Murder from A to Z

Book 11: Mystery Bookshop

by V.M. Burns

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

When Michigan bookshop owner and mystery writer Samantha Washington and her sister, Jenna, agreed to host a class for seniors on estate planning, they didn’t plan on discovering shady doings at Shady Acres Retirement Village . . .

Nana Jo has volunteered her lawyer granddaughter, Jenna, to teach estate planning to retirees—with Sam providing her bookshop as the venue. But during the seminar, entitled Getting Your Ducks in Order, it quickly becomes clear someone’s up to Fowl Play. When elderly Alva Tarkington, accompanied by her niece, sits down for a consultation, Sam realizes the woman’s frequent blinking is actually Morse Code—S.O.S. The sisters get her alone, and Alva tells them she believes her life is in danger and must change her will . . .

Unfortunately, Alva is found dead the next day—seemingly from natural causes. But Nana Jo and the sisters suspect otherwise. In between penning her latest historical mystery, set in 1939 as England declares war on Germany and Lady Elizabeth Marsh pursues stolen paintings and a traitor, Sam teams up with the senior sleuths of Shady Acres to search for motives—beginning with Alva’s family. They soon learn not everyone is who they say they are, and someone is more than qualified to teach a class on cold-blooded murder . . .

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 272

Sample

“Her elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top floor. If you know what I mean.” Bethany Tarkington twirled her finger beside her head in the universal symbol for crazy and rolled her eyes at the petite woman sitting next to her. “She’s my husband’s aunt, but honestly, I’m not sure why she insisted on coming to this … thing.”

I didn’t like Bethany Tarkington, even before she insulted her aunt Alva in front of her face, but that last maneuver cemented my dislike. She’d spread her hands wide to encompass everything when she delivered her insult. The fact that we were sitting in the conference room at the back of my bookstore had got my back riled up. Market Street Mysteries may not have had the commercial appeal of big chain bookstores, but it wasn’t a dump either. It was clean and homey. From the sturdy all-wood, custom bookshelves that were handmade by Amish craftsmen, to the comfy chairs covered with colorful hand-knit throws made by my Nana Jo’s friend, Ruby Mae Stevenson. Market Street Mysteries was welcoming and inviting. Thanks to upgraded Wi-Fi, trendy marketing videos, promos, and displays that were the brainchild of my technology savvy and marketing genius nephews, combined with melt-in-your-mouth treats courtesy of my assistant Dawson Alexander, my bookstore had also become a hip hangout for old and young. How dare she. How dare this … this Bethany person insult my bookstore.

I heard a sharp intake of breath and felt steam rise from the dragon sitting to my right. If Bethany had been nicer, I might have tried to save her from the takedown I knew was coming. Instead, I sat back, folded my arms, and waited.

“Do you have a will, Mrs. Tarkington?” My sister, Jenna, flashed a cold, hard glance at Bethany Tarkington. Intelligent, professional, and hard as nails was the persona Jenna had perfected after years as a public defender in North Harbor, Michigan. Her face gave away nothing of the anger that was seething under her expensive suit, perfect makeup, and well-coiffed hair. As her sister, I saw the way her nostrils flared, and the slight narrowing of her eyelids. Sitting next to her, I could feel the electricity and heat radiating off her skin. To the uninitiated, she appeared cool, calm, and collected, but this was my sister. A storm was raging under that calm façade. Jenna leaned forward, a predator stalking her prey—a lioness. Bethany Tarkington was a gazelle grazing in a field, completely unaware she was about to be eaten alive.

“Well, no. But my husband, Carl, and I are young. We—”

“It’s a common misconception by the uninformed that estate planning is only for the elderly.”

Attack!

“We just haven’t had time to—”

“If you were in an accident and unable to talk, does your husband know your wishes regarding medical care?” Jenna asked in a soft tone.

Attack!

“We’ve never discussed it, but I’m sure he—”

“If something were to happen to your husband, do you know where your life insurance policy is? Or which company holds the policy?”

“I don’t—” A red flush rose up Bethany’s neck.

“What about something easier.” Jenna squinted and leaned forward.

Ouch!

“If something happened to your husband, could you pay the bills to keep a roof over your head and the lights on for a year or two, which is the average time for probate?” Jenna raised one perfectly arched brow and tapped her pen.

