Murder pays a call, p.1
Murder Pays a Call, page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Murder Pays a Call
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
Reader Discussion Guide
About the Author
Books by Nancy J. Cohen
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Copyright © 2025 by Nancy J. Cohen
MURDER PAYS A CALL
Published by Orange Grove Press
Printed in the United States of America
Digital ISBN: 978-1-952886-36-2
Print ISBN: 978-1-952886-37-9
Edited by Marsha Zinberg at The Write Touch
Cover Design by Kim Killion at The Killion Group, Inc.
Interior Design by Judi Fennell at formatting4U.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The text in this work has been human authored without the use of AI.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed for your personal use only. No part of this work may be used, reproduced, stored in an information retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written consent by the author. Any usage of the text, except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, without the author’s permission is a violation of copyright.
Any usage of this book to train generative AI technologies is prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license this work for generative AI training and for machine learning language models.
Chapter One
Keri hurried from the parking lot toward her downtown office in Sunny Grove, Florida. A quick glance at her watch told her she was already late for her phone appointment with Fiona Sullivan. She didn’t like to keep clients waiting, especially not one of her top influencers. Fiona could make or break her business with one scathing remark.
Not that Fiona would ever sink her reputation. She made regular referrals to Keri’s personal concierge agency and had been directly responsible for adding the city’s elite to her customer list. Fiona was more than a valued customer, though. She was also a mentor and a dear friend.
Keri turned the corner onto Broad Street across from Central Park and took a breath of cool, November air. The sidewalk was just as crowded as her busy schedule. Tourists vied with locals for space during the pre-holiday crush. Located just north of Orlando, the historic town was a popular destination at any time of year.
She dodged a couple of women pushing strollers and a guy who was reading a newspaper without looking ahead. At the corner, a woman using a walker struggled to get into the chocolate shop. Keri rushed over to hold the door open for her.
Just a little further along, she reached her office. Stepping inside always gave her a swell of pride. She’d converted the place from a travel agency two years ago. Four desks, two of them currently occupied, faced the storefront windows. File cabinets and bookshelves lined the walls. It looked utilitarian, but she hadn’t had time to soften the décor.
“Hey, guys,” she said, nodding to her employees at the two front desks. Her reserved spot was behind them, next to an unoccupied post. She’d hoped to add a fourth staff member in the new year, but with their proposed rent increase, that goal had been delayed.
Purdy glanced up and tapped his smartwatch. “You’re late, Keryn.” He nearly always used her proper name, not her nickname.
Keri grinned, aware he liked to chide her. It was his way of showing concern. “I know,” she said in a breezy tone. “I just wanted to see that disapproving look on your face. Tell me again what time you arrive every morning.”
His chin lifted. “I put in enough overtime that you owe me. It’s only because I love you that I don’t complain to the boss.”
“I am the boss, mister. Now get back to work.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Purdy adjusted his eyeglasses and focused on his computer. The motion pulled his sport coat taut across his wide shoulders. The fabric’s charcoal color matched his hair, which he kept as neat and trim as his personality.
He’d been a certified accountant in his previous job. Now Purdy served as their office manager, taking charge of the agency’s bookkeeping and vendor contracts. Keri relied on his precision and attention to detail, although he’d confessed that had he been less rigid, it might have saved his marriage. Nonetheless, she appreciated his meticulous approach, as it relieved her of duties she’d rather not perform.
At the adjacent desk, Staz pursed her crimson lips. “Keri, did you call Fiona yet? I know you have an appointment with her.” With her height and sultry dark eyes, Staz—whose real name was Anastasia—could have easily gotten a job as a model. Her name rhymed with pizazz, which Purdy said fit her fashionable style. Today she wore a short black skirt, knee-high boots, and a jade sweater. Large silver hoops peeked out from her chin-length black hair.
Despite her outward appearance, Staz’s brainy side had led her to a degree in information technology. Keri relied on her technical skills to cover the virtual office jobs, website updates, and social media campaigns. She also served as their corporate party planner.
“I’ve been too busy,” Keri replied. “I had to adjust the reservation for the butterfly group’s breakfast on Tuesday. They added four more registrants, and the room only holds thirty. Fortunately, the manager said they could squeeze in a few more chairs.”
Staz’s brow creased beneath her blunt-cut bangs. “You should have notified me. I would have contacted them for you.”
“I know, but it’s already done. Did Fiona send over the signed copies of her contracts?” Keri’s client was old-school and preferred not to transmit sensitive data via email.
“Yes. The packet is on your desk.”
As Staz turned away, Keri sank into her chair and accessed Fiona’s number on her cell phone.
Fiona picked up after two rings. “Keri, I thought you’d forgotten about me. Is everything all right?” She sounded more concerned than annoyed by the delay.
