Gone but Not for Garden

Book 4: Goddess of Greene St. Mystery

by Kate Collins

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Culinary Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

Athena Spencer works with her big Greek-American family (whom she also anonymously blogs about) at their garden center near Lake Michigan. She's also gained a reputation for crime-solving—and that's what brings flower-shop owner and fellow sleuth Abby Knight Salvare to her door . . .



Abby has come from Indiana to this Lake Michigan town to help her cousin, Jillian, who was emceeing a local fashion show and now stands accused of murdering one of the models. Some of Sequoia's most prominent citizens were there on the catwalk, so there's increasing pressure to have the next event be a perp walk.



The clueless Jillian is in jail after ignoring orders not to leave town, and she isn't happy—orange is not her color. Along with her handsome PI partner, Case, Athena starts making inquiries, while tiptoeing around the wives of the town's mayor and police chief. In the meantime, the two detectives are becoming fast friends. After all, in addition to homicide, Abby and Athena share an interest in horticulture—though right now the only thing they're growing is their list of suspects . . .

Release date: January 24, 2023

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 336

Sample

Sunday morning

My cousin Drew led me away from the celebration in the conference room to the front of the big barn, where a young, redheaded woman was waiting by the checkout counter.

“Athena Spencer?” she asked.

“That’s me.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She shook my hand, her vivid green eyes exuding warmth and confidence. “Abby Knight Salvare. Bloomers Flower Shop. Have I got a case for you.”

I stared at her in surprise. “A case? Involving your flower shop?”

The woman was a few years younger than me, more than a few inches shorter than me, pretty, and just brimming with energy. She smiled brightly. “I’m sorry. I meant to say murder case. My husband, Marco, and I have a detective agency in New Chapel, Indiana.”

Maybe it was her short stature, or her green and yellow floral sundress, or the smattering of sun-kissed freckles across her cheeks and nose, but the woman standing before me didn’t look any older than twenty-five. It was surprising to hear her impressive résumé. “I see. Well then, it’s nice to meet you, too, Abby.”

“I’m sorry to be so forward, but I feel like already know you.”

Another surprise.

“The reason I’m here is because I’d like your help,” she said.

“My help?”

“You’re locals. You know this town. And I understand you own a detective agency, too,” Abby said.

“Yes, yes, I do,” I stammered. “Actually, my partner, Case Donnelly, and I own it. The Greene Street Detective Agency. But how did you find us? We’ve only been open a few days.”

“Research,” she answered, setting her deep yellow purse down on the counter and pulling out several sheets of printer paper. “My husband is a pro at it. He found these articles in your local newspaper about the cases you’ve solved.” She shuffled through the papers and showed me the story written after Case and I had solved the double homicide, the news story that had first given me the nickname Goddess of Greene Street. “He also read that you worked at your family’s garden center. So here I am!”

“Athena, do you want some cake?”

I turned to see my bubble-headed younger sister, Delphi, standing in the conference room doorway, where a surprise party was underway celebrating my most recent success at catching a murderer, which, after taking a step back to appreciate the accomplishment, would’ve been three cases solved in less than three months. Clearly, our reputation was starting to spread. “I’ll be there soon,” I replied to Delphi and turned back to my guest.

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting,” Abby said. “Why don’t I come back later?”

“How about at two o’clock this afternoon?” I suggested. “We close at two on Sundays, so there won’t be any interference.”

Abby gave me her bright smile again. “Perfect. I’ll go have lunch somewhere in the meantime.”

“I’d recommend the Blue Moon Café,” I told her. “It’s just one block down and around the corner. Good food at reasonable prices.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you at two.” She started to walk away and then paused before she reached the door. “So, this is the famous statue,” she said, putting her hand on the tall Treasure of Athena that greeted customers as they walked into the garden center.

“That’s her,” I said.

“She’s beautiful.”

