Wreathing Havoc

Book 4: Garden Squad Mystery

by Julia Henry

Genres: Mystery; Craft & Hobby Cozy Mysteries; Culinary Cozy Mysteries; Supernatural suspense

Synopsis

Lilly Jayne typically spends the harvest season baking festive pies and crafting colorful wreaths to enter in the library’s annual fundraising contest. But this year, autumn opens on a somber note when beloved local theater owner Leon Tompkin dies unexpectedly. His memorial sets the scene for a mini reunion of The Goosebush Players’ best and brightest alumni, including Hollywood star Jeremy Nolan... until someone plucks Jeremy from the spotlight—permanently. As dedicated theater volunteer Scooter McGee falls under suspicion, Lilly and her Garden Squad must spring into action. They quickly discover a cornucopia of potential suspects in Jeremy’s murder: Was it an embittered ex... or a jilted lover? A rival thespian… or an overly ambitious artist? Lilly rakes through the piles of clues, but if she doesn’t uncover the real killer soon, more than autumn leaves will be dropping in Goosebush…

Release date: September 28, 2021

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

“I haven’t seen the lot this full since the Goosebush Players did The Full Monty,” Ernie Johnson said. He pulled into the parking lot carefully, creeping along behind three other cars whose drivers were hoping for enough room to sidle into a space.

The Stanley Theater had started its life as a large hardware store. In 1978, the store went out of business, mostly because it wasn’t in the center of town, and most folks thought that if you needed to drive, you may as well drive over to Marshton and the then-new strip mall. The strip mall had been leveled years ago, but box stores had taken over the town and depleted it, many Goosebush residents felt, of its charm. Goosebush had a new hardware store, Bits, Bolts & Bulbs, which Ernie had run for the past fifteen years, and which was more in keeping with the town, strong on service and part of the community.

In 1981, Stanley Sayers, a local businessman, bought the old hardware store in order to turn it into a theater. There were doubters, some of whom wanted to see the space used differently, but in the years since, the Stanley, as it came to be known, became as much a part of the cultural life of Goosebush as any other building. In the early days, the level of the productions had been extraordinary. Now people came to the theater more to see friends than to be fed artistically.

“Well, I’m glad that dear Leon is a bigger attraction than the promise of naked men,” Lilly Jayne said.

“We weren’t naked,” Ernie said. He was a member of the Goosebush Players and a frequent actor in their productions. “But you’re right, the parking lot is packed. We should have asked Harry to help.” Harry Lentz was a board member at the theater who was able to fit cars into the lot like a puzzle master.

“Ernie was naked onstage?” Delia Greenway piped up from the back seat.

“I wasn’t naked. The show is about a group of men who are willing to dance—oh, never mind. It was a fun musical to do. Leon was terrific in it,” Ernie said. He coughed gently and wiped away the tear that rolled down his face.

Lilly reached over and put her hand on his, giving it a squeeze. “Leon loved being in the Goosebush Players. He’d helped run the theater for years. But he didn’t join the Players and start acting until after his wife passed.”

“Why did he wait so long, do you think?” Delia asked. “He obviously loved it, and he was pretty good.”

“One word. Betsy. His wife. Betsy Tompkin was a lovely woman, mind you,” Lilly said. “But she had a strict sense of propriety. Propriety as she defined it, and she was wound pretty tight. To Betsy, proper behavior meant no white after Labor Day, dues paid the first of the year for the yacht club, and no drawing attention to oneself in public forums. I suspect she may not have approved. I remember my mother telling me how horrified Betsy was that her father had invested in a theater.”

“She may have been a handful, but Leon never said a word against her,” Ernie said. “He once told me that he was so lonely after Betsy died that he felt lost. He used to come into the theater and sit at the back and watch rehearsals. At that point, he was the landlord for the Goosebush Players; that was it. One day an actor was sick, and JJ asked him to stand in for the actor and read his lines. The actor didn’t come back, so Leon took over the role.”

“Do you think JJ invited him because of talent, or because of potential donations?” Lilly asked. She glanced back and smiled. “Delia, don’t look so shocked. James Jentry was a businessman first and foremost. In all the years he ran the company, he never put art before commerce.”

“Lilly, you speak truth. JJ was a friend, but he always kept his eye on the bottom line. But honestly? I think he was thrilled that Leon wanted to get involved. There’s always a dearth of middle-aged men. Leon adored performing and loved being part of the theater community. He said no one was more surprised than he was that he took up acting, but he was hooked. He did say once, during the run of Monty, that Betsy wouldn’t have approved.”

