Nothing To Die For

Book 8: Books to Die For

by Richard Houston

Genres: Cozy Mystery; Animal Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

Jake Martin solves a locked-room murder with the help
of his Golden Retriever, and seventy-year-old neighbor.
It looks like a Fremont county commissioner has
committed suicide because no one could have left the
room after shooting her, but Jake isn't buying it

 

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Release date: January 1, 2023

Print pages: 245

Sample

Chapter One

THE CREASE IN JACK Morgan’s forehead became more pronounced and inflamed the more he yelled at me. “You're not going to get a better offer, you know,” he said after I replied I'd think about it to his offer on my lots. I had bought two lots in one of Truman's so-called resorts a few years back and out of the blue, a local real estate agent had contacted me about selling them. Although he offered me far more than they were worth, I had an ominous feeling about it. The lots were located in a development by the water that had been plated in the fifties. The original lots had been purchased for only a few hundred dollars so fishermen from the Kansas City area could build weekend cabins. My lots were what realtors called second-tier -- not on the water, but close enough that they had a great view, and in the case of mine, a stone's throw to the community docks and boat ramp. It was a location that has seen a lot of interest lately. I’d agreed to meet the realtor that morning. It was a great excuse to put off working on my book.

“Maybe not now, but I have a feeling they will be worth more in a few years. Besides, I may want to build on it myself someday. It's getting harder to find anything this close to the water where there is enough room for a septic system and well.”

Jack's nostrils flared. If I wasn’t careful, he’d be breathing fire and roast me to death. “I know people who could make it impossible for you to put in a septic system, so I suggest you take my offer. You'll never be able to build on it otherwise.” He had raised his right hand pointing his index finger at me.

Fred must have sensed the change in his mood and began to growl.

“Are you threatening me?” I asked as I grabbed Fred's collar.

The realtor retracted his hand and started to rub the back of his neck. “I'm just saying you shouldn't think too long about my offer. I'll call you next week to see if you change your mind.” We watched as he waddled over to his shiny new Range Rover and laboriously lifted his heft into the driver’s seat before leaving.

Fred and I walked my property after the cloud of acrid blue smoke from the SUV’s spinning tires cleared. He stopped to sniff where I'd seen a squirrel scurry up a tree a few minutes earlier. It was near the spot with the best view of the water and where I'd thought about building a home someday if my girlfriend, Kelly, ever married me. But that was looking more like a dream lately.

Was it that long ago when we'd picnicked under the big oak tree and talked about how it would give us the shade we needed from the summer heat and let the warm sun in during the winter? Now that Kelly’s mother had a stroke and moved in with her, those dreams were gone, and I had to decide if I should take Morgan's offer and move on with my life. Maybe it was time to grow up and get a real job

in the city.

I'm sure my property was worth more than I paid for it, but I didn’t know if the realtor's offer had been reasonable or not. Was it enough to buy anything in the city? It would make a nice down payment on something, even if I could qualify for a mortgage. Maybe I should use the money to pay the deposit and first and last month’s rent on something until I could figure out what I wanted to do.

Fred got tired of waiting for the squirrel to come out of the tree and picked up a stick and brought it over to me, dropping it at my feet. He sat on his haunches and waited for me to throw it When I finally gave in and threw the stick towards the road at the end of our property, I couldn't help but wonder how he would like being cooped up in a small fenced-in yard if we were to move to the city. That was something he had never experienced. He’d grown up in our mountain cabin back in Colorado and he'd always been able to roam free. Even after moving to Bonnie's homestead here in Missouri, Fred had the freedom to go where he wanted. Did I really want to give up and go back to a back-stabbing office?

The homestead shack I'd fixed up and had been living in for the last few years didn’t need any more work and I’d been looking for something to occupy my time. I'd been bored out of my mind since my daughter, Allie, went off to college with her dog and the agreement I had with Bonnie Jones, my neighbor, to fix up her family’s homestead in exchange for my home was winding down. The only work I had left was some routine maintenance and keeping Bonnie’s family farm’s one hundred sixty acres from being overgrown. Even that would be coming to an end soon because Bonnie’s sister, the absentee owner of the homestead, was in negotiations with some big corporation to manage the farm. They had convinced her that she was sitting on a goldmine. They would plant some cash crops and split the profit with her.

I knew I should be working on my next book, but I just couldn't seem to get started. Maybe building another house would give me the inspiration I needed, and at the least, it would give me something to do. My lake property would be worth a lot more if it was improved and the proceeds would be more than enough to pay Allie's expenses that weren't covered by scholarships. It should also leave me a comfortable cushion to live off of until I decided to get back

to writing.

Fred came back with the stick, dropped it at my feet, and waited for me to throw it again. “Whoa, Freddie,” I said, backing up. “Are you back already?” Fred barked and pushed the stick closer to me. But before I could throw it for him again, my cell phone started playing Beethoven.

“What's up, Bon?” I answered after seeing it was Bonnie.

“I’m really worried about Tigger, Jake. She never came home this morning. I’m afraid something has happened to her. Can you and Fred help me look for her? Maybe Freddie can use that great nose of his to find her.”

Chapter Two

FRED WAS THE FIRST to hear Tigger's call for help. Her meowing was so weak, I could only assume she'd been at it all night long. She must have sensed her friend was nearby, as only animals can, and made one last desperate call for help.