Standing at over six feet tall, my namesake wore a traditional flowing toga gathered over one shoulder with a clasp so that the material draped down over her small, firm breasts. Another layer of material swirled down from her waist to the sandals on her feet. Her hair was swept up beneath a helmet that covered the top of her head. Her arms were bare and slender, but her strength was evident. One hand rested on her right hip; the other hand was outstretched in greeting. She was the goddess of war and wisdom, strong, courageous, and independent, things I strove to be.

My pappoús had famously purchased the statue at the Talbot estate sale, which had ultimately led me straight into a double homicide investigation. He’d originally wanted to put it in his diner’s front entrance, but the statue had been too large for the Parthenon. So, my dad and I had gladly welcomed it to Spencer’s.

As Abby left the store, Case came out of the conference room and put his arm around my shoulders. He was dressed casually in a light green polo shirt and khakis, his wavy dark brown hair intensifying the color of his golden-brown eyes. “Everything okay?”

“I think so.”

“Who was that?” he asked.

I glanced over Case’s shoulder to see several customers enter the store. “I’ll tell you about her later. Let’s go wrap up this party. We’re starting to get busy.”

We returned to the conference room, a long, narrow room just up the hallway from the office where I worked at Spencer’s Garden Center. The room was full of members of my big, zany Greek family, including my parents, three sisters, one aunt, one uncle, one cousin, and my grandparents, who’d taken time away from their diner to be there. Also in attendance were Officer Bob Maguire of the Sequoia Police Department, my sister Delphi’s current flame, and Lila Talbot, the silent partner in the Greene Street Detective Agency.

“Now we can cut the cake!” my mother cried, and with the long, sharp knife in her hand, she began to cut slices into the three-layer cake with the strawberry pink frosting on it that said, Three

Case Cheers for the Goddess of Greene Street! Case had given me that title after the first murder case I’d solved, the press had reported it, and it had stuck.

Lila, Case, and my family had surprised me with this little party. After a tumultuous day yesterday, where my life had been in grave danger, today had started as though nothing unusual had taken place. I’d felt a huge letdown all morning. And then they’d surprised me with this.

“Here’s your cake,” my sister Selene said, and thrust a plate into my hands. She looked at her wristwatch. “I’ve got to cut out. I have a client coming in soon.”

Selene was a hairstylist at Over-the-Top Hair Salon. She, my sister Maia, and I were all named after Greek goddesses; Selene, the oldest at thirty-six, after the moon goddess; Maia, twenty-eight, after the goddess of the fields, which was fitting since she was a vegetarian; and me, thirty-one, after Athena, the goddess of war and wisdom. My mother, Hera, had been named after the mother goddess, and so she had carried on the tradition with us. Delphi, at twenty-five, was the exception. She was named after the Oracle of Delphi.

“I’m going to head down to the office,” Case said. “How about dinner tonight? On the boat. I’ll make spaghetti, and you can tell me all about the redheaded stranger.”

I suppressed a little shiver of excitement at the thought of being alone with him. Case was a very romantic, very masculine man, but he was also something of a loner. “It’s Sunday, remember? Big, family dinner on Sunday? You’re always invited, you know.”

He paused, as though having an internal debate. “I’ll let you know later.” He glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then leaned in to give me a quick kiss before striding toward the door. I watched him go with a contented sigh.

Case had come to Sequoia from Pittsburgh to collect his family’s statue, the Treasure of Athena, and ended up being charged with a murder involving the statue. After we’d worked together to find the real killer, we’d gone on to solve two more homicide cases. Now Case had his private investigator’s license, and together we had opened up the Greene Street Detective Agency.

Tall, fit, and handsome, Case had admitted to staying in Sequoia because he liked me, even going so far as to say he wanted me to be a partner in his detective agency. That was fine by me, since my job working as bookkeeper for my dad at our family-owned and-operated garden center didn’t occupy that much of my time.

“Athena,” my dad said as I forked a piece of strawberry cake into my mouth, “enjoy your party. I’ll go help Drew on the sales floor.”

“I’ll be right out,” I said with a mouthful.

