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  HUNTING A KILLER

  “In the short term, I’m going to work on getting some cameras installed at the Dane house, so we can see what’s going on. Tamara, let us all know when your next open house is,” Lilly said.

  “It’s tomorrow, but maybe I should cancel it,” Tamara said.

  “No, don’t cancel it,” Lilly said. “We can take shifts babysitting the house the morning of and make sure nothing happens to it during the day.”

  “Will that help us figure out who killed Gladys?” Ernie asked.

  Lilly took a deep breath, reached over and grabbed her friend’s hand. She did not let go and looked around the table. “Let’s leave that to Bash. For now.”

  “Are you sure?” Delia said.

  “Here’s what I’m thinking. Tamara may end up on the suspect list for killing Gladys. If someone’s going after Tamara’s business, they may be going after her as well and trying to frame her. Let’s look out for our friend and collect all the facts whether you think they’re relevant or not. Then maybe we can put this puzzle together . . .”

  Books by Julia Henry

  PRUNING THE DEAD

  TILLING THE TRUTH

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  TILLING THE TRUTH

  Julia Henry

  Kensington Books

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  HUNTING A KILLER

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Gardening Tips

  Acknowledgments

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2019 by J.A. Hennrikus

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-1483-1

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1484-8 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-1484-9 (ebook)

  To Bryan Spence and Glenn Lentz,

  the best brothers-in-law I could have asked for

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lilly Jayne had considered saying no to the invitation for tea, but her curiosity got the better of her. That, plus her good manners. Her mother, Viola, rest her soul, would have haunted her forever if she had said no to Braden and Miranda’s invite. Especially now that she had been named the executor of such a large part of Harmon Dane’s estate.

  They’d called after they met with Harmon’s lawyer, as Lilly had predicted they would. After a terse conversation, the three of them agreed to meet at the Star Café to talk in person. Lilly was a big believer in face-to-face conversations, especially when they were difficult. She could have as easily invited them to her house, but then she couldn’t escape. She found both Braden and Miranda tiresome at best, and this conversation wasn’t going to represent them at their best. Frankly, she also thought that they were less concerned by her late friend’s recent death than they were by what he left them in his will. Harmon deserved better, not that she was one for public wailing. No, Lilly Jayne was far too much of a cranky Yankee for that. Nonetheless, she grieved the loss of Harmon, was honored that he had asked her to help honor his final wishes, and felt determined to make his relatives step up to do their part.

  Lilly walked down the front stairs and put her purse on the side table in the front hall. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and smiled faintly. Little curls of her white hair were flying about, not surprising in the August humidity. Her black cotton dress with white cabbage roses skimmed over her solid shape, nipping in at the waist thanks to a thin red belt, and then scooting out to a full circle skirt. Her white canvas sneakers were fairly hip these days, but that wasn’t why she chose them. She’d been wearing them for years. Lately, though, she’d had to add inserts to help alleviate the pain of her aching knees. She took a tube of lipstick out of her purse and rolled the red balm over her lips. Today’s earrings were white roses, which complemented her black-and-white rose necklace.

  Lilly was tempted to jump on her Vespa to drive into town but changed her mind. The helmet wreaked havoc with her hair, and summer traffic made navigating downtown more challenging. Driving made no sense, since parking was sure to be a challenge. Besides, since she had plenty of time the walk would do her good.

  She almost called out to Delia, her housemate, to let her know she was leaving, but then remembered Delia was down at the town hall today. She’d been filling in as an interim town clerk and spent many hours there going through records, trying to get the town back on track. Lilly sighed. Since her husband, Alan, had died two years ago, she’d gotten so used to having Delia around; Lilly was going to miss her when she moved in to the room she’d rented in Burlington later this month to start teaching in Boston. Granted, Delia would be teaching two freshmen sections of research techniques, not her dream topic, but academic careers took a while to build. Lilly sighed once more, and then gave herself a shake. No time for a pity party. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, ask Delia to put her life on hold any longer.

  Lilly closed the front door behind her and double-checked that it was locked. She hated that she had to worry about that, but she did. Curiosity had led more than a few tourists up her front path and into her front hall this past summer without an invitation. She found it disconcerting, to say the least. She’d taken to locking her front door to make sure that her privacy was just that, her privacy. She suspected most of the folks had wanted to get to the back of the house to see her famous gardens, but they never got that far. Thankfully, because her house was so old that no building codes were adhered to, there was no way to get to the back of the house from the side yards. From the street, to the left there was a large greenhouse butted right up against her neighbor Roddy Lyden’s fence. To the right her driveway ran all the way to the back of the house, dipping down to a large stone wall at the end. There were no stairs up the stone wall and into the backyard. You had to get to the backyard through the garage, which Lilly and Delia kept closed.

