03 Murder by Mishap Read online

  Murder by Mishap

  by

  Suzanne Young

  Sybown Press

  Cover Designer: Jamie Reddig

  All rights reserved

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are purely fictitious and the products of the author’s imagination. The author has also taken the liberty of placing fabricated homes in the middle of actual neighborhoods. Any resemblance to actual persons or places is coincidental and unintentional. Places of interest and historic references are real.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or electronic transference without written permission from the author.

  Copyright © 2012 by Suzanne Young

  ISBN 978-0615622866

  Sybown Press

  9028 West 50th Lane, #1

  Arvada, CO 80002-4441

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my siblings

  Richard

  Elaine (in memory)

  Carolyn and

  Joshua,

  with love.

  Other books in the Edna Davies series

  Murder by Yew, 2009

  Murder by Proxy, 2011

  Chapter One

  “What’s that glittering in the middle of Peg’s garden?” Edna Davies muttered to no one, as there was nobody nearby to hear.

  She had been walking to the Providence Art Club to attend a special exhibition of watercolors and oil paintings by students from the Rhode Island School of Design when, passing the home of a friend, she was momentarily startled by a bright reflection. Only seconds before, she probably would have passed it by unnoticed but for the sun taking that moment to slip out from behind dark clouds to spotlight the object.

  Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have taken that route to her destination or been on foot at all, but an early April, blinding downpour had forced her to pull her car to the curb a block away. Over in minutes, the storm had left behind an invigorating, spring freshness to the air that prompted her to leave her car and walk the few blocks to Thomas Street and the distinguished art club.

  It shines like a diamond, she thought, approaching the wrought-iron bars of the tall fence enclosing her friend’s property. Pushing her face against the metal, Edna strained for a better view. Wanting to get as close as possible, she removed her brushed-felt hat and squeezed her head through the bars.

  Getting a better view, she saw what looked to be a brooch sticking up out of the soil. Only a small piece of the edge remained caught in the dirt, so the pin was propped at an angle. Apparently, the rain had washed it enough to allow the sun to reflect off the stone’s facets. She could now see that the object consisted of more than a single diamond. The one that had sparkled, catching her attention, appeared to be the center stone of the brooch. Encircling this main diamond were sapphires which, in turn, were surrounded by smaller diamonds and an outer ring of rubies. A lovely red-white-and-blue pin, lying atop freshly turned earth about three feet from the fence.

  Peg must have dropped it, Edna thought as she felt the first twinge in her spine. When she tried to back out from between the bars, she found it wasn’t as easy as it had been to slip her head in through the rain-slicked metal.

  After a brief struggle, her ears began to sting from rubbing against gritty iron. She grabbed hold of the shafts a few inches above and to each side of her head in an attempt to relieve her aching back of some weight. She considered her situation. While she was thinking about how to extricate herself before her back gave out entirely or her ears became bloody, a pair of brown brogues beneath khaki pant legs stepped into view.

  “That you, Ed?”

  Recognizing the distinct Rhode Island accent of her former college roommate and long-time friend with a mix of relief and embarrassment, she said, “Yes, Peg. It is I.”

  Edna thought she heard a stifled snigger.

  “May I ask what you’re doing?”

  For nearly fifty years, the two friends had communicated by understatement, each attempting to outdo the other with dry wit. Hence, Edna’s reply, “I’ve been admiring the brooch you’ve planted in your garden.”

  “Shall I call Stephen and have him bring the camera?”

  “I would appreciate it if you didn’t,” Edna said. Before she could say more, she felt the hem of her dress brush across the backs of her thighs as a gentle breeze picked up. Reaching behind with one hand, trying to make certain her skirt was in its proper place, she asked, “Am I drawing a crowd?”

  “Not yet.”

  “If the wind gets any stronger, I will be, I fear.”

  “Instead of mooning my neighbors, you could have come into the yard, you know. The gate isn’t locked.”

  “I was on my way to the Art Club when your old pin there distracted me. I hadn’t planned on staying this long.”