My dad had created the job for me when I moved back home with my ten-year-old son, Nicholas, after my marriage had ended. The job provided me with income, and the relaxed schedule allowed me to have breakfast and dinner with my son and take time off for school events. During our busy summer season, I also helped customers in the garden center with selection and design. I didn’t have any formal training, but I did have a passion for it. Plus, I’d practically grown up at the garden center, learning all about horticulture from my father.

At a tap on my shoulder, I turned to see Delphi rubbing her forehead. She was dressed in one of her quirky outfits, today a purple and black–striped tube top with a gauzy black skirt and her favorite purple flip-flops. She waited for a young couple to walk away and then said, “Athena, I had a vision a few minutes ago. It was about the redhead who came in earlier. Who was she?”

Delphi’s visions were well-known in our family. Being named after the famous Oracle made her believe she had the gift of foresight. After years of teasing and eye-rolling, we’d given up on taming our sister’s otherworldly grandeur and had come to appreciate Delphi for who she was—comic relief. Oddly, her predictions were right about 25 percent of the time. In fact, her last prediction had helped save my life, so I felt like I should pay attention to her.

“She’s Abby Knight Salvare, a private detective. What did you see?”

“I saw a red flame.”

“What does that mean?”

“The red flame could be Abby, but it could also mean danger. I’m not sure. Just keep that in mind.” With a satisfied nod, she turned and walked away.

The party dwindled quickly as most of my friends and family had to get on with their day. And so, too, did my workday begin.

At two o’clock on the nose, Abby Knight stepped inside the big barn my grandfather Spencer had converted into a garden center and looked around. I had come up to the sales floor to watch for her, and now I walked toward her with a smile.

“There you are,” she said in a friendly voice.

“Come back this way,” I said, and led her toward the conference room just as my dad locked the front door, closing the shop early as we did on Sundays.

We took seats across from each other at the long, walnut conference table, where she folded her hands and smiled at me. “Where to begin,” she said.

“Can I get you a cup of coffee before we start?” I asked.

“No, thanks. I had two cups at the Blue Moon, and I’m already jittery.” She took a breath. “Okay. Here it is. Have you heard the news about the fashion show murder that happened this past Thursday evening?”

“I didn’t know it had been classified as murder. The last I heard, one of the models collapsed and died backstage.”

Abby pulled her purse open to retrieve her cell phone.

As she scrolled through her phone, I continued. “These past few days have been a whirlwind. When did the news break about the murder?”

“This morning.” She handed me her phone. “Here, take a look.”

I scrolled through the article as Abby spoke. “The murder victim was a woman named Carly Blackburn. The article states that she’d been poisoned sometime before the show.”

“Poisoned how?” I asked, still scrolling through the story. “I don’t see it here anywhere.”

“Actually, that’s the only piece of information I managed to draw out of my cousin. She was practically in hysterics when I talked to her over the phone. Jillian was the emcee for the event. She was also in charge of the models, making sure they had everything they needed for the show, including water. Unfortunately, one of the models died after drinking poisoned water.”

“And the police think your cousin did it,” I finished.

“They’re holding her now on suspicion of murder.” Abby held her fingers an inch apart. “I have a feeling they’re this close to charging her with premeditated murder.” She sat forward. “I know my cousin. She may be something of an airhead, but she would never willingly hurt anyone. So, what I need from you and your partner is help getting Jillian the defense she needs, not only by pointing me toward a good attorney, but also by working with me to find the real killer.”

Before handing Abby’s phone back, I spotted a name I recognized. Eleni Sloan, former president of the Greek Merchants Association and wife of one of the most beloved, powerful people in town, Mayor Charles Sloan. Eleni had been one of the models in the fashion show.

I continued reading and found a quote by another prominent woman who had modeled for the show. “Did you read what Hope Louvain said?” I asked Abby. “She told the reporter that your cousin and Carly were longtime enemies, dating back to their college years.”