“Two years?” Bethany’s eyes widen to the size of a half dollar. “You’re joking, right?”

“Nope.” Jenna popped the P on the word and held up the documents that Bethany had brought in, which gave an estimate of Alva’s assets. “Even with a will, an estate the size of Mrs. Tarkington’s could take two years or more to clear probate.”

Bethany gaped.

“Are you even listed as a beneficiary on these accounts?” Jenna pointed at the documents.

“Carl handled all of that.” Bethany swallowed hard. “We’re married, so if something happened, then I would get it, right? I mean … I’m his wife.”

“It depends on how everything is set up, but probate could still take years, and there are no guarantees. There may be other claimants.” Jenna leaned back. “However, if your aunt had an estate plan that included a trust, then it might be possible for her beneficiaries to bypass probate and save the thousands of dollars that you would spend on inheritance taxes, legal fees, and probate. So, if Alva insisted on coming today, then it sounds like her elevator is moving just fine.”

Jenna’s killer instincts had gotten her labeled as a pit bull. Although, most of the pits I’ve met were more marshmallows than my toy poodles, Snickers and Oreo. Still, she pushed down her inner pit bull and channeled her inner golden retriever instead.

“Pit bull: One. Mean Girl: Zero.”

I nearly jumped out of my seat when my grandmother whispered in my ear. I hadn’t realized she was so close until she spoke.

“She’s good,” I whispered.

Jenna forced a smile. She had Bethany Tarkington’s full attention now. The woman had scooted to the edge of her seat, pulled out a pen, and furiously scribbled on the back of an envelope as though Jenna was revealing the secrets to eternal life.

“That’s my girl.” Nana Jo chuckled and walked away, and I glanced over at Alva.

Alva Tarkington was a frail woman with fluffy white hair that reminded me of cotton candy. Her skin was wrinkled, but free of age spots with only a mole near her right ear. She slumped in her seat. Head down. Her gaze had been focused on a handkerchief that she twisted in her hands.

I glanced at my phone. Only thirty minutes to go and we could call it a day. I wasn’t a lawyer like my older sister and her husband, Tony, but Nana Jo was no respecter of persons. When she volun-told Jenna that she was teaching a class on “Getting Your Ducks in a Row,” which was part of the bucket list courses offered at Shady Acres Retirement Village, I was volun-told that I was helping. My role was easy. I didn’t have to deliver the content. I merely had to provide the venue, snacks, and assistance to my sister.

I stole a glance at Jenna. I had been glad to see the spark in her eyes as she took down Bethany. That gleam had also been there while she delivered her seminar. As a former high school English teacher, I spent years learning to take boring content and make it interesting. Jenna hadn’t been a teacher, but as a lawyer, she was accustomed to talking to jurors and making her point. She’d done an excellent job with the seminar. For a few hours, she was her old self.

Both Nana Jo and I had been worried. Jenna didn’t have that killer instinct that she once did. Instead of the lioness that walked proudly around the Serengeti, prepared to take down any interloper or antelope that crossed its path, she was the toothless, declawed aging lion at the local zoo napping on the concrete waiting for meat to be tossed through a sliding door.

When Nana Jo confronted her, Jenna mentioned being restless. Her blood pressure was high. Her energy was low. Plus, now that the twins had graduated from college and flown the nest, she wasn’t sure what her next steps should be. Nana Jo hoped that teaching this seminar would help Jenna remember why she became a lawyer in the first place and would help her get her own ducks in order.

The seminar had gone well. Jenna’s presentation was well received, and she was asked to repeat the course. Jenna did most of the discussion, but I helped by providing icebreakers and helping with discussions and the Q and A. Despite our differences, Jenna and I worked well together. Teaching is different from arguing in front of a jury, but I could tell that Jenna enjoyed herself. Without the state and local school boards dictating a curriculum, I enjoyed myself too. In fact, I was contemplating adding classes at the bookstore. Now that I was a published author, I’d met several other authors. I also learned that many of my patrons weren’t just mystery readers, but like me, they were also aspiring authors. I was seriously thinking about adding a few classes on writing and publishing to the bookstore events calendar. The information Jenna provided was useful for everyone, not just mystery readers. Maybe I could attract new people into the bookstore.

“Earth to Sam.” Nana Jo tapped my arm.

“Sorry, I was daydreaming.”