“I don’t think I ever met her,” Delia said.

“She and I went to school together,” Lilly said. “She met Leon when she was on a trip with her parents and Leon was leading the tour. He was a few years older than we were. His seventieth birthday was three years ago. Betsy died fairly young. She’s been gone ten years at least. Leon did adore her. Bless him. She tried most people’s patience, but not Leon’s.”

“No kids?” Delia asked.

“One, Fred. They had given up on the idea of children, and then Fred came along. Leon doted on him. Fred decided to go to college in California, and then he stayed out there. I haven’t seen him in a couple of years, though we exchange cards around the holidays. I did call him, of course. Poor Fred. He took the news hard.”

“Fred wanted him to move out west when Betsy died, but Leon said no. Goosebush was home. The theater became his family,” Ernie said. “As it does with many of us.” He drove around toward the back of the theater and pulled the car in beside the dumpster.

“I can’t believe that a week ago, Leon was at a budget meeting about the theater and the Christmas Carol drama. Now we’re at his memorial service,” Ernie said. “It’s such a shock.”

“It is,” Lilly said. “All things said, I have to say that the service feels a bit rushed—”

“The show must go on,” Delia said. Both Ernie and Lilly turned around and looked at her. “What? That’s what everyone’s been saying. That Leon wouldn’t want his Christmas Carol reading to get canceled, and with Thanksgiving on Thursday and the decision to do new versions before Christmas, it’s challenging enough. Someone said that the best memorial for Leon is a successful show. Do you agree?”

“I do. Leon would want us to go on. Though it won’t be the same,” Ernie said. “And it won’t be nearly as much fun. Ah well, much as I dread this, we should we go in.”

They went around to the front of the theater, and Ernie held the door open for them both. Delia walked into the lobby and went to the coat rack on her right. She wore so many layers that it would take a while for her. Lilly saw Tamara O’Connor across the lobby and walked over to her. The women gave each other a big hug.

“Oh, Lil. It’s just so sad,” Tamara said.

“It is, isn’t it?” Lilly said, stepping back and looking at her friend. They’d known each other for over sixty years, and neither of them took the other, or their friendship, for granted. “He was a good man.”

“A very good man,” Tamara said.

“Where’s Warwick?” Lilly asked, looking around for Tamara’s husband.

“He really wanted to be here, but he’s got a game.”

“Of course. I suspect that Leon would approve his absence. He was such a fan of Goosebush football.”

“He never missed a game, unless he was in a show. Warwick says he must have been quite the player back in the day, because he really understood the nuances of football,” Tamara said.

“I can’t remember if he played or not. Fred played; do you remember? He may have become an expert because of his son’s interest. He was like that. Leon loved being one of the cheering parents.”

“Betsy, not so much, if I remember correctly.”

“She was never the tailgating type,” Lilly said. The women both smiled and shook their heads. “Delia was asking about her in the car on the way over.”

“What did you say?”

“That Leon loved her very much. That’s the nicest thing I could think of at the moment. Haven’t come up with anything better in the few minutes since.”

“He loved her almost as much as she loved herself,” Tamara said. “Oh stop, don’t look at me like that. You know it’s true.”

“Of course it’s true. But we’re here to celebrate Leon, and bless him, he loved her dearly.” Lilly looked around. “Is Fred here?”

“Yes, he’s in the theater with Delores. I tried to stop it from happening, I really did. But she was in full Delores mode. I didn’t have a chance. The door’s locked, so I can’t rescue him.”

“Oh dear.” Lilly waved Ernie over to her. “Delores has Fred in the theater,” she whispered.

“On it,” he said, going over and using a key to open one of the doors to let himself in.

“Does Ernie have keys to everything in town?” Tamara asked.

“Pretty much. Hey, I’m going to hang up my coat,” Lilly said.

“I’ll stay near the door in case Ernie sends out an SOS,” Tamara said.

Lilly smiled and handed Tamara her purse to hold. She walked over to the packed coat rack and found an empty hanger. After her scarf was safely in her sleeve, she managed to wrestle her coat onto the rack.

