Murder in the Rose Garden: A Scent with Love Cozy Mystery (Scent with Love Cozy Mysteries) (4 page)

Beth stopped
at Allison’s Diner for a cup of coffee. It was lunchtime and the diner was
full. Allison stood behind the counter chatting to her customers; two young women
in jeans and matching pink tee-shirts hurried about with plates of yummy-looking
food. The food smelled great and Beth suddenly felt hungry—she had been living
on sandwiches at the lodge and a good hearty meal would go down well. Beth sat
down on a tall stool at the dark wood main counter, which ran the length of the
shop. Allison Landon smiled at her from behind an antique cash register.

“Hello,
Beth. I was wondering when you would come by.”

Allison was a
hefty woman with scraggly red hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head and
kept in place by a brown velvet scrunchy.  She was well endowed and the top
button of her shirt looked like it was about to pop off under the weight of her
breasts. Beth could see