“Make sure Jenna stays hydrated. She’s been talking for hours.” Nana Jo passed two bottled waters to me.

Jenna had spent hours talking about wills, trusts, and estate planning and was now providing private one-on-one consultations. Alva was the last.

I unscrewed the cap for my sister and slid a water to her. Then I prepared to zone out for the next thirty minutes while she talked. My skin tingled. Feeling that I was being watched, I looked up. Alva’s eyes were focused and alert and directed at me. Earlier, Alva’s eyes appeared cloudy. Now, the eyes gazing at me were sharp and aware.

I smiled.

That’s when she blinked. And blinked. Over and over again, Alva blinked.

I wondered if an eyelash had gotten in her eye, but Alva never rubbed her eye, even though she had a handkerchief in her hand. Hypnotized, I sat and watched. That’s when I noticed a pattern to the blinking. Three fast blinks. Pause. Three long blinks. Pause. Three fast blinks. There was a pattern that never changed. Three fast blinks. Pause. Three slow blinks. Pause. Three fast blinks. A chill went up my spine. OMG! That was Morse code. It had been more than thirty years since I learned basic Morse code as a Girl Scout, but that code was one that I would never forget. Alva Tarkington was blinking an SOS.

Holy freakin’ cow! I must be imagining this. She can’t really be blinking an SOS in Morse code. Right? I blinked several times to clear my brain and shook my head like my chocolate poodle, Oreo. Jeez Louise.

Alva stopped blinking. Her gaze drifted over to Bethany before quickly locking back on me. Three quick blinks. Pause. Three slow blinks. Pause. Three quick blinks.

Alva was sending me a message and whatever that message was, she didn’t want Bethany to hear.

I pulled out my cell and sent a quick SOS of my own. This time to my grandmother, Nana Jo, asking her to get rid of Bethany for fifteen minutes.

Within seconds, Nana Jo was by my side. “Bethany, dear. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. Do you have a few minutes?” Nana Jo gave Bethany a broad smile.

“No. I don’t. Alva’s paying for this private consultation, and we only have a few minutes left. I need—”

“Oh, pish posh. Sam and Jenna will be able to finish up without you. I really need to discuss something urgent with you.”

Bethany scowled. She clearly had no intention of going off with Nana Jo. She opened her mouth to protest. Obviously, she didn’t know that resistance was futile with my family. She would have had an easier time convincing an angry rhino to roll around in the grass on its back like a puppy than she would in getting Nana Jo to let go of something once her mind was set. Yet Bethany’s expression looked as if she was prepared to dig in her heels.

Jenna must have sensed that something was up because she stepped in. “Actually, that would be perfect. Why don’t you go off with my grandmother? I have some routine documents I need to fill out anyway. And because of your inconvenience, I’ll even throw in a free thirty-minute consultation tomorrow. That way, I can talk to both you and your husband.”

Bethany hesitated.

I could see the gears moving in her head: Dig her heels in for the last ten minutes of Alva’s consultation? Or get an extra thirty minutes free? You didn’t have to be a financial genius to recognize the better deal.

“Well, I think that would be great, but I don’t know if my husband can make the consultation. He works a lot. Maybe we could meet … just the two of us.” Bethany shot a glance in my direction that indicated clearly I wasn’t invited to the consultation.

Well, thank heavens, I would gladly forego any additional time with you too. I flashed a genuine smile.

Jenna’s smile was more of a grimace, but she held it.

Bethany shoved the envelope she’d used for notes and her pen into her purse. Then she glanced at Alva, who had retreated into her dream world.

“You wait right here. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes,” Bethany shouted in Alva’s ear.

Nana Jo steered Bethany toward the front of the bookstore.

Jenna stared at me. “What was that—”

Alva rubbed her ear. “I have no idea why people think just because someone is older, that they must also be deaf and barmy as a hatter.”

Jenna had taken that moment to take a swig of water and nearly choked at Alva, who was anything other than barmy. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting … you’re …”

Rarely have I seen my cool-as-a-cucumber sister at a loss for words, and I snickered.

Jenna turned her gaze to me. “You don’t seem to be as surprised as I would expect.”

I opened my mouth to explain but halted when Alva leaned forward.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but we don’t have much time before Bethany realizes she left me alone and returns. So, let’s get this show on the road.”

This time, both Jenna and I were equally stunned by Alva’s quick grasp of the situation.