Turning around, Lilly paused and took it all in. People milled about, hugging, talking in small groups, looking at the displays of pictures strewn around the lobby. Some were of Leon and his family, but most were of Leon in shows. She’d look at them later. Someone walked over to hang up his coat, and Lilly smiled and stepped forward to make space. Hearing a deep baritone, she turned and saw her neighbor and friend, Roddy Lyden, talking to Stan Freeland, owner of the Star Café. Stan had agreed to cater the memorial service, and Roddy had volunteered to help him set up. Roddy looked over and waved. “Save me a seat,” he mouthed, and Lilly nodded. She was going to do that even if he hadn’t asked.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please come in and take a seat,” Ernie said, opening the theater door wide and propping it open. Delia pulled open the other door and put the doorstop down to keep it in place. They both stood to each side, handing people programs as they walked in. After a couple of minutes, Scooter McGee hurried out of the box office and took the programs from Ernie, urging him to let her take over. Lilly wasn’t surprised. Scooter lived to be useful and wouldn’t be content as a guest while other people were working.

“Should we go in?” Tamara said.

“May as well,” Lilly said. “Ernie told Delia and me about the plan for the service this morning over breakfast. I promised we’d sit close to the front and participate so that others would follow along.”

“Participate? What does that mean?” Tamara said.

“Well, there will be some songs, some readings, and he wants to make sure that—”

Lilly noticed that Tamara was no longer paying attention to her, so she turned and looked over her shoulder.

She really couldn’t blame her friend for losing focus. It wasn’t every day that a movie star walked into the room. Especially in Goosebush.

“I’ve never been to a memorial service where people sang show tunes,” Lilly said a while later when they were back in the lobby. Small groups were gathered, looking at pictures, swapping stories, both laughing and crying. Lilly looked around and saw a woman pouring herself some hot apple cider. She knew the face, but couldn’t place her. She turned back toward her friends.

“Then you haven’t lived,” Ernie said. “I’ve been to many.”

“I loved that song you sang,” Delia said.

“‘You Walk with Me.’ From the aforementioned Full Monty. Leon loved that song. He’d stand in the wings every night to watch it—” Ernie took out his handkerchief and mopped his face. Tamara reached over and put her arm around his shoulders, giving him a squeeze and a kiss on his temple.

“A lovely service, Ernie,” Roddy said. “I know that you had a great deal to do with putting it together.”

“It really was wonderful,” a younger man said. They all looked over and stepped apart a bit to make room for Fred Tompkin in their circle. “Dad would have loved it. Especially the Shakespeare.” He gave Lilly a kiss on the cheek, and then stood next to Tamara, after bussing hers as well.

“Read by Jeremy Nolan, no less,” Tamara said, taking Fred by the arm and holding him close. “I didn’t know he was a friend of your dad’s.”

“Dad used to talk about him when I was a kid, but I thought he was making up stories to impress me,” Fred said. “Then a few years ago, I needed an internship in college, and Dad reached out to Jerry to ask.”

“Jerry? Not Jeremy?” Tamara asked.

Fred leaned into the group. “Jeremy was a stage name. He prefers Jerry, but you have to wait till he tells you that.”

“Jeremy it is, then. I doubt we’ll be on a ‘Jerry’ basis, unless he decides to buy a house in Goosebush and choses me as his broker. Sorry, go on with your story. Leon connected you with his old friend—”

“And much to my surprise, I got an internship. I realized Dad wasn’t just telling stories about the good old days.”

“Is that why you stayed in California? Did Jerry—Jeremy—help you?” Lilly asked.

“Sort of. I worked for his production company the next year. I didn’t get to know him that well at the time, but he took Dad and I out to lunch when Dad visited, and Jerry seemed to love catching up with him. They’d kept in touch. Dad was good like that. He kept in touch with a lot of people.”

“Your father connected with people,” Lilly said. “He was a wonderful, caring friend. I’ll never forget the kindness he showed me during some very dark times. A lot of people loved him.”

“I know,” Fred said. “He was a good guy.”

“The best,” Tamara said. The silence was heavy with grief, but no one moved to fill the space right away.

“Jeremy Nolan got his start with the Goosebush Players, back when Mel John was the artistic director,” Delia said, changing the subject. “I talked about him in one of my Goosebush stories.”

“Goosebush stories?” Fred asked, turning toward the younger woman.

“Fred, this is Delia. Delia Greenway. She knows more facts about Goosebush than I do,” Lilly said.