  Lilly enjoyed her privacy almost as much as she enjoyed working in her gardens. Almost. She had invited folks over in May for a garden party, and that had turned out to be quite the event for a number of reasons, not the least of which was when her friend Tamara got pushed into the koi pond, and the late Merilee Frank pilfered a family treasure. What a chain of events that party had started. Still, she was cons
idering inviting people over for a fall open house, but with Delia leaving, Lilly wasn’t sure she was up to planning the party on her own. Not that she would have to. Her friends Tamara O’Connor and Ernie Johnson would be more than happy to help. But she wasn’t going to mention it to them until she committed to the idea herself. Once they had the possibility of a party in their heads, it would be hard to dissuade them.

  As Lilly turned to the right to head towards the center of town she paused for a moment outside Roddy Lyden’s house. She halfway hoped he would be outside working on his front garden, not that it needed the work. But he wasn’t. She hadn’t seen Roddy for a couple of days, which was a long time for them. Since he’d moved in, especially since all that happened in May, they talked or texted practically every day. She made a mental note to give him a call later, when she got home.

  Lilly walked down Washington Street towards the center of town, a rotary around which most of Goosebush drove at least once a week, if not daily. The rotary was sometimes referred to as the Wheel since it was the retail center of town. The businesses directly on the Wheel had all been there for years, though not in their present states. Most, except for the post office, were now serving a different purpose. Lilly’s destination, the Star Café, was a prime example of a repurposed storefront. While she was growing up, the Star had been a Woolworth. The original store was four stories tall, with a brick façade, tall tin ceilings, worn wooden floors, and complete with an ice cream bar in the front and a cafeteria in the back. Stan Freeland had taken over the building after it had been underused for many years. He turned it into a bookstore and café in the front, and a restaurant and bar in the back. On the second floor there was a theater space. The top two floors were used for storage and some artists’ work spaces. Stan was young but had a vision for the building he was determined to see realized. As far as Lilly could tell, he was successful. The Star was always packed.

  Lilly walked in and looked to her right. She gave Stella Haywood a small wave and a smile and looked to her left. Stella was the youngest sister of Bash Haywood, the chief of police for Goosebush. Lilly had known Stella forever, and was pleased that the younger woman had found a good job at the Star. After a few fits and starts, Stella was finally on a solid path.

  Miranda and Braden were both there already, and Stan had brought them a pot of tea. She took a deep breath before she walked over to them.

  “Have fun,” Stan whispered to her as he walked back towards the coffee bar. Stan was thin and had a shaved head, a small goatee, and large black-framed glasses. He looked like a humorless hipster, but his loving restoration of the old Woolworth displayed an old soul with a great imagination he coupled with a solid business acumen.

  “Good afternoon, Stan,” Lilly said. “Could you bring me a cup of tea?” Lilly plastered on a smile, and walked over to the table. Braden started to stand up, but Lilly waved him back into his seat.

  “Braden, Miranda, I hope I’m not late,” Lilly said. She knew she wasn’t. Lilly Jayne was never late.

  “No, we just got here ourselves,” Braden said. “We ordered a pot of Earl Grey. You’re welcome to share if you’d like.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Lilly said.

  “It’s a little pedestrian for my taste, but it will have to do,” Miranda said.

  “Miranda is a bit of a tea snob,” Braden said. “She has started to grow her own tea and make her own blends.”

  “Oh really? My friend Delia Greenway, you know Delia, is doing research on plants that can be made into tea as well as serve other uses. She mentioned that she tasted a delicious blend lately. Maybe it was one of yours?”

  “Not likely,” Miranda said. “I only make blends for an exclusive group of customers. Delia isn’t one of them.”

  “My mistake,” Lilly said. She narrowed her eyes and looked right at Miranda. A thoroughly unpleasant woman, a few years younger than Lilly herself, Miranda wore her steel gray hair in a top knot held in place with a silver clasp. She now wore her normal uniform: layers of scarves and a flowy jacket worn over black jeans and a black T-shirt.

  Miranda Dane had never worked a day in her life, at least as far as Lilly could tell. She’d relied on her cousin Harmon’s goodwill, living in what used to be a gardener’s cottage for a long-gone estate. Harmon had bought the cottage for his mother-in-law, and when she passed, Miranda moved in. Miranda had always implied that she helped take care of Harmon in his later years after his wife died. But every time Lilly had gone over to see him he’d been waiting on Miranda hand and foot.