“Yes, I read it. She publicly threw Jillian under the bus, which is definitely not helping my cause.”

“Hope Louvain and Eleni Sloan are very influential people in this town,” I told her. “And according to this article, they both seem to believe Jillian is guilty. Going up against them is not going to be easy.”

“That’s another reason I came to see you,” Abby said.

“Why me?”

“Because you’re good at what you do. Marco told me all about the Talbots,” Abby explained, “and Pete Harmon, so I know you’re not afraid to take on powerful people. And by the way, I don’t expect you to work for free. I’ll pay whatever your going rate is.”

Wow. This would be our first official case. I was practically salivating at the idea. “I’ll have to run it by my partner first,” I said, “but I think he’ll be on board. Let me get my iPad so I can take notes.” I pushed back my chair, hurried down the hall to the office, snatched the iPad off the desk, and hurried back. Abby was under the assumption that I wasn’t afraid to take on powerful people, and over the course of the past few months, I had worked very hard to overcome those fears. But this situation was different. These women were well-liked, respected. Eleni was one of the original founders of the Greek Merchants Association, and more importantly, a good friend of the family.

Hope Louvain was an award-winning middle school teacher, not to mention she was also married to Sequoia’s chief of police. I was going to have to tread very carefully.

“Okay,” I said, opening the tablet, “what do you know about the case?”

She sat back. “I don’t know much. According to the article, there were three models—the police chief’s wife, the mayor’s wife, and the murder victim, Carly Blackburn. There was also a woman mentioned in the article who provided the models with clothing for the show.”

“Fran Decker,” I said. “She owns a women’s boutique a few blocks from here.” I typed in the names of the women at the show before continuing. “Where is Jillian now?”

“In jail,” Abby answered. “Which is why I need a good defense attorney.”

“I think I know someone who can help. Has she been charged with anything?”

“Obstruction of justice,” Abby replied.

I glanced up from my notes in surprise. “How?”

“Jillian was told not to leave town—and then she left town. It wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but that’s Jillian. So, the police picked her up and brought her back to Sequoia.”

“And the only evidence the police have against Jillian is that she handed out the water bottles?”

“I don’t know all the evidence they have, but I do know she purchased the water, and the bottles were in her possession until she delivered them to each dressing room.”

“Have you seen Jillian yet?”

“Not yet. I was hoping you could help me get in to see her.”

“I think I can make that happen. When would you like to go?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Let me make a phone call. I might be able to get you in tomorrow afternoon.”

Abby smiled in relief. “That would be great.”

“Where are you staying?”

“At the Waterfront Hotel, where the murder took place. Do you know it?”

“Maybe a little too well. It’s a beautiful place, but you might want to steer clear of a man named Mitchell Black. He’s not the most helpful when it comes to his father’s hotel.”

“See, you’re helping already. I knew coming to you was the right decision.”

I hoped she was right about that. I smiled at her comment and stood. “My phone is in the office. I’ll make that call and be right back.”

Once again, I hurried up the hallway, dashed over to my desk, and grabbed my phone. I opened my recent call list and found Officer Bob Maguire’s number. After explaining my situation to him, I was delighted to hear he could get Abby and me into the jail the next day, skipping all the red tape that would’ve required twenty-four hours to process.

Next, I placed a call to my once-upon-a-time boyfriend Kevin Coreopsis, who had gone to New York after college and returned home just this past year to become a defense attorney. As a new lawyer in town, I guessed that Kevin would be more than willing to take Jillian’s case.

After I finished with my phone calls, I returned to the conference room and sat down with a smile. “Good news. I have a contact on the police force who can get us into the jail tomorrow afternoon, and I’ve lined up my friend Kevin Coreopsis to handle Jillian’s case. He’s going to go to the jail to meet with her tomorrow after our visit.”

Abby pressed her hands to her heart. “That’s wonderful! What a huge relief. Does this mean you’ll work with me on the case?”