Keri’s posture eased at her reaction. Fiona treated her more like a surrogate granddaughter than a hired assistant. Keri valued her sage advice and appreciated her as a role model. Nearly eighty, Fiona had more energy than most women half her age.
“Yes, I got held up finishing a task. Sorry I’m late.”
“No worries. Let’s get started.” Fiona was a major benefactor for PHEADA—pronounced FEE-dah—a local nonprofit organization. The acronym stood for Preventing Heart Disease through the Arts. Saturday night’s party was their kickoff event for the holiday season, and Keri’s firm was managing the affair.
Fiona dipped right in. “Regarding the catering, I assume you ordered the California rolls. Ossie insisted on sushi, as most people seem to like it.”
Keri winced. Oswald Pittman, president of PHEADA, liked to approve each item and could be a pain with his micromanagement. Then again, Fiona was the same way with details. They were a pair in that regard. Half of Keri’s job was reassuring them that all was in order.
“Everything is on track with the food vendors,” she said. “Tommy Woo will be bringing sushi as part of his menu. All the chefs are excited to participate. They’ve been very generous in donating their time this year.”
“You’ve done a super job in organizing things and getting sponsors, dear. I can’t sing your praises highly enough.”
Keri’s spirits lifted at her words. “We’ve been lucky to have so many participants.”
“That’s due to your efforts. Ossie said to remind you the artists’ easels mustn’t crowd the aisles.”
“Don’t worry. Everyone has been given a set of the rules.”
“And you’ve reconfirmed with the string quartet?”
“They’re all set to go. As for the florist, she’ll start decorating as soon as the doors open.”
“Good; it sounds as though you’ve got everything under control. Did you have a chance to read my fundraiser speech?”
“Yes, and it’s inspirational. I still don’t understand why Ossie won’t take the spotlight, though.”
“He said I’m in charge of the event, so it’s my job. He’d rather work the crowd and charm the donors. You know he’s more of a people person, while I’m the organizer type. He may nitpick the details, but he leaves it up to you and me to run the show.”
I’d agree with you there. Ossie can be annoying, but he means well.
“He i
“This is true. On a personal note, would you be able to take me shopping in the next few days? I’m wearing my sparkly blue top tomorrow night, but I’ll need something new for my birthday party the following weekend.”
Keri pictured Fiona’s silver hair and vibrant green eyes. She preferred bright colors in her ensembles, and along with her penchant for tea, reminded Keri of Queen Elizabeth II.
“For you, I’ll make the time,” she said with genuine fondness. “Speaking of your birthday, we need to review the details when I bring your groceries tomorrow. I’ve received your signed contracts and testimonials, by the way. I’ll look them over to make sure we haven’t missed anything.” Fiona had copied the certificates of appreciation she’d received from town dignitaries and wanted Keri to read them at her milestone celebration.
“There’s something else we need to talk about while I’ve got you,” Fiona said, lowering her voice. “But it’s not a discussion we can have on the phone.”
Fiona sounded so serious that a moment of panic engulfed her. “What is it? You’re not ill, are you?” She’d lost her mother three years ago. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing Fiona, too. Then she’d truly feel alone.
“No, I’m fine,” Fiona reassured her. “It’s just that... I fear I’ve made a terrible mistake. I need to tell you about it in person. You’re the only one I can trust.”
“Now I’m concerned. What kind of mistake?” Had Fiona offended someone in her social circle? Made a rude comment to the wrong person? That would be unlike her.
“We’ll discuss it tomorrow. Maybe I’m imagining things.” Yet her fearful tone told Keri that whatever she felt might have merit.
“O-kay. Should I come earlier?”
“No, no. I know you have a gazillion things to do this time of year. I wish I could still drive, but I can’t seem to find my way these days. I’m lucky to have you to help me.”
Keri’s heartstrings thrummed. If it were up to her, she wouldn’t even charge Fiona, but then Purdy would berate her for being too soft. “We’re lucky to have each other. Is there anything else I can get for you tomorrow, like your favorite chocolate croissant?”
Fiona laughed, but her voice lacked true mirth. “No, thanks. I have some apple strudel that we can eat with our tea. I’ll look forward to seeing you at ten o’clock.”
Keri rang off, curious as to what was on Fiona’s mind. She’d find out soon enough.
Purdy swiveled in his chair to glare at her. “I didn’t hear you mention the horticultural club. You know how much we need to snag their monthly meetings to boost our budget. That income could make up for the rent increase in January.”
Keri sighed, knowing he was right. “I’ll ask Fiona for a recommendation after the PHEADA party. The mayor will be there, along with his entourage tomorrow night, and I’m hoping to make some new connections at this event to bring in more revenue.”