“Not really, Lilly, but I’m working on it. I volunteer a lot at the Historical Society, and I’ve been doing some research for your father. He asked me to pull some records, since the theater turns forty soon. Some members of the board want to publish a remembrance, so I’ve been doing some digging in old records. Leon was helping me, but he’d start telling me stories, and we’d get sidetracked. I loved listening to him. Fred, I’m very sorry for your loss. I liked your father a lot.”

“Thank you, Delia. So did I. I’m going to miss our Sunday talks.”

“We’ll all miss our Leon talks,” Ernie said.

Fred reached over and clasped Ernie on the shoulder. “Thanks for today, Ernie.”

“The service was a joint effort—”

“But you’ve also kept Delores away from me,” Fred said. “That was a real kindness.”

“I’ve seen that determined Delores look before. She wants to talk about the theater, but I’m more than happy to help you avoid her. Especially today,” Ernie said.

“She did say that she and my father had come to some sort of agreement about the lease, and they were going to make an announcement on Sunday. She even says she signed a contract, but I can’t find it in his paperwork. Probably in a pile that made sense to him, but I’m still trying to figure out his filing system.”

“An agreement about the theater?” Lilly asked.

“Yeah. Like Delia said, the theater turns forty next year. That’s when it finally opened. And the Goosebush Players turn one hundred. According to Delores, they were cooking something up, some huge event to celebrate both anniversaries.”

“My conversations with your father didn’t indicate that he was cooking anything up with Delores,” Ernie said. “He was distracted lately, and we didn’t talk about much except the Christmas Carol project he was producing. We were supposed to have dinner last week to talk. He said he’d been rereading your grandfather Stanley’s papers, and they were giving him ideas. I know he wanted to go over some things while we had time to plan for the anniversary of the Stanley, partially to make sure folks remembered your grandfather, and all he did for Goosebush.” Ernie wiped his eyes again.

“Dad was really focused on legacy, especially lately. When he found out he was sick last spring, he went into overdrive. Every week when we’d talk, he’d tell me he wasn’t going to leave me with a mess. He started to question what he really wanted to do with his money. I know that the theater has a part of his heart, and he wanted to make sure it was taken care of. I really thought he’d have more time to hammer out the details.”

“He was still working on them. We have a board meeting for the theater next week, and Leon planned to talk about some changes,” Ernie said. “Unfortunately, I don’t know what those plans were. I hope he left some instructions, or notes, so we can try and implement them.”

“His house is a disaster of paperwork,” Fred said. “We were planning on coming out for Thanksgiving to see him and help him sort things out, and I think his piles were in preparation of our visit. I wish we hadn’t waited.”

“There was no way to anticipate him having a heart attack,” Lilly said. “I knew we didn’t have much time, but I was hoping for more. Here’s what I do know. We can all work on making his final wishes come true, so please let us know if you find out what they were.”

“Delores is over talking to your wife,” Ernie said to Fred. “Don’t panic; I’ll go rescue her.”

“Thanks, Ernie. She can hold her own, but she and Dad were close. It’s been a rough few days. Could you let her know I’ll be with her in a few minutes? Thanks. Lilly, do you have a couple of minutes to talk?”

“Of course, Fred,” Lilly said. Roddy gave her a wink, and she followed Fred.

Fred led Lilly back into the theater. They walked down the aisle. Fred looked around and gestured to a seat in the front row. He waited until she’d settled in and then sat down next to her.

“Lilly, I’ve got a huge favor to ask.”

Lilly nodded. She’d learned long ago not to say “of course, anything” in these sorts of circumstances. “Of course, anything” could get you involved with things that were complicated at best. She was still dealing with Harmon Dane’s estate, and would be for years, all because of an “of course, anything” one night over dinner, and Harmon passing away before he’d clarified his intentions. Not that it was his fault, since he was helped along, but still.

“Dad did leave a will, and he’d updated it recently. Several times. As I said, ever since he got sick, he started questioning how he wanted to leave things.”

“That’s good,” Lilly said.

“I guess. Usually Dad had a plan and stuck to it, but he’d been changing his will regularly. His lawyer said Dad called him two or three times a week. He’d decided instead of leaving the Stanley Theater to the Goosebush Players, he’d leave it to a trust, with very specific instructions about the use of the space. I didn’t see the details; we were going to go over them when I came out. But I do know that his plan wasn’t to give the Goosebush Players exclusive use of the space. At least, that wasn’t the plan when we talked last week.”

“I don’t understand. He left the theater? Why did I think the town owned it, and he was only on the board?”