Bonnie, Fred, and I had been searching abandoned farm houses and barns for the cat after she called me. I hadn't searched in earnest at first because, like most cats that are allowed to come and go as they please, it wasn't unusual for Tigger to stay out all night. She had first gone missing yesterday. Bonnie had spent the day checking her outbuildings and fields before calling me. When Fred and I joined the search, we slowly drove down the road behind Bonnie’s family farm and called out at every empty building we could find. Fred picked up the cat’s scent after jumping out of my truck at an abandoned farm house. Although there was a new For Sale sign in the yard next to the road, rumor had it that one of our county commissioners, Madeline Summers, was negotiating to sell the house and eighty acres to a company in Kansas City that was buying up old farms. They had a reputation of leveling everything, houses, barns, and outbuildings, so they could grow more soybeans and corn.

Bonnie caught up to us at the front door. “Well, just don't stand there, Jake. Break the door down, so I can get Tigger,” she said after catching her breath.

“Don't you think we should call 911?” I had my cellphone in my hand, ready to key in the number.

“Tigger will be dead by the time they get here. Please kick down that door, or get out of the way so I can do it,” she said, veins bulging in her neck.

I was worried she’d have a stroke. “Calm down, Bon. There must be a better way. How did Tigger get in? Maybe she climbed through a vent or something,” I said, pointing to the small gable vent at the peak of the roof. “Besides, how would I explain breaking and entering to Kelly?”

Bonnie put her hands on her hips and looked at me like I was mentally slow. “It's not breaking and entering if you have probable cause. And you don’t need to tell me to calm down. I’ve got twenty years on you, Sonny, enough time to know the law in cases like this.”

I felt like telling her just because she was over seventy, it didn’t qualify her as a lawyer but thought better of it. “You've been watching too many crime shows, Bon. We're not cops, but Kelly is, so maybe I should give her a call,” I said, turning back to my cellphone.

My phone failed to connect. “Guess it's back to plan B,” I said when I saw there was no service and realized Bonnie was right – I’d have to break in if we were going to rescue Tigger before Fred did it for

me. All he knew was that the cat he saved as a kitten was inside crying out for help. Now that he had found Tigger, he wanted in and clawed at the front door trying to open it.

The house had been neglected for years. That was apparent by the peeling paint on the clapboard siding and missing roof shingles. There were other things, too, like a lawn that hadn’t been cut in months and some broken windows, but Fred didn't pick up on those clues. “Hold on, old boy,” I said and broke out a pane of glass in the nine-lite front door so I could reach inside and unlock the deadbolt.”

We followed the cat's cry to a room on the far side of the main room. The door wouldn't budge. The doorknob turned but something was stopping me from opening it. I put my shoulder and most of my weight behind it to try to get it to open. It moved an inch, but not enough to get inside. I expected Fred to help and was surprised when he began growling instead. Then I saw why.

“I hope you have a good explanation for breaking that window and forcing your way in here.” I gave up trying to push the door open and turned to see a woman standing in the doorway. She looked to be in her early or mid-thirties with dishwater-blonde hair tied off in a pony tail. The jeans and KC Chief’s sweatshirt she was wearing were well worn as though she had used them for gardening.

Bonnie yelped and turned, too. Like me, she had been so intent on getting the door opened, she hadn't heard the woman come up the porch stairs. She drew herself to her full height of five feet, three inches before answering. “My cat is trapped in there and can’t get out,” she said.

The stranger glanced at the cell phone in her hand, then waved it like a weapon. “Yeah, right. You can tell it to the police when they get here. I called 911 and gave them your license plate before confronting you, so don't even think of doing anything because they will be here soon.” Even with the scowl on her face, the woman was attractive in a tomboy sort of way, until I realized her torn jeans were made that way. She no sooner finished her rant, than a familiar face came into the room.

“I should have known you three would be involved,” said a voice I knew all too well. I turned toward Kelly who was standing four feet away with her arms crossed. Fred went over to greet her, forgett

ing about his trapped friend for the moment.

Bonnie’s posture slumped again. “Fred found Tigger in there. We were only trying to rescue her. It’s not like we caused any damage. They’re going to level this place anyway,” Bonnie said, without looking Kelly in the eyes.

Kelly sighed, uncrossed her arms, and walked over to the stranger. “Unfortunately, I can vouch for them, Stephanie. Bonnie’s cat has been missing for several days. I’m sure they meant no harm.”

The way Kelly talked to the woman, told me she knew her personally and not just from calling 911. “No harm, no foul, Deputy Brown, but the old gal is wrong about leveling the house. Despite my objections, mom has decided to just sell the farm and keep the house in the family. That’s why I was checking on the old place. To see what needs to be done before moving in.”

“So, you’re Madeline Summers’s daughter?” I asked.

She was slow to nod. “Stephanie Travers. And you two are?”

“I hate to break up your little chat, but Tigger is still trapped in that room,” Bonnie broke in.

Stephanie frowned and put the cell phone she’d been holding back in her pocket. “Of course. Let me help you push that door open.”

“Not in your condition,” Bonnie said, pointing to the bulge in Stephanie’s stomach that I hadn’t noticed because of her sweatshirt.

The three of us, Kelly, Bonnie, and myself, put our shoulders to the door and pushed. The extra weight was all we needed to make the door open a crack. Fred managed to get through the small opening and barked.

“What'd you find, Fred,” I called out.

He barked again and Tigger squeezed out of the crack in the doorway. She ran over to Bonnie and jumped into her arms. “Oh, my poor baby. Are you hurt?” She had tears in her eyes as she turned away from us and took Tigger outside.

The crack in the doorway wasn’t big enough for us to squeeze in but large enough for us to smell something dead.

The odor coming from the room was terrible. “Tigger must have chased a squirrel in there and killed it,” I said, holding a hand to my n

ose.

Kelly tried pushing on the door some more, then gave up when it wouldn't budge and reached for her radio. “Whatever is blocking the door must be heavy. ...