Staz glanced over her shoulder. “Do you want company? I was going to work on the necklace for my jewelry-making class, but I can come along if you need support.”
Keri waved a hand. “I appreciate it, but I’ll manage.” She knew Staz loved her crafting classes, while Keri didn’t have the patience to create art of any kind. She’d rather support the artists. But Staz had given her an idea. Maybe next year, they could include a wider variety of talents at PHEADA events to broaden the appeal.
Work consumed her for the better part of the day, though her mind kept wandering to Fiona’s remarks. What had concerned her so much that she couldn’t tell Keri on the phone?
Purdy stretched and spoke, intruding on her thoughts. “What are you gals doing tonight? I’m heading over to Boxi Park if either of you want to join me.”
Keri shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m going to bed early. I’ve too much to do tomorrow.”
Purdy might enjoy the Friday night scene at Boxi Park, but it was a far drive for her. He’d do well enough by himself, though. Short and stout, he wasn’t the type you’d think would attract women, but each outing netted him new admirers. Keri suspected he turned on his wit and charm away from the office.
“It’s tempting, but I’ll still be here making phone calls,” Staz said with a pout. “I got a request from a woman who makes holiday wreathes to see if we can find her a spot at a seasonal festival. It’s almost impossible to get an opening at this late date.”
Purdy snorted. “Good luck with that.”
“Check with the churches if you can’t find any space at town events,” Keri suggested. “They all hold bazaars this time of year and might have spots available. You could try the farmer’s markets, too.”
Staz gave her a grateful nod. “I will, thanks. Before I forget, your friend Lora from the print shop emailed me the proofs for our Christmas cards. I hope it was okay that I gave my approval.”
“Sure. That’s one more thing off our list.” Keri sifted through the clutter on her desktop, searching for the manila envelope Fiona had sent. She’d better review the vendor contracts for her party before their meeting tomorrow. Oh, there it was.
When she dumped the contents on her desk, a photo fell out from among the papers.
Whoa, what’s this?
She lifted the picture. An attractive woman with wavy red hair and green eyes clung to the arm of an older gentleman in a tuxedo. He had a cigar stuck in his mouth, while the redhead wore a black cocktail dress with a star-shaped brooch and sparkly earrings.
Wait a minute. That woman looks like Fiona, only a younger version. A glance at the back showed no date stamp or other imprint.
“Look, this picture was inside Fiona’s package,” she told her staff. “I’m not sure if she meant to include it or not.”
Purdy spun around and squinted at it. “Maybe she wants you to make a collage for her birthday. You can ask her tomorrow. She might have sent this as a reminder.”
“She has been forgetful lately, so you could be right. A collage is a great idea.” Keri snapped a picture of the image to keep on her phone and stuck the print in her purse. She’d return it to Fiona in the morning.
Another thought surfaced. Could this photo be related to what Fiona intended to tell her? If so, it made tomorrow’s appointment even more imperative.
Chapter Two
Keri bounded from her car at ten o’clock on Saturday morning, anxious to see Fiona and get the scoop on what was bothering her. Having been to the farmer’s market earlier, she collected her grocery bags from the backseat, locked the doors, and approached the two-story Mediterranean-style house bordering Lake Belfrey.
A couple of damp, plastic-wrapped newspapers lay on the lawn. Fiona usually brought them inside to read with her breakfast. Why were they still here?
She scooped up the Orlando Sentinel and Sunny Grove Gazette, shook them out and tucked them into one of her bags. As she approached the entrance, she noticed the front drapes remained closed. That was odd. Fiona liked to let in the sunlight as soon as dawn arrived. Maybe she’d overslept, although that rarely happened.
Could Fiona be sick? Despite her reassurance on the phone, something could be ailing her. Fear struck Keri as a vision of her mother’s collapse and trip to the hospital arose in her mind. Mom had died of a massive stroke a few days later. Surely, nothing similar would happen now.
Her palms sweaty, Keri hastened up the porch steps and rang the doorbell.
Nobody answered. She twisted the knob and gave a sigh of relief when the door opened. Fiona must have unlocked it. Maybe she was upstairs getting dressed.
“Fiona, I’m here,” Keri called from the foyer.
When her friend didn’t respond, Keri set down the shopping bags along with her purse on a side table. Familiar with the house, she walked through the high-ceilinged living and dining rooms, which were furnished with expensive antiques. The smell of lemon polish lingered throughout.
Fiona wasn’t in sight, nor did Keri find her in the kitchen. The place was quiet, without a kettle on the stove or a teapot in sight. The granite countertops were empty except for a toaster, a coffeemaker, and a ceramic utensil holder. Not even a crumb showed on the smooth surface.
Why wasn’t Fiona there making tea? They always sat together and enjoyed refreshments during her visits. Fiona had even mentioned serving apple strudel on the phone.
