"—his head tipped at Holcombe—"you too, Hank."

  Unfazed, Lulu went back on the attack, glaring at the sheriff. "What are you gonna do about the murder, sheriff?"

  "There was no murder. It was an accident." His irritation now on full display. "Everyone here knows that." His dark eyes met Abby's. "Even you, Ms. Little.

  Abby gulped, caught in the center of the dispute. More heads swiveled as the townspeople zeroed in on her. She heard them whispering and flushed pink.

  Lulu came to her rescue, sort of. "She's the one who found George's body, and she’s certain it was murder."

  The crowd buzzed. Edwina clapped her hands together but when no one paid attention, her husband loudly announced the meeting was over.

  In retreat, Abby dodged several townspeople who came zeroing in on her and threaded her way through the bookstore.

  Rushing outside, she headed across the street to the gazebo to avoid being pummeled with questions. The whole idea had been to ferret out any gossip about George being shafted when he bought the cottage. But Lulu and her big mouth ruined that. I should never have come with her.

  A plump woman in her fifties with short-cropped brown hair, followed Abby to the gazebo. "Hello, Ms. Little.”

  Abby, not wanting to talk, gave her a polite but tight smile. "Hello."

  The woman approached, hesitant herself. "I w-was at the town meeting."

  She pushed up the sleeve of her oversized bulky navy blue sweater and extended her hand. "I'm Harriet Dill. I run Dill's Diner. I have to get back there, but—”

  A shout interrupted Harriet. "Abby!"

  Both women turned to see Lulu crossing the street, her hand up in a wave.

  Harriet whispered to Abby. "Look, I knew George and his wife, Doris. Do you really believe he was murdered?"

  Abby hooded her eyes. What could she say to this woman? A ghost dog told her so. She’d be labeled a crazy ninny herself. "I-I believe, well, um, maybe," she said.

  Harriet frowned. "I'd like to talk to you sometime, alone. I'm afraid Lulu can get overwrought at times."

  With that, she mumbled a quick "bye" and scurried off to the opposite side of the gazebo to hurry down the steps.

  On the opposite side of the gazebo, Lulu took her time getting up the steps and clutched her chest a moment before she got to Abby. "What did she have to say?”

  "Who?”

  "Harriet Dill. In the blue sweater just talking to you."

  "Oh, her. She welcomed me to Moon Water. She'll probably be the only person in town to do that now because of you."

  "Me? I didn't do anything."

  "You announced to everybody I believe George was murdered. You should have kept that to yourself, Lulu. Nobody knows me here. Now they probably think I'm some obsessed attention seeker."

  "Oh, forget what they think."

>   "I can't. I'm new here. I need to meet people, make friends, and get established here so I can find a job. Now when they see me, they'll already have a first impression of me, and not a good one."

  "Stop worrying about yourself. We have a killer to find." With a snort, Lulu walked off. Abby almost fired back but decided having an angry Lulu behind the wheel might make for a more harrowing drive back to Honeyberry Woods. She did, however, maintain an aloof silence as she followed Lulu to the car.

  The silence continued as the Rolls bumped along the wooden planks of the Moon Water Creek bridge.

  Finally, Lulu said with a soupcon of regret, "I guess you've got a point. It was all that insane talk about fees and raffles, my temper flared up, but I should've controlled myself better than I did."

  Her gaze flickered to Abby. "I'm sorry if I made things awkward for you."

  With a shrug Abby accepted the apology, but kept her eyes glued to the narrow winding mountain road. "Who was that man sitting next to the mayor?"

  "That was the stinker, Gilbert Inglewood," Lulu grunted. "The real estate agent and lawyer who teamed up with Holcombe to con George."

  "You don't know if that's true, Lulu. Maybe there was a higher offer, and besides, I thought you said it was a woman on the phone."

  "George heard a woman's voice, but that doesn't mean much. Holcombe could've paid off some female. I'm telling you he's the mastermind."

  After a moment, she said, "I wonder if George told Harriet Dill about the dirty deal?"

  "Why would he tell her?"

  "Harriet knew his wife, Doris, really well. Doris used to live here in Moon Water back when she was a teenager, and she used to babysit Harriet. Maybe George confided more in Harriet than he did in me."

  A pickup truck behind the Rolls tooted its horn, wanting to pass.

  Lulu braked and edged closer to the almost non-existent shoulder. "Maybe that's why she stopped to talk to you at the gazebo. What exactly did she say?"

  Abby detected a note of suspicion in Lulu's tone. "Like I said. She wanted to welcome me to Moon Water." The lie burned the tip of her tongue.