Murder at Lowry House (Hazel Martin Mysteries Book 1) Page 5

  “That’s right. I wouldn’t have even thought a thing, until Gloria said things added up to be suspicious. I told Gloria it was coincidence… but she seems to think otherwise. I just don’t think it could be one of my family.” Myrtle hooked her arm through Hazel’s. “That’s why it’s such a good thing you dropped by. Now you can figure out what is really going on.”

  Hazel felt a twinge of anxiety. Myrtle was putting her confidence in her, and she hoped she’d be up to the task of getting to the bottom of these coincidental “accidents.”

  “Does Vera have a job?”

  Myrtle snorted. “Lordy no! That girl wouldn’t soil her hands with work.”

  “And you said Wes gave her Sarah’s cameos and anything else he got from her, right?”

  Myrtle made a face. “As if Vera would even care about cameos or Sarah’s old jewelry. I think they are too old-fashioned for her.”

  Myrtle pulled up short, tugging Hazel back a step, then unlinked her arm and pointed at the path. “This is the area of the path that was washed out, right here.”

  Hazel stopped to inspect the path. It was cut into a steep hill, sweeping upward to the left and then falling off dramatically to the right. It was obvious where the gardener had made the repair. Hazel squatted down to get a better look at the earth around it, wishing she’d thought to bring a small gardening spade.

  She clawed at the dirt, trying to ascertain how difficult the digging would be. She didn’t care that the brown earth became lodged under her fingernails. Her fingers were already splotched with ink, and besides, people expected her to be a little unusual. The ground was thick with roots, just as Myrtle had said earlier. It would have been hard work, but someone could have dug it out with a spade that had a sharp, thin blade. She pried up a brick to look at the roots to see if there had been a clean break made from a blade, or more of a twisty break made from nature. She saw both but then realized the clean breaks could have been made when the gardener had dug it out to repair.

  Someone certainly could have removed the dirt under the bricks on purpose and then replaced them in such a way that the ground underneath was not so solid. Hazel scrambled down the side of the hill a few feet. Sure enough, there were some round rocks that didn’t seem natural for that spot. What if someone had dug out the dirt under the bricks and put a few small round rocks and then the bricks on top. It would appear as if the bricks were solidly in the path, but when one stepped on the brick, the rocks underneath would make it roll out from under foot and could cause a nasty spill. The kind of spill that could be fatal for an elderly person if they landed on their head.

  Myrtle was looking at her with concern. “So what’s the verdict?”

  “I don’t know. Someone could have done this on purpose. But I can’t tell who. It would’ve been hard to dig. A man could have done it, or a strong woman could have done it with both hands on the shovel.” Hazel looked back down the path, shading her eyes from the sun. From where they stood, the house was not visible. This spot in the path was secluded by trees and shrubbery and the hill. It wouldn’t have been hard to dig it up without being seen.

  “You say you walk this path every day?” Hazel asked.

  “Unless the weather does not comply or I don’t feel good.”

  “Then if someone did take this out, they did it in between the time you last walked it and the time you fell. Who would’ve been here the night or morning before you went on your walk?”

  “Well, that doesn’t narrow it down. Everyone was here. I tripped on Monday. The day before was Sunday, and that’s the day we all gather for family dinner in the afternoon, so they were all here after I took my walk.”

  Chapter Eight

  Hazel grew quiet as they continued on the path, which wound around a garden of wildflowers riotous with color then turned back toward the house. Had someone really tampered with the bricks? If that was the case, then Myrtle really was in danger. What if someone right this minute was planning their next attempt on Myrtle’s life?

  Gloria came trotting up behind them. “Did you show her the spot in the path?”

  “Yes, we’re just on our way back now,” Myrtle said.

  “So what do you think?” Gloria’s eyes flicked from Hazel, back down the path toward the spot. “Do you think someone did this on purpose?”

  Hazel’s heart twisted at the look of fear that crossed Myrtle’s face. Apparently she wasn’t as blasé about this whole thing as she would have one believe. “It could have been done on purpose. But there’s no way to tell for sure.”

  “I knew it!” Gloria put her arm around Myrtle’s shoulders. “Now will you listen to me? You need to be careful.”

  “I don’t know. Even if someone did dig out the path, it’s unlikely that one little trip on bricks would kill me. Seems like a dumb plan if someone wanted to do me in,” Myrtle pointed out.

  “I’m just glad I was there when you tripped. Otherwise, the damage could have been much worse. You might have hit your head, and that can be very dangerous,” Gloria said.

  Myrtle rapped her head lightly with her knuckles. “Gonna take a lot more than a bump on the head to put this old lady out of commission.”

  “I hope so.” Gloria slid her eyes over to Hazel. “Do you have any suspects?”

  “Nothing concrete. You know one has to be very careful before they start naming people, and we’re not really sure exactly what is going on. Do you have any idea who it might be?”

  Gloria chewed her bottom lip, her eyes darting over to the edge of the property in the direction of the cottage. Was she trying to say she thought it was Wes? Then she looked down at the ground. “It wouldn’t be right to say.”

  “Indeed. That would be a serious accusation,” Myrtle said.

  “This is serious. Did you tell her everything?” Gloria asked Myrtle. “The path, the poisoning, and the medicines?”

  “She did,” Hazel answered for Myrtle. “I’ve seen the path, and someone could have tampered with it, but the medicine mix-up could have just been due to Myrtle getting confused about which pills were which, and the poisoning… well, honestly, that just sounds like indigestion. Maybe the path really was washed out or it was a one-time attempt and nothing more is going to happen.”

  They had come to the end of the brick walkway and were looking over an expanse of lush green lawn. To the right, the edge of a koi pond peeked out from behind an enormous rose garden. From their vantage point atop a slightly sloping hill, there was a sweeping view of much of the estate to the left. Hazel could see that badminton nets, archery targets, and croquet hoops had already been set up.

  “These things are no accident,” Gloria said. “Auntie is very careful with her medicines. And the indigestion, well, I don’t need to tell you, Hazel, that there are several poisons that build up in one’s system and kill you over time. Auntie never had indigestion until recently.”

  Hazel chewed her bottom lip. It was true, natural herbs such as white snake root—the very herb rumored to have killed Abraham Lincoln’s mother—were known to build up to toxic levels over time. And then there were poisons that caused bodily functions to go awry, killing you not with the poison itself but with what it did to your insides.

  Hazel didn’t want to think about that. Myrtle ate much the same foods as everyone else, and if someone was putting poison in them, might they be putting it in the dishes everyone was eating? She made a mental note to see if anyone avoided certain dishes at dinner.

  “When the medicines were switched, it wasn’t the day of your usual Sunday dinner, was it?” Hazel asked.

  “No. It was a Tuesday,” Myrtle said. She appeared to be sharp as a tack now. Hazel hadn’t seen any of the hazy memory issues that she’d noticed yesterday. Maybe it came and went. The question was, had she been having memory issues on Tuesday, and had those issues caused her to take the wrong medicine?

  “That’s right. I remember you said the doctor was at his club.” Hazel turned to Gloria. “Now, Myrtle said you wer
e out of town, so you didn’t know who was at the house that day, is that correct?”

  “That’s right. I was mad as anything when I came back. Someone should’ve sent a telegram or sent Giles for me or something.”

  “Nonsense!” Myrtle said. “Why ruin a great vacation? And you would have wasted money on the room at Gull Landing if you’d just up and left. Besides, I was fine. The doctor said I would have to have taken a lot more pills for something dire to happen.”

  “You stayed at Gull Landing?” Hazel asked.

  Gloria’s cheeks blushed pink. “I don’t have much money and couldn’t afford a big fancy hotel.”

  “Oh, but that’s a lovely place. One doesn’t need a grand hotel to have a good time on vacation.” Hazel didn’t want to embarrass the girl about her lack of finances, and even though she made oodles of money with her books, she did truly believe that you didn’t need money to be happy.

  Gloria turned to Myrtle. “Are you going in now?”

  Myrtle looked toward the rose garden, her lips curling into a smile. “I think I’ll sit in the arbor. I want to show Hazel the various rose species. Will you join us?”

  Gloria touched Myrtle’s arm lightly. “I’d love to, but I have to talk to Cook about the refreshments and make sure she’s set for the party. You have a nice time, though, and be careful. Even though some of these incidents can be explained, I still think you might be in danger.” Gloria flicked Hazel a knowing look and then started back toward the house.

  “Well, she certainly is a worrywart, isn’t she?” Myrtle grabbed Hazel’s arm and propelled her toward the rose garden. “As I told you earlier, my mother loved these gardens. And she loved the roses in particular. Did you know that she grew many rare varieties?”

  “No. They certainly are beautiful.” A large arched entryway covered with climbing pink roses heralded the entrance to the rose garden. Inside, there were roses of every color. Red, white, yellow, pink, and even many whose petals had more than one color. There were rose trees, rose bushes, and latticework with climbing rose vines everywhere. Myrtle took delight in describing the different species: floribunda, English garden roses, Portlands, and grandiflora. Hazel had had no idea there were so many different varieties. Fuzzy yellow-and-black bumblebees buzzed around the plants as Myrtle led her to a white bench canopied by an arched arbor of gigantic papery white tea roses.

  They sat next to each other on the bench. From here, the view of the pond was striking. The canopy of the rose-laden arbor shielded the bench from view on all sides except directly in front. A secret resting spot where one could only be seen from one section of the property. Hazel settled in, leaning her head against the back of the bench while she listened to the buzz of the bees and drank in the papery floral scent of the roses. “You’re lucky to have Gloria looking out for you.”

  “Indeed.” Myrtle turned a sharp eye in her direction. “She has nothing to do with these attacks… if that is even what they are.”

  “I hope she has nothing to gain by hurting you, and if it wasn’t for her, you might have been more severely injured when you fell on the path.” Hazel mentally crossed Gloria off the suspect list. Even though she sensed the girl was keeping something back. It was more likely she was embarrassed that Hazel might find out about her background with drugs. Hazel hadn’t seen any evidence of recent drug abuse with the girl. In fact, the hearty breakfast Gloria had eaten that morning, the clear look in her eyes, and the strength of her voice indicated she truly had given them up.

  “She’s a good girl. She’s not mixed up with that crowd anymore,” Myrtle said as if reading her mind.

  “Yes, she seems it. So she doesn’t associate with anyone from her drug days?”

  “Oh, no. And it’s a good thing, too. Those people were bad news, and with that nasty scandal, a few are in jail.”

  “Jail?”

  “Yes, the robbery at the Rothingtons’ about five years back. They did it for drug money.” Myrtle snuck a look at Hazel. “Gloria wasn’t involved in that, of course!”

  “Of course.” Maybe Gloria hadn’t been involved, but what about Vera? Gloria had known Vera back then. “Are Gloria and Vera good friends? They don’t seem very chummy, from what I’ve seen.”

  Myrtle scratched at her face. “I don’t know if they were close friends, but they hung with the same crowd, and that’s how Wes met Vera.”

  “Did Wes and Vera also have drug problems?”

  Myrtle looked at her sharply and leaned forward in her seat. “Not Wes. His vice has always been alcohol. Now Vera, I don’t really know, but I’ve never seen her look drugged up. You don’t think Wes and Vera would try to hurt me, do you? Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder if anyone really is trying to hurt me. All these events seem to have logical explanations.”

  Hazel had been wondering about that herself. Not only did the incidents have logical explanations, they didn’t seem drastic enough to kill Myrtle. Unless the killer wasn’t thinking straight, like someone under the influence of drugs or alcohol might be.

  But then Myrtle herself had written for her to come, so she must have thought someone was trying to harm her. “Myrtle, you must have your suspicions. Your letter said as well. Surely you must have a suspicion. Do you have any enemies or maybe have information that someone else might not want others to find out about?”

  Myrtle looked at her in confusion. “I certainly don’t have any enemies or secrets to tell. And I don’t know of any—”

  Thwack!

  Hazel stared in horror at the arrow that had whizzed in front of her face and embedded itself in the latticework less than an inch from Myrtle’s head.

  Chapter Nine

  The iridescent blue feathered end quivered in front of Myrtle’s shocked face, the razor-sharp arrow point piercing one of the roses almost dead center.

  “Are you all right?” Hazel sprang up from the bench as she asked the question, barely waiting for Myrtle’s nod before taking off in the direction from which the arrow was shot.

  Hazel lurched down the path toward the exit of the rose garden. A thorn snagged the bottom of her dress and she hesitated only to pull it loose. Maggie would probably fuss over the torn lace, but she couldn’t worry about that now.

  She careened out of the arbor, looking around for anyone who might help her give chase, but she did not see a soul. Turning quickly to look back at the bench in order to determine from which angle the arrow would’ve been shot, she realized the shooter would’ve been standing to the left. She headed in that direction, barreling toward a copse of thick trees.

  Had the arrow simply been an unlucky shot gone astray from someone practicing the targets? But no one was here for the games yet. Had one of the staff been testing it out? She whirled around again, looking at the angles, but it was impossible. The targets were not anywhere near the bench. Not to mention that the shooter would be looking to retrieve the arrow.

  She hesitated at the trees, squinting into the woods and straining her ears to hear the sound of someone running. But she did not see or hear anyone. Should she venture in? She took one step forward and almost stepped on the brown wooden archer’s bow lying just beside the narrow path that led into the woods. She bent down to pick it up, her heart thudding when she saw what was lying beside it. An arrow with iridescent blue feathers exactly like the one that had almost skewered Myrtle.

  Her gaze flicked to the woods. Had the shooter escaped down this path? Why else would the bow and arrow be lying here? But why throw it down in the first place?

  Hazel hesitated only a second before heading into the dark woods. Myrtle’s life was at stake, and if someone had just shot an arrow at her and run off into these woods, then Hazel needed to find them.

  The woods felt dark and menacing compared to the cheery midmorning sunshine Hazel had been enjoying in the rose garden. As she made her way farther into the woods, the hair on the back of her neck stood up as if someone were watching. She whirled around, but no one was there.

 
; That’s the trouble with having a writer’s vivid imagination. Hazel pushed all her dark thoughts away and focused on the cheery twitter of the birds instead.

  Squirrels scampered on the ground, and chipmunks gathered nuts. A blue jay flew between the branches of the tall pines, letting out a raucous cry. The animals of the forest were going about their usual business as if a potential killer had not just run through.

  The path wasn’t long, and soon she saw a bright, sunlit clearing. The path led right to the stone cottage. It was exactly as she remembered from her visits here when she was younger. Was this the cottage that Wes and Vera lived in now?

  She stood at the edge of the woods, hidden by a big pine tree, afraid to venture out. Was it Wes or Vera who had shot the arrow at Myrtle? Or had someone else run into the woods and taken refuge in the cottage or maybe even taken a different path? Voices drifted out from the cottage. She was too far away to hear the words, but she could tell the voices were shrill with anger.

  She crept along the edge of the tree line to get closer without having to expose herself in the clearing. If the killer was out there, she didn’t want them to know she had been chasing them.

  Now she could distinguish the arguing voices. It was a man and a woman. Wes and Vera.

  “…Maybe you should think about getting a job instead of sleeping half the time and wandering around the property,” the woman said.

  “Job? My family provides for the roof over your head. Maybe you should curtail all the spending … not to mention your excursions … and we’d have more money to go around.”

  “Excursions? How would you even know when I’ve gone out or not? You’re always in a drunken stupor. If you were a real man—”

  “Real man! Is that what you’re doing when you sneak out? If I catch you with another man, it will be the last time—”

  “Let go of me! And don’t threaten me ever again!”

  A screen door slammed. Hazel shrank back behind a tree. The last thing she needed was for one of them to catch her overhearing their argument. Especially if that person was the same person who was orchestrating the attempts on Myrtle’s life.