  “Thanks for coming to meet with us, Lilly,” Braden said. He flashed his overly white smile at Lilly. “We met with the lawyers this morning and wanted to check in with you. I’m not sure if they’ve been in contact—”

  “They have,” Lilly said.

  There was a pause in the conversation. Lilly wasn’t going to fill it in for them. This was their meeting, though she had a pretty good idea what they wanted to meet about.

  “Of course they have. You’re the executor of his estate. We’re here to talk to you about Uncle Harmon’s endowment. The one for the birds,” Braden said.

  “For the birds is right,” Miranda said.

  Lilly took a deep breath before she spoke. “Do you mean money he left for the nesting grounds by his house, to ensure that it be taken care of and expanded if possible? The Dane Sanctuary?”

  “Dane Sanctuary? I didn’t realize it already had a name,” Braden said. Stan brought a cup over for Lilly, and Branden poured her some tea.

  “It does,” Lilly said, taking the cup. “Your uncle had been talking about it for years. It was actually in memory of your aunt. He was planning on establishing it this fall, so it would be ready for the nesting next spring. We’d been talking about the launch party plans a few days before he passed.”

  “So, you were in on it with him?” Miranda asked.

  “In on it? In on what?”

  “This cash drain on his estate,” Miranda said.

  Lilly put her teacup down and stared at the other woman. Braden quickly jumped in to smooth things over, his normal role in these tedious conversations.

  “Uncle Harmon thought he had more time,” Braden said. “We all did. I can’t help but think when he wrote the will and left such a huge amount of cash for this effort that he expected to have the house in Florida sold, so there would’ve been more cash overall. He was planning on selling the Florida house, you know. Buying a smaller condo,” Braden said.

  “He had mentioned that possibility, but I don’t know that he was planning on it—”

  “Well, he was. He never would leave that whole Florida house to Mimi. A condo, maybe. But the whole house? I don’t think so,” Miranda said.

  “Mimi is, was, his sister. I have no doubt he intended to take care of her,” Lilly said.

  “Of course he did,” Braden said. “Lilly, the problem is that the family is house rich and cash poor. Uncle Harmon was very generous. Sure, he left Miranda her cottage, but she has to add the value of it to the pool. Once we sell his house it will be in the mix, but that’s taking a long time. Meanwhile he didn’t leave us any money to pay inheritance taxes with—”

  “Or to live on,” Miranda said. “We need some of the bird money.”

  “Just for a little while until we sell his house—then I can pay it back from my inheritance,” Braden said.

  “We discussed that this wasn’t the best time of year to put the house on the market,” Lilly said. “The house is wonderful, but it will need a very specific buyer.” She thought it was in very poor taste that Miranda pushed to put the house on the market so soon after Harmon died. Harmon left it to Braden, but the younger man didn’t want to live on Shipyard Lane. The will made it clear that the value of the Goosebush houses were to be factored into Braden and Miranda’s inheritance, and that Mimi’s house was hers alone. Harmon may have intended to clarify these issues over time to stop the sniping, but time was not on her old friend’s side. She wishe
d, not for the first time, that she’d talked to Harmon more about the best way to deal with Braden and Miranda, who had been challenging the will from the outset. But who was she to judge them? Lilly did not have money issues, nor did she have relatives who lived off her goodwill.

  “It’s a great house, I’m sure it will sell. But it may take some time,” Lilly said.

  Harmon’s house was a great house, Lilly thought. Always one of her favorites. But not without its issues. First was the nesting sanctuary that Harmon had created. That could preclude access to the beach depending on what Dawn Simmons, the scientist Harmon had been working with, found in her research and recommended long term for the sanctuary.

  Then there were the restrictions on the land itself, which had been established when the spit of land was sold to the original owners, who called it Shipyard Lane. Three houses sat on the edge of a small cliff, overlooking a rocky beach and the water. The view was spectacular, and the elevation made the houses fairly immune to storm damage. All three houses were identical, built by the same builder at the same time. They had a walking path along the front, which led to Harmon Dane’s house and a staircase down to the beach. They also had a gravel road on the back of the houses, where the occupants parked. But the agreement when the houses were built was that nothing could be done to any one of the houses that wasn’t done to all three. And that they would all stay the same size. It was a gentlemen’s agreement that had worked for many years but had hosts of issues once the middle house was sold to Alex Marston and he started to explore the possibility of adding a floor with expansive outdoor decks. He’d been shut down quickly enough by both Harmon and his neighbor on the other side, Gladys Preston. The three neighbors had been sparring ever since.