News and nectarines, p.1
News and Nectarines, page 1
News and Nectarines
A Small Town Cozy Mystery
Carly Winter
Edited by
Divas at Work Editing
Cover Design
CoveredbyMelinda.com
Westward Publishing
Copyright © 2020 by Carly Winter / Westward Publishing
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
* * *
Cover Design by CoveredByMelinda.com
News and Nectarines
She’s trying to report on the facts, but someone is framing her for murder.
A local nectarine orchard burning to the ground is front-page news, and as the only reporter for the Tri-Town Times, Tilly Donner is determined to uncover the facts and find out who started the fire. That is, until she finds the main suspect with a knife in his chest, taking his dying breaths.
With the help of her two best friends and the local small-town gossip vine, Tilly uncovers clues to help the police solve the case. But her plan backfires when the Sheriff believes the evidence leads to Tilly being the killer.
Can Tilly discover who committed the murder and prove her innocence before her reputation and life are ruined?
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Also by Carly Winter
About the Author
1
Boom. Whoosh. Boom.
Three things happened when I thought the end of the world had arrived at one o’clock in the morning.
First, I sat up in bed as terror ripped through me.
Second, so did my dog, a Golden Retriever named Tinker.
Third, while I tried to get out of bed, Tinker attempted to crawl under the covers and caused my legs to get tied up in the sheet, which led to me hitting my head on the nightstand as I fell to the floor headfirst and landed with a loud thump.
“Ow!” I yelled, grabbing my forehead.
My black cat, Belle, barely gave me a second glance as she tore out of the room.
I was finally able to free myself from the clutches of my sheets and stagger to my feet, then to the window.
My small town of Oak Peak wasn’t under attack, nor had aliens invaded. Instead, fireworks went off in Mr. York’s yard and had apparently caught my other neighbors’—the Ruperts—nectarine orchard on fire. The trees resembled dancing demons when flames shot up into the air.
As I ran to my closet with nothing but the fire outside illuminating my room, I stubbed my toe on my bed frame and hit my shoulder on the closet door. I winced and cursed, then pulled off my nightgown and threw it to the floor. I found a sweatshirt and some jeans I had worn the previous day, then quickly dressed. Just as I pulled on my rain boots, I heard Tinker throw up.
“Tinker!” I yelled as I stumbled toward the light switch, which I quickly realized was the first thing I should have done. When the room illuminated, I found Tinker standing on my bed retching her guts out all over my blue and yellow comforter.
After screaming at her again, which only seemed to make the vomiting worse, I took a brief moment to decide what was more important: the dog barfing on my bed, or the flames in the nectarine orchard?
And, were my animals safer inside the house, or did I try to herd them out?
I turned and ran into the hallway, then down the stairs, hoping Belle wouldn’t trip me up. I didn’t think I could take too many more injuries in such a short period of time. A lump had already begun to form on my forehead just above my right eye and my toe throbbed in my boot.
As I skidded to a stop outside my front door, I tried to figure out which way to go while my heart thundered in my chest. The flames consumed the trees but didn’t seem to be creeping any closer to my property. The fireworks had come from my other neighbor, Mr. York. Since I couldn’t get to the Ruperts’ house, I decided to head over to see Mr. York.
“Tinker! Belly-Belle!” I yelled. “Come on! Let’s go out!”
When neither appeared, I once again gauged the distance of the fire and decided they’d be safe in the house. If I actually got them outside, I’d probably never see Belle again and Tinker would be an even bigger wreck than she already was. Deciding to keep a close eye on the fire, I’d come home if I felt my house was in danger.
Sirens wailed in the distance while a few more fireworks lit up the night sky. I sprinted across the two acres separating my house from Mr. York’s. After climbing through the fence, I found him in the back of his property, hose in hand, trying to spray down the railing and shed that had caught fire.
“Mr. York!”
He turned to me and then centered his attention back to the flames.
“What happened?” I asked when I stood next to him. Barely able to breathe, I placed my hands on my knees. Man, was I out of shape.
“Looks like the fireworks in my shed went off and started a fire,” he replied.
“Why in the world did you have fireworks?”
We both glanced over our shoulders as a firetruck raced into my property and firemen began unraveling hoses and motioning us back toward Mr. York’s home.
From this angle, I could see my property wouldn’t be in any danger. The fire had at least a half-acre before it arrived at my door and the firemen had set up between my house and the orchard.
Glancing up, I saw Tinker’s silhouette in the bedroom window as she stood on her hind legs and placed her paws on the windowsill. A moment later she disappeared and I prayed her stomach had calmed down a little bit. She always became sick when stressed or upset. Hopefully, the runs wouldn’t kick in as well because that would be one heck of a mess.
