Murder Rings a Bell Read online

  Murder Rings a Bell

  Rooftop Garden Cozy Mysteries, Book 4

  Thea Cambert

  Summer Prescott Books Publishing

  Copyright 2020 Summer Prescott Books

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication nor any of the information herein may be quoted from, nor reproduced, in any form, including but not limited to: printing, scanning, photocopying, or any other printed, digital, or audio formats, without prior express written consent of the copyright holder.

  **This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, places of business, or situations past or present, is completely unintentional.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Author’s Note

  Contact Summer Prescott Books Publishing

  Chapter 1

  Alice Maguire stood at the edge of her rooftop garden and looked down over Main Street. It was a glorious summer morning in Blue Valley, Tennessee. Across the way, she could see Marge Hartfield opening the windows of her apartment, which was situated above her candle shop, the Waxy Wick. Marge caught sight of Alice and gave her a wave before going back inside.

  Next to the Waxy Wick, Trinkets, Blue Valley’s favorite souvenir and doodad shop, was still locked up tight, but Koi Butler, the yoga teacher who lived above the shop was already moving through a vinyasa flow on the rooftop garden he and Marge shared.

  “Talk about hot yoga!” Owen James said. Alice’s dear friend and neighbor emerged from his apartment carrying a crisp white bag from his bakery, Sourdough, downstairs.

  “I thought we were being virtuous with our run this morning,” said Franny Brown, coming out of her own apartment, carrying a carafe of coffee. Franny owned Joe’s, Blue Valley’s favorite coffee shop. “Please tell me there are cinnamon rolls in that bag!”

  “You mean sin-amon rolls,” said Owen with a scoff.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “No, you didn’t. You said cinnamon rolls.”

  “How can you tell the difference?”

  “Oh, believe me, there’s a difference.” Owen opened the bag and the creamy, spicy aroma of his signature blend of ingredients wafted out. Franny set the coffee on the table next to three mugs, alongside today’s issue of the Blue Valley Post, which Alice had brought up from her bookshop, The Paper Owl.

  “He’s right,” said Alice, taking a whiff of the bakery bag’s contents. “These are definitely sin-amon rolls.”

  “Did we run far enough this morning to burn off even half of one of those?” asked Franny as she poured the coffee.

  “Um. No.” Owen placed the three gooey rolls, still hot from the oven, onto plates.

  The three friends had taken up jogging back in the fall, and had been fairly good about holding each other accountable and getting out at least four times a week. They were none too fast, and spent a significant part of the “run” talking, walking, and laughing, but they covered all of Main Street, Town Park, and the downtown neighborhoods, so what they lacked in speed, they made up for in distance.

  “My mom wants me to wear her wedding dress, but if I eat too many of these, I’ll never be able to get into it,” said Franny, taking a big bite of her roll. “I mean, the wedding’s only four months away—and my mom is petite!”

  “We may have to start running further,” said Alice. “Owen, these are amazing, as usual.”

  “They are, aren’t they?” Owen leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, enjoying the sunshine.

  The historic, renovated building the three of them shared had been divided into three separate shops. Alice’s bookstore, The Paper Owl, stood between Franny’s coffee shop and Owen’s bakery. Each shop boasted a tiny apartment above it, reachable by a beautiful old wooden staircase at the back of The Paper Owl. When Alice had moved into her apartment, she’d noticed that the roof space just outside the french doors in her bookshelf-lined living room was being wasted. It was basically an open, empty space with one folding chair set in the middle. So, she decided to create a garden, starting with a few cheerful pots of geraniums.

  Once Franny and Owen joined in the effort, the rooftop had been transformed into a haven above Main Street, replete with climbing vines and potted trees, herbs, and flowers—and of course, the all-important twinkle lights that Alice tended to string everywhere she went. There was a small café table surrounded by comfortable Adirondack chairs—five of them, because they were often joined by two additional friends: Alice’s brother Ben, who was a Blue Valley police officer, and Luke Evans, a police detective and the man Alice was currently dating.

  When other shop owners had seen Alice’s rooftop garden, many of them had followed suit, so that now, Mainstreet was dotted with beautiful little gardens above many of its gracious old buildings.

  In the spring, Franny and Ben had gotten engaged, so this summer, Alice and Owen had agreed to help them plan their wedding, which was scheduled for the fall.

  “What do we have planned today?” Owen asked, taking a sip of coffee.

  “Joe’s is already hopping downstairs,” said Franny. “The tourists have started arriving for the weekend.”

  “Ah, yes. The onslaught,” said Owen with a smile. “The smart ones always come in on Thursdays, to beat the crowds. And, frankly, I think weekends should always start on Thursdays, don’t you?”

  Every July, the town held its Annual Independence Day Weekend Celebration at Blue Lake, which lay only half a mile from Main Street. The cozy town of Blue Valley, snuggled up against Tennessee’s Smoky Mountains, had grown up around the lake, which was fed every spring by the melting snow that ran down the mountainsides. Blue Valley was just far enough off the beaten path that the tourists who came there were the type who were willing to wind a little further back into the mountains—but they always managed to find it, and returned season after season for the town’s many festivals and fairs.

  “Is Beth working down at Joe’s this morning?” asked Alice.

  “Yep,” said Franny. “She’s putting in extra hours through the weekend.”

  “Hilda, too,” said Owen, whose assistant at Sourdough, Hilda Becker, hated festivals and crowds, but could bake up a storm. “She actually likes to work extra when there’s an influx of tourists, just to avoid going out.”

  “Is Lacie home for the summer?” Franny asked.

  Lacie Blake’s parents, Doug and Barb, owned Sugarbuzz, the town’s gourmet chocolate shop, just a few doors down. But, Lacie had been helping Alice out in the bookshop for years, and still did, whenever she was home from college.

  “Yep,” said Alice with a contented sigh. “She’s more than happy to help out in the shop this summer.”

  “College kids can always use a little extra cash,” said Owen.

  “The weekend’s going to be even busier than usual with that doctors’ conference in town,” said Franny. “I love doctors. They drink a ton of coffee.”

  “They also eat a lot of sweets,” said Owen. “Cha-ching! Oh—I’m starting to explore ideas for your wedding cake, Franny. I’ll start plying you both with samples tonight.”

  “This is the best day ever,” Alice observed. “We’re having sin-amon rolls for breakfast and cake for dinner.”

  “So . . . Tell us,” Franny said, grinning widely at Alice. “How
was your date with Detective Hot-Stuff last night?”

  “Oh yes, spill!” said Owen, leaning forward in his chair. “We want all the details.”

  Making an effort to keep her tone light, Alice said, “Luke cancelled at the last minute.”

  “What?” said Franny. “Why?”

  “He said he had a terrible headache,” said Alice, shrugging one shoulder.

  “That old excuse,” said Owen, rolling his eyes.

  “Owen!” Franny slapped him on the arm. “I’m sure he really just . . . had a headache.”

  Alice shifted in her chair and looked out over Main Street. “It still sort of sometimes bothers me that Luke was engaged before,” she admitted.

  “’Still sort of sometimes?’” Owen shook his head. “Please, Alice. We can see right through your flimsy façade. You’ve been stewing, haven’t you?”

  He looked at Franny, who nodded in agreement. “Yep, she’s stewing,” Franny said. “Do you know anything about Luke’s ex?”

  “I know she was the one who broke it off,” said Alice. “That’s what bugs me the most. I mean, I guess they’d still be together if it had been up to Luke.”

  “And, then, he never would’ve come to Blue Valley, and he never would’ve met you, and he definitely would’ve ended up divorced and unhappy, wondering how he could’ve mistaken the woman he married for the love of his life, who was still out there somewhere, and quite possibly now married to someone else.” Owen coughed a little. “Wow, that was a long sentence. Even for me.”

  “What if she was, like, a rocket scientist or super model or something?” asked Alice.

  “Stew, stew, stew,” said Owen shaking his head at Alice.

  “The thing to remember is, Luke’s with you, now,” Franny said cheerfully.

  “And, anyone can see he’s totally smitten,” added Owen.

  “You’re right, of course,” Alice admitted. “I’m being silly. I am, after all, a successful businesswoman—”

  “With excellent friends,” said Owen.

  “And red hair,” said Franny. “I bet Miss Rocket-Super Model doesn’t have gorgeous red hair like you.”

  “Thanks, guys,” said Alice. “I feel better, now. Luke probably just had a really bad headache. End of story.”

  “Is that why he’s so grumpy?” Ben Maguire emerged from Alice’s apartment. Her cat, Poppy, immediately jumped up from where she’d been taking a sunshine nap and ran to entwine herself around Ben’s ankles, almost tripping him. “Alice, this cat is going to kill me someday.”

  “She loves her Uncle Ben! How can you be so cold?”

  Ben gave Franny a kiss on the top of her head and sat down in the chair next to her, allowing Poppy to jump up into his lap.

  “So, Luke’s been acting grumpy at the station?” Alice asked, still working to keep her tone casual.

  “Saw him there this morning before I headed out,” said Ben, nodding. “He didn’t seem himself at all. He actually yelled at Dewey.”

  “Officer Dewey?” Franny asked, surprised. “How could anyone yell at that sweet little guy?”

  “Well, to be fair, Dewey let a couple of squirrels loose in the station, so—”

  “Squirrels? Are you kidding?” asked Alice with a laugh.

  “Doc and Mrs. Howard had a nest of them in their attic, so Dewey went over and lured them into a Havahart trap using birdseed. He stopped off at the station before heading out to the woods to set them free.” Ben shook his head at the memory. “Then, Dewey stumbled, and the squirrels flew through the air, and . . . Anyway, Luke was clearly on edge.”

  Alice frowned and walked over to the building’s façade that enclosed the rooftop garden. She looked down at Main Street, where shops were beginning to open and people were stopping in here and there.

  “Ah-ha!” said Owen, getting up and joining Alice. He nudged her with his elbow. “Still stewing, are we?”

  “That, or she’s wondering what ever happened to the squirrels,” said Franny.

  “Alice, we have more important things to think about than displaced squirrels,” said Ben. “We’ve only got two more days until Saturday’s big race, and we have to be ready.”

  For Ben and Alice, the highlight of the holiday weekend was always the Blue Lake Independence Day Pedal Boat Regatta. They’d won it seven years in a row, but the competition was mounting. The winners got to keep the coveted Champion’s Cup for a year. In fact, the first case Ben had solved as a green police officer was when the cup had gone missing twelve years earlier. He’d finally discovered that Old Lottie Ferguson had it. Old Lottie owned the local nursery, The Green Thumb, and had accidentally planted a trailing vine in the cup after winning that year’s regatta, and then had forgotten all about it. In time, the vine had grown, completely obscuring the cup. Thinking it had been stolen, Lottie had called in the police—and was all too happy to replant the vine and sweep the whole incident under the rug once the case had been solved. Now, the Champion’s Cup spent half the year on Alice’s bookshelf, and the other half on Ben’s fireplace mantle.

  “I’ll meet you here at the bookstore after work, okay?” Alice asked.

  “Good. I get off at five. We’ve got to work on strategy. We need to perfect our turns and our launch. Have you been keeping up with your squats?”

  “Yep. Franny and Owen have been doing them with me.”

  “And, we just did our three-mile run,” Franny added.

  “Excellent,” said Ben, standing to go and catching a glimpse of sugary glaze on their plates. “Easy on the sin-amon rolls, Alice. You have to train like an athlete. That means healthy food. I’m off to work. Hopefully, the rest of the day will be squirrel-free.”

  “I personally love squirrels,” said Franny.

  “I’ve got nothing against them,” said Ben. “But, they don’t belong in people’s attics—or in the police station.” He gave Poppy a farewell pat on the head, lightly kissed Franny on the cheek, and was off.

  “Gosh, I love that man,” said Franny, watching him go. “He’s so cute in his uniform.”

  “We have a lot of planning to do before your wedding in October,” said Alice. “The gown, the flowers, the church, the guestlist . . .”

  “But first, cake,” said Owen, standing. “I’m off to work. See you both tonight!”

  Chapter 2

  Marge Hartfield had just dropped off a case of her special Fourth of July candles, including Pie Eating Contest, which smelled like cherries and pastry crust, and Uncle Sam’s Choice, which was red, white, and blue, and somehow smelled exactly like a summer day at the lake. Then, there was the very interesting Fireworks! candle, which smelled a bit like a spent bottle rocket or sparkler. Alice wasn’t wild about those, but they sold like hotcakes every year, so she always stocked them in the bookshop.

  The last few customers of the day were still browsing the shelves as Alice turned over the closed sign on the front door, telling the dawdlers to take all the time they needed. Meanwhile, she got busy arranging the new candles in The Paper Owl’s candle corner. Franny walked over from Joe’s through the wide cased opening that separated the coffee shop from the bookstore. Alice and Franny had always found that their customers liked wandering between the two shops, since books and coffee paired so well.

  “Good day?” Franny asked, then stopped abruptly and sniffed the air. “Oh, good heavens. Is that Marge’s stinky Fireworks! candle I smell?”

  “You guessed it,” said Alice, who was not at all surprised that Franny had nailed the candle by its scent. Franny had an extremely keen sense of smell.

  “Who buys those?” Franny pinched her nose shut. “They smell like rotten eggs and smoke mixed together.”

  “Sulfur,” said Alice.

  “What?”

  “Sulfur. It’s in the black powder they use in fireworks.”

  “Well, Marge has captured that smell perfectly. Just don’t light any of those up, okay?”

  “Not a chance,” Alice said, chuckling. “So, how
was your day?”

  “Very busy,” said Franny. “Just closed up shop. You?”

  “Tons of sales with the tourists in for the long weekend. It was a much better day than yesterday, I’m happy to say.”

  “Why? What happened yesterday?”

  “Nothing major. Just this one rude customer. I get one every now and then, but she really ticked me off. Today was smooth sailing, though.”

  A young woman approached the counter with a copy of Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None. Alice was immediately struck by her sunflower blond hair and bright green eyes. “I heard her—the rude customer?” the woman said in a high, sing-songy voice, taking out a twenty-dollar bill. “I was in here yesterday when she came in. I don’t blame you for being ticked off.” She glanced down, looking a little embarrassed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

  “Not at all!” said Alice, ringing up the book. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thought she was crass.”

  “Oh, she was worse than crass,” said the woman. “I don’t understand people like that.”

  “Wow. What did she do?” asked Franny.

  Alice gave a little sigh. “Well, first, she walked in and looked at the shop like it was a hovel. She said the selection of books was pitiful. She was on the hunt for a book I didn’t have. When I offered to order it for her, she got frustrated and said not to bother. She left in a huff.”

  “That’s right,” said the customer. “She talked so loudly, I heard the whole thing. Sometimes doctors can be a little bit full of themselves.”

  “How did you know she was a doctor?” asked Franny.

  “I just assumed, because she was wearing one of those lanyards they’re all wearing—with that medical conference or whatever it is in town?”