  “What pin?”

  “It’s a bit to the left of your foot.”

  “Oh, yes. I see it.” From her nearly doubled over position, Edna saw only Peg’s hand as her friend picked up the jewel. A brief pause preceded a sharp intake of breath. “My god. This is Mother’s brooch. She lost it ages ago.” After another few seconds of silence, Edna heard Peg mutter very softly, “My god. Poor Cherisse.”

  “That’s nice, Peg. I’m very glad to have found your mother’s jewelry.” She winced as she felt a jab of pain. “I don’t know about your ‘poor Cherisse’ but do you suppose you could help me get out of here? I think my back’s breaking.”

  “Oh. Yes. Sorry, Ed. I think it’d be best if I came round to your side.”

  “Okay, but please hurry.” Edna grabbed the bars on a level with her shoulders, managing some relief on her spine. She heard no footsteps on the sidewalk from Peg’s rubber-soled shoes, but she knew her friend had arrived when she heard muffled giggles.

  “Oh, Ed, I wish you’d let me get Stephen and the camera,” Peg’s voice broke through her laughter.

  Peg was the only person in the world whom Edna allowed to call her “Ed,” mainly because she’d never been able to break her friend of the habit. Now, Edna assumed her coldest tone. “If you do, I will seriously consider ending our friendship.”

  “Perhaps you won’t mind if I call the gardener over to help. I see he’s decided to get back to work. Fortunately, he finished plowing up this patch before the rain came. Imagine you finding Mother’s old pin in the dirt.”

  “Yes, Peg, but I’m fast regretting it. Please get me some help.”

  “Right. Sorry, Ed. Hello! Goran! Over here, if you have a minute, please.”

  Another pair of shoes came into Edna’s view. These ones were worn, black work boots accompanied by dark blue pants with mud-spattered cuffs. “Yes, ma’am? What seems to be the trouble?” His voice was low and soft, carrying only a hint of amusement. Pleasant, Edna would have said under different circumstances. Now all she could think was, He’s about as funny as Peg. Isn’t it obvious what the trouble is?

  “Edna, I’d like you to meet our new gardener, Goran Pittlani. Goran, this is my very best friend, Edna Davies. She’s just found my mother’s long-lost, birthday brooch. See?”

  “Peg,” Edna almost shouted. “Show and Tell later, if you don’t mind.”

  “Yes. Of course, Ed. Goran, would you see if you can help me to free my friend from these bars? Perhaps not, but it’s worth a try. Otherwise, we may have to cut them.”

  Edna felt Peg’s fine-boned, delicate fingers prodding and pressing her ears tightly against her head as a larger, stronger hand pushed gently on the top of her head. On Peg’s command, Edna pushed against the bars with her hands at the same time as she arched her back and, finally, pulled her head free. With a groan, she turned and sat down heavily
onto the narrow grass strip that ran between the fence and the sidewalk.

  Peg leaned down to take her arm. “I think it would be best if you came into the house. The neighbors might think you’re a bag lady, sitting here on the street.”

  Edna was certain she heard another suppressed chuckle. “You may be right, but at the moment, I can’t stand upright and I’m wondering if I’ll ever be able to wear pierced earrings again.”

  “Can I be of any more assistance, ma’am?” The gardener’s deep voice came from behind Edna.

  “I think we can manage now. Thank you, Goran,” Peg replied. To Edna, she said, “Try standing. For me. The ground is wet and you’re liable to catch your death, on top of everything else.” Peg tugged gently on Edna’s arm and between her pulling and Edna pushing up with her free hand, she managed to get to her feet and stood only slightly bent over.

  In this manner, she hobbled beside Peg, around the fence, through a narrow pedestrian gate, up the brick walk and into the old Graystocking family mansion. The front door opened into a large, high-ceilinged foyer. Opposite the entryway, a wide staircase rose to a landing from which stairs branched both right and left to the second-floor. An enormous crystal chandelier hung in the center of the vaulted ceiling and sparkled in the light from a window in the hallway that ran above the front door.