“I still have to run it by my partner, but I can definitely help with your jail visit. Why don’t we meet at our office tomorrow at one o’clock? I’ll write down the address for you.”

“That would be perfect.”

I jotted the address on a green sticky note and gave it to her. She tucked it in her purse, pushed back her chair, and rose. “I won’t keep you any longer. It is Sunday, after all.”

“Is your husband going to join you here?” I asked, as we stepped into the hallway.

“No, Marco’s holding down the fort at home. We have two pets to take care of.”

“What about the flower shop?” I asked.

“Bloomers will be fine,” Abby answered. “I have a great staff.”

“You’re welcome to have dinner with my family this evening, although I have to warn you, it’s a big, crazy, Greek family and quite a noisy gathering.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I think I’ll just enjoy the hotel amenities and maybe do a little internet sleuthing.”

“Good luck,” I told her.

She held out her hand. “See you at one o’clock tomorrow.”

I couldn’t wait to tell Case about Abby’s visit. I texted him and learned he’d left the office and gone home, which to Case meant the Pamê, the small houseboat he was buying from my grandfather. “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” I told him. “I have exciting news.”

After closing the garden center, I locked the door behind me and set off down Greene Street to Oak, the cross street that took me out to the harbor. My pappoús’s boat was docked at the southern end of the harbor on the last of three piers along the wide, wooden dock, directly across from the section of Greene Street known as Little Greece.

I used the short plank to cross onto the boat, stepping down into the back. The flat-backed stern had a blue vinyl, U-shaped seating area surrounding a plastic table for outside dining. Up a step and toward the cockpit were the swivel seats for fishermen, and beyond that the helm. A deck on either side of the boat led to the bow, where a sundeck could be used for tanning or cooling off after a swim.

I crossed the stern to the center door that led belowdecks and rapped twice. “Hello, I’m here,” I called.

“Come on in,” Case called back.

I walked down the five steps into the small living room. There was a built-in sofa, also in blue vinyl, across from the galley, with two white plastic chairs and a small, square white Formica table in the middle that was bolted to the floor. Beyond that was a tiny bathroom followed by a cozy bedroom tucked into the front of the boat.

My pappoús had purchased the boat decades ago, and for years our family had enjoyed it for weekend getaways. As we grew older, the boat was mainly used by Pappoús for fishing, but he had given that up as his arthritis progressed.

“Wine?” Case asked, holding out a bottle of cabernet.

“It’s a little early, don’t you think?”

“Not when family is visiting for Sunday dinner,” he joked.

I sighed. “Bring the bottle.”

He poured me a glass, took one for himself, and settled onto the sofa. I settled next to him and took a sip of the wine.

Case’s arm slid behind my neck, and I let my head fall back against it. “Tell me about your visitor today,” he said. “I’m guessing that’s your exciting news.”

I took another sip of wine. “Her name is Abby Knight Salvare. She and her husband, Marco, have a private detective business in New Chapel, Indiana.”

“Where is that?”

“It’s about an hour and a half southwest of here. I wrote about New Chapel when I worked for the newspaper in Chicago.”

“Why did a private detective come to see you?” Case asked.

“Because she needs our help with a case.”

“She needs our help? That’s surprising.”

“Not really. We know this town better than she does. We know the people. We have connections. Abby seemed to know all about us and the cases we’ve solved. She and her husband really do their homework.”

“Sounds like we may need to do a little homework of our own,” he said. “I’ll have to look into this detective team, see what kind of history they have.” Case reached over for his laptop stuffed between two blue vinyl cushions and opened it up. “What did you say their names were?”

“Abby and Marco Salvare. I think she said it was the Salvare Detective Agency.”

Case typed it in, then silently scrolled for a while. “Wow,” he finally said. “This news article says that they’ve solved twenty-four homicide investigations. That’s quite a record.” He looked up from the screen. “How did they find us?”

“Abby’s husband did some research and found articles about the cases we’ve solved.” I took a drink of wine. “They even knew about Pete Harmon.”

“Harmon? That news br. . .