“Why do you have fireworks?” I asked again as we strode toward his house. I had to take two steps for every one of his since we were complete opposites. He stood tall and thin, and I was short and… let’s just say there was more of me to love than there had been when I first moved into town.
We took a seat on his swing chair on his side deck and watched the show.
“Are you here asking as my neighbor and friend, or as a reporter?”
I placed Mr. York in his sixties. As a widower, he lived alone and had once owned the property my house was built on, as well as the orchard and the house directly behind him. The land had been chopped up into four squares and he’d secured his retirement by selling. Well, that’s what I’d heard through the gossip vine.
“As your friend,” I said firmly as I tucked a lock of my blonde hair behind my ear.
I was the lone reporter for the Tri-Town Times, and sometimes people didn’t like to talk to me.
“They aren’t mine,” he said, scratching his balding head. “I was keeping them for someone.”
“But they’ve been illegal for twenty years!”
“Actually, twenty-two.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Time sure goes by fast,” I said shaking my head.
“What are you, Tilly? Thirty? Thirty-five? Wait until you get to my age. You won’t believe how quickly the days fly by.”
Actually, thirty-seven, but I didn’t bother to correct him.
I had arrived at the time of my life where it had become obvious that I was no longer in my twenties. Little lines had appeared around my eyes. My complexion seemed a bit drab. I needed more moisturizer and I worried about sunscreen. I rarely got carded anymore if I bought booze, and sometimes it made me a little sad. My youth seemed to be fading with each passing day as I began my trek into middle age.
And when I thought about it all, I became angry. Stupid ex-husband had ruined all our plans.
Based on the firemen’s easygoing banter and their relaxed stances as they worked the hoses, it became apparent the flames would be out in a short while.
Fireworks had been banned twenty-two years ago by the current Mayor Shelton’s father when he’d served in the same position. I hadn’t lived in town then, but apparently during a Fourth of July celebration, the whole dang main drag had burned to the ground with nothing left but piles of ashes. And from what I had heard, I mean everything. From one end of Oak Avenue to the other had been eaten by the fire. The bank, the pharmacy, the grocery store—every building.
Northern California tended to be drought prone, and that year had been particularly bad. The mayor and city council at that time had passed laws banning fireworks, both big and small, and initiated heavy fines if the laws were broken. As I’d been told, not one single townsperson bothered to oppose them. In fact, they stopped celebrating the holiday altogether. To the folks of Oak Peak, the Fourth of July was just another hot, summer day.
“Who had you hold them?” I asked.
Mr. York arched an eyebrow at me and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Off the record,” I muttered. “I’m here as a neighbor and friend, reme mber?”
His wrinkles deepened around his blue eyes as he grinned. “This is just between you and me, okay?”
“Of course.”
He glanced around as if checking to make sure no one eavesdropped on us, which seemed a little ridiculous to me. We had at least an acre separating us from the firefighters, and more spanned to our neighbors’ houses. Not to mention the fire.
“The mayor.”
I’d never really been good at hiding my emotions, and I gasped as my mouth fell open in surprise.
“Mayor Shelton?” I shrieked.
“Shh, Tilly,” Mr. York chastised as he brought his index finger to his mouth. “Someone will hear you.”
I glanced around, unsure who that would be, but let the statement lie. If Mr. York wasn’t comfortable talking about it, I’d lower my voice.
We sat in silence for a moment as I processed the secret. “Why would he even want fireworks around here?”
“Well, since his dad passed last year, he’s been thinking about bringing back the Fourth of July celebration. Big fireworks, hand-held fireworks, town picnic… the whole shebang.”
I chewed my bottom lip as I considered the plan. “Fourth of July is next month. Is that a showing of outright disrespect, or is the mayor trying to prove himself to the people of Oak Peak?”
There had been rumors the mayor didn’t have many allies in town, but I really didn’t know much. The city council may not like him, but they kept their mouths shut when I was around.
Mr. York shrugged. “I don’t know. He asked me to help him out, so I did. His dad and I were good friends. I didn’t ask any questions.”
“Who lit them?” I asked. “You didn’t, did you?”
“No,” he replied as he shook his head. “I didn’t. I don’t know who did, though.”
As smoke filled the air and the flames died down at the back of the orchard, I could see the red and white fire truck lights at the front of it, and I hoped the Ruperts’ home hadn’t been burnt.
I couldn’t help but feel like Mr. York was lying to me and he knew exactly who had lit them.
“Can fireworks spontaneously… combust? Or whatever?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Well, if you didn’t light them, who did?”
Mr. York chuckled. “I don’t know, Tilly. I think that’s something for the police to discover.”
Five minutes later, a sheriff’s cruiser pulled into Mr. York’s driveway. I groaned when the driver sauntered up to us.
“What happened here?” Deputy Byron Mills asked.
“Looks like there was a little accident,” Mr. York said, and I giggled at his sarcasm.
I had dated Byron briefly after my husband left me. After three dinners, brawny and brainless was my opinion of him. Brown hair, brown eyes, and a physique that belonged on the cover of a romance novel, but he didn’t do much for me.
However, he didn’t seem to get the message that I wasn’t interested. The best course of action would have been for me to say it outright, but I wasn’t good at confrontation and saying my piece. Instead, I ignored his calls, crossed the street when I saw him coming, and hurried down another aisle in the grocery store before he could say hello.
“Aren’t you going to say hi, Tilly?” Byron asked.
“Hi, Byron.”
“It’s nice to see you again, Tilly. I’ve called you a couple of times. It always goes to voicemail.”
“Really?” I replied, furrowing my brow as if trying to recall the twenty voicemails he’d left in the past month. “I’m sorry about that. I’ve been really busy.”
That seemed to appease him as he took his concentration from me to the fire.
“I thought I saw fireworks out this way from town,” he said.
“That’s because you did,” Mr. York replied. “And that’s what started the fire.”
“Who had them?” Byron asked as he pulled out a small notepad from his back pocket. “Who lit them? They’re going to get some hefty fines. Maybe jail.”
I pursed my lips together and stared at the firemen. It wasn’t my place to answer the question.
“They were on my property,” Mr. York replied. “But I didn’t light them.”
“Why did you have fireworks?” Byron asked.
With a sigh, I stood. “I’m heading back to my house. My dog threw up on my bed before I left and I need to get it cleaned up.”
“Goodnight, Tilly,” the two men said in unison, and I waved at them over my shoulder.
When I returned to the house, the scent of dog poo assaulted me. Apparently, Tinker had become very upset.
“Tinker! Belle!” I yelled.
Belle came around the corner and meowed loudly, then stalked off into the living room. Tinker slinked down the stairs with her tail tucked between her legs.
“It’s okay,” I said as I scratched behind her ears. “I know you didn’t mean to. Let’s get it cleaned up. Who’s my good girl?””
The dog wagged her tail and finally met my gaze.
I grabbed some paper towels and carpet cleaner from the kitchen, then went upstairs, the smells getting stronger. As I surveyed the damage to my comforter and the area rug in my room, I knew I would be in for a long night of cleaning.
While pulling the sheets from my bed, I couldn’t help but wonder who had lit the fireworks, and why.
It was definitely a mystery, but I’d leave the sleuthing to the police.
2
My alarm didn’t wake me the next morning—Tinker did with her barking as she ran down the stairs.
With a groan, I rolled over and saw that my alarm had been set to go off in ten minutes. The cleanup from last night had taken far longer than I anticipated, and those extra ten minutes would have been nice.
Tinker continued barking and I finally heard someone knocking on my front door. They obviously weren’t going away and Tinker wasn’t going to shut up… so my day had begun.
I pulled on my robe and headed downstairs.
“I’m coming!” I yelled as another knock sounded, hoping I didn’t sound too angry, when really, I’d have liked nothing more than to give the person who had stolen those precious ten minutes from me a piece of my mind. However, I’d been raised in the heartland and down south, and mama made sure I knew not to be rude, even when I wanted to be.
My neighbor, Minnie Johnson, stood on my porch.
“Hi, Tilly,” she said. “I was wondering if you’d seen my cows, but I can see you just rolled out of bed.”
“You’re right,” I replied with a yawn. “I haven’t seen them.”
Minnie was a few years older than me, twice divorced and had a son who was away at college. We weren’t exactly friends because I had absolutely nothing in common with her, but we were neighborly. She wanted to always do things like hike, take a bike ride, or do pull-ups in the barn, and I preferred to read in my spare time. That’s why she had the body of a super model and I resembled a marshmallow.
“What’s that smell?” she asked, crinkling her nose. “Did Tinker have an accident?”
“You can still smell it?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Darn it,” I said with a sigh. “I was up for hours cleaning the mess last night.”
“Did Tinker get scared?”
“Yes. She threw up and pooped all over my bedroom from the fireworks.”
“That was something else, wasn’t it?” Minnie asked. “That’s when the cows got loose. The fireworks scared them to death and they busted right through the fence.”
I simply nodded because the truth was, Minnie’s cows, Tulip and Sunflower, were always loose. She could usually find them eating the nectarines in the Ruperts’ yard, but cows would run from the fire, not to it.
“I’d better get going,” Minnie said with a wave. “I’ve got to find them before they hurt themselves.”