Jenna extended a hand for Alva to continue.

“Can you help me update my will before they succeed in killing me?”

Jenna recovered quicker than I did. She leaned forward. “Kill you? Who’s trying to kill you?”

I closed my mouth, which was gaping open, and looked around to confirm no one was nearby to overhear our conversation.

“My family, of course.” Alva patted Jenna’s hand as if she were calming an irate child. “But that’s not important. What’s import—”

“Not important? Are you jerking my chain?” Jenna glanced from Alva to me. “Is this a joke? Something you and Nana Jo cooked up?” She glanced around. “Where are the cameras?”

If I weren’t so shocked, I might have denied the accusations my sister was leveling at me, but I was completely blown away. I raised my hands and then made an X over my heart, and shook my head in denial. “Cross my heart.”

“I don’t have time to go into the details right now. We need to hurry.” Alva glanced around and then slipped her hand into the sleeve of her sweater to pull out a wad of toilet paper. “They never leave me alone. They’re scared I’ll tell someone what they’re doing. The only time I have a moment alone is in the toilet.”

Jenna rubbed her forehead and plastered a mask of benign acceptance on her face. “Mrs. Tarkington, I’m sure your family is only concerned about your well-being. They undoubtedly want to ensure you don’t fall or—”

“Bull puckey. They want me dead so they can get their hands on the money, but that’s not what bothers me.”

“It’s not?” I asked.

“If you aren’t concerned that they’ll kill you, then what …?” I asked.

“I’ve lived a long life. I was an artist. My sister and I were both artists. We weren’t masters, but we were creators.” Alva looked off into the past and smiled. “I’ve seen the world. Lived. Loved. And, I’ve enjoyed myself. Most of my friends, family, and lovers are all dead. My sister … she wanted me to enjoy my life. We were very close. She—” Alva choked back a sob and wiped away a tear that had fallen from the corner of her eye before, but she quickly refocused. “No time for tears. The point is that at my age, death is more of a friend than an enemy. I have no regrets. That’s the most important thing. No regrets. Plus, according to my doctor, I’ve got a short shelf life.”

I covered her small, gnarled hand with my own and gave it a squeeze. Impending death without regrets. Here was something I understood. My late husband, Leon, had been the love of my life. We met young, married, and worked hard to build our life together. I had been a high school English teacher. Leon had been a cook. We’d worked hard day after day and year after year, hoping that if we worked hard enough, we could one day relax and live. One day, our ship would come in. The planets would align. One day, we dreamed, we’d stop working jobs that provided an existence but could actually live. We wanted to enjoy our lives. Follow our dream to quit the hustle and bustle of jobs that paid the bills, but also kept us bound. We both loved mysteries and dreamed of opening a bookshop specializing in mysteries. It wasn’t until Leon was dying that the realization hit. We were simply hamsters on a wheel, running and running but not moving any closer to the dream on the other side of the finish line. When Leon died, I decided that life was too short not to follow your dreams—to live. That’s when I quit my job. I bought the building Leon and I had dreamed about, and I opened the mystery bookshop. My only regret was the time I wasted before taking the leap of faith to pursue my dream, and that Leon hadn’t lived long enough to experience it.

“No regrets.” Alva returned the squeeze. “But I have some unfinished business and a limited time to make things right. I need to do what needs to be done before it’s too late.” She shoved the wad at Jenna.

Jenna unrolled the wad of toilet tissue. “What’s this?”

“That’s an addendum to my will.”

Jenna gaped. “Addendum?”

“Sorry, dear, but the toilet is the only place where I could write in peace.” Alva leaned forward. Her brow creased with worry. “Is it still legal, even if it’s written on toilet paper?”

Jenna stared at the delicate document. “That depends. I mean, there are a lot of factors that could make an addendum invalid.” She rubbed her forehead.

Alva chuckled. “You mean, if my family can convince the court that I’m really batty as a barn owl, then it’ll all be for naught.”

Before following my dream to Market Street Mysteries, I was a high school English teacher, and Alva’s use of the English language brought joy to my heart. When was the last time I’d heard someone use the phrase, “it’s all for naught”? Most of my former students probably didn’t know what naught meant. They certainly weren’t using it in a sentence. I reached out a hand and squeezed Alva’s hand. “Only a sane person would have the wits to write an addendum to their will on toilet paper and blink . . .