  On the main floor, to the left of the stairs, the door to the library stood open, revealing a wide brick fireplace. A matching door to the right of the staircase was hardly ever left open and, as a matter of fact, was always locked when the office was unoccupied by the master of the house. Wide arches at the left and right of the foyer led to the dining and living rooms, respectively.

  Having been to the house many times over the years, Edna sensed more than consciously saw the interior because, immediately upon entering, she collapsed onto a Persian rug immediately inside the front door. She rolled onto her back and the hard surface made her feel better immediately. “Be a dear and straighten my skirt over my legs, would you?” she said, looking up at Peg.

  Her friend obliged before pulling over a straight-backed chair to sit beside and look down at Edna. There was a glimmer in Peg’s light-blue eyes and her voice held only a trace of mirth when she asked, “Comfy?”

  “Very. Thank you.” Edna closed her eyes. “I’ll get up in a minute, but this feels too good right now.” After an unusually lengthy silence, she opened her eyes to see Peg studying the newly-found pin with an uncharacteristically somber look. “Your mother’s, did you say?”

  “Yes. Father gave it to her for her birthday the first year they were married. Her birthday was July fourth. That’s why the red, white and blue. He had it specially designed.” Turning the jewel over in her hands, she looked down at Edna. “The pin in back is bent, but other than that, it doesn’t seem any worse for the wear. I think it can be easily fixed.”

  “What did you mean when you said ‘poor Cherisse’?” Edna remembered Peg’s mother’s name had been Isabelle, so who was Cherisse?

  As Peg returned her gaze to the brooch, her eyes took on a faraway look, and instead of answering, she seemed to drift off into thought.

  After nearly a minute of watching and waiting for a reply, Edna broke the lengthening silence. “If the clasp is damaged, the brooch probably fell off when your mother was working in the garden, don’t you think?” More memories flashed through her mind. “As I remember, she was often tending beautiful rose bushes along that side of the fence.”

  “Mother loved roses best, I think. At any rate, she spent more time in that patch than in any of the other gardens. The smell of roses still takes me back to my childhood. We had vases full, all over the house.” Peg’s face brightened as she smiled. “There’ll be rose bushes along that entire stretch again. I’ve decided to put the gardens back the way Mother had them. I should never have agreed to turn everything into lawn when Joey and I were married, but then we traveled so much, there just wasn’t time to work in the yard.”

  Peg’s face seemed to soften when she spoke of her first husband. Just as quickly, the look disappeared as she tightened her fingers over the pin. “I was cleaning out the closet in one of the back bedrooms this winter and found an old hat box pushed way back on the top shelf. It was filled with photographs, mostly black and white that Father must have taken because Mother was in so many of them. Looking through those pictures and seeing the joy on Mother’s face, even when she was working in the kitchen garden, made me want to restore everything. Stephen agreed it would be a good project for me, since he’s been increasingly tied up with bank business lately. As a matter of fact, it was he who found Goran to help me. Goran’s been preparing the beds. I wonder why he didn’t see this. It must have surfaced when he was tilling.” She took the brooch between thumb and forefinger and held it up to the light from a fan-shaped window above the front door.

  “I suppose turning the soil brought it to the surface, but it must still have been covered with dirt. The morning’s cloudburst washed it clean,” Edna theorized. “Luckily the sun struck it just as I was passing or it might have gotten stepped on and buried again.”

  “What is today?” Peg looked down, frowning in thought for a second or two before answering her own question. “April twelfth. Mother lost this brooch on April fifteenth, the year I graduated from high school, so that was, what ... almost exactly fifty years ago.” Peg raised her eyebrows as if amazed at the coincidence.

  Edna was about to ask how Peg remembered the exact date and who was this Cherisse person, when she heard a door open and the sound of footsteps crossing the foyer.

  “What’s all this?” a male voice demanded above Edna’s head.

  Chapter Two

  Edna felt Stephen Bishop standing over her. She would have to tip back her head in order to actually see him, but she refused to strain her neck or her back to do so.

  “Hello, Stephen,” she said, looking at Peg.

  “Edna? Margaret?” He spoke their names as questions.

  The women looked at each other for several seconds as Edna waited for Peg to say something. She suspected Peg was waiting for her to speak.

  Stephen Bishop was Peg’s second husband. For the past two years, ever since Peg’s wedding, Edna had been trying to figure out why she couldn’t warm up to the man. She didn’t think it was solely because she and Albert, her own husband, had been close friends with Joey Luccianello. Edna hoped she and Albert were more charitable than to resent Peg’s remarrying, but Stephen was as different from Peg’s first husband as two men could be. Joey, impetuous and easy-going, had almost never been serious. Stephen, on the other hand, was perpetually solemn. In fact, Edna couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him show much emotion—no joy or sorrow, no hope or despair. She wondered again what her witty, fun-loving friend saw in him.

  Joey had been a speculator. The only son of wealthy parents and youngest of three children, he had been pampered and spoiled by both his parents and his older sisters.

  Stephen was an only child, as Peg had been, but came from a poor family. Struggling to bring himself up in the world, he was now majority owner of a small, private banking establishment. Stephen’s first wife died the year after their daughter graduated from college and left home for a job in New York City. He’d been married and widowed twice since then, having lost his third wife the year before he met Peg. Edna and Albert had wondered, only between themselves, of course, if the wives had all died of boredom. On a more somber side, they rarely mentioned that each wife had been extremely wealthy, a circumstance that had allowed Stephen to achieve controlling interest in the bank.

  “Ladies?” His insistent question broke into her thoughts as he moved into view on her left. Peg, still sitting in the chair to Edna’s right, looked up at her prim husband.

  “Ed’s hurt her back. Lying on the hard floor is making her feel better. She’ll be up in a minute or two, won’t you, Ed?” Peg glanced back down as she spoke.

  Catching the twinkle in her fr
iend’s eyes and the quiver of her lips, Edna felt like a mischievous school girl again and was horrified to realize she was about to burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. Peg apparently saw the signs herself for she turned away, looking over her shoulder toward the dining room.

  “I found a brooch in your garden.” Edna would have explained further, but for a sudden, sharp pain just above her knee. Had Peg kicked her?

  “Really?” The single word burst with interest, unusual for Stephen. “A brooch, you say?”

  “Just an old thing Mother lost years ago,” Peg replied, cutting her eyes at her husband before frowning down at Edna and giving an imperceptible shake of her head. All Peg’s gaiety was gone, replaced by ... what? Was it worry? Anger? Fear? The look vanished before Edna could decide.

  “May I see it, Margaret?” Stephen held out a hand, palm upward. It was one of the things Edna disliked most about Stephen—his insistence on always using his wife’s formal name. No give to the man at all, she thought, watching the exchange between husband and wife with growing curiosity. They were acting almost like strangers. She lay still, waiting for the scene to play out.

  Peg displayed the pin in her palm, but out of her husband’s reach before she tightened her fist around the jewel. “Father had it made for Mother’s birthday. I haven’t seen it for fifty years, so I’d like to keep it with me for now. A day or two,” she added, as if in compromise.

  “You know I like to keep our valuables at the bank. I want to ascertain if that piece is too expensive to be lying around the house.”

  “Of course I won’t leave it ‘lying around’,” Peg snapped, her eyes flashing.

  At that moment, the sound of someone clearing his throat drew their attention to the front door. From her vantage point, Edna saw a man who looked to be of medium height, although from floor level, she found it hard to tell exactly how tall he was. What wasn’t hard to determine was that he had a sturdy build and a thick mop of brown hair. Dark brown eyes stared boldly from beneath fine brows and his face was clean-shaven. From the mud-spattered, navy coverall he wore, Edna judged that this was the gardener who had assisted in her rescue.