“Dad didn’t like to make a big deal about it. My grandfather bought out the partners years ago, and then he left it to my father. The board is more of a front that Dad set up, a group of advisors. Yeah, Dad owned the theater. The thing is, Delores expected him to leave it to her outright. The trust is designed to run the theater, and there’s also money for the Goosebush Players. But he was very nostalgic recently, thinking about what it was like when my grandfather was in charge of the theater. The amazing work that he helped produce. I wish I’d had the chance to know Stanley better. Anyway, Dad wanted to have more groups using the space. Shake things up a bit.”

“I wasn’t living here in the heyday of the Stanley, and didn’t know your grandfather well, but my parents used to talk about those days with great fondness. It makes sense that Leon wanted the theater to reclaim its former glory.”

“Not to Delores. Like I said, he was still formulating it all, but part of the plan he was working on created funding for a theater manager who was not Delores. He said he was going to talk to her, but she acted surprised when I brought it up. I bought some time and told her that we wouldn’t be able to settle the estate for a while. That I needed to follow through with the other things he’d indicated in the will.”

“That makes perfect sense to me.”

“So, here’s the favor, Lilly. I have to get back to California. I can do a lot from there, but I need someone in Goosebush to be my representative. Not an executor, really. But someone to help me make some decisions moving forward. Someone who knows Goosebush, and is able to weigh all the factors evenly. I’d like that someone to be you.”

“There must be other people—”

“Dad wrote me a note that went with his most recent will. He told me he was going to ask you to help oversee the execution of his will. The trust idea wasn’t fully formed, but he mentioned that you helped Harmon Dane take care of his birds—”

“Create a bird sanctuary. Harmon had laid it out in his will, so I’m only executing his wishes.”

“He also said you were the most sensible person he knew, and you’d help me make the right decisions when the time came.”

“Oh my. Well, then.” Lilly looked down at her lap and reached into her purse for a tissue. She dabbed at her eyes and looked back at Fred. “Of course, I’ll help however I can.”

“Thank you, Lilly. That’s a huge load off. I’ll be in touch early in the new year to get the house on the market, and we can talk more then. His lawyer has asked that I keep his paperwork at the house for now, but I’ve been scanning and trying to sort. I’m still in a state of shock, to tell you the truth. I haven’t been much good at focusing.”

“I’d imagine you are,” Lilly said, patting Fred’s hand. “So, you’ll sell the house then? You could keep it and rent it—”

“No, we’ll sell. I couldn’t bear the thought of renters. It needs some work, but it’s too wonderful a place to let it sit empty most of the year. My wife and I are going through it now and having some pieces of furniture shipped to us. We’ll finish getting rid of the rest of it later.”

“I can help coordinate that, if you’d like. I know some people who can sort and sell or donate what you don’t want.”

“There won’t be much. After my mother died, my father really pared down. He called it ‘minimalist living.’ He kept the artwork, photographs, things like that. But he already gave us the family china, her jewelry. Things from the Sayers side of the family.”

“Well, that both makes it easier and harder, doesn’t it? What’s left are the things he really cared about,” Lilly said, taking Fred’s hand and giving it another squeeze.

Fred and Lilly were halfway down the aisle toward the lobby door when it opened and Jeremy Nolan walked in. “Oh, sorry to interrupt—” he said.

“No worries; we were just leaving,” Fred said. “Taking a look at the old place?”

“I am, if that’s all right,” the actor said, walking up to Fred and giving him a brief hug. He turned to Lilly and smiled. “Sorry, we haven’t had a chance to meet. I’m Jeremy Nolan.” He held out his hand.

Lilly blushed and smiled back. She lost herself in his blue eyes for a second, and then she took his hand. “Lilly Jayne.”

“Lilly of the old Jayne house?” he asked. “I used to drive by that place and wish I could see inside. It looked like a movie set for a haunted house, set back, huge, and imposing with wrought-iron gates, overgrown with ivy.”

Lilly laughed. “When were you here? Back in the eighties? Windward—that’s the name of the house—did look a little worn back then. She’s in better shape now.”

“Of course,” Jeremy said. “Sorry, that was a lousy thing to say. Being back here has stirred up a lot more memories than I expected.”

“Good memories?” Fred asked.

“Mostly. Yeah, mostly good,” Jeremy said. “Great memories of the theater we did. Mel was a helluva director. Sorry, speaking in shorthand,” he said to Lilly. “Mel John. He was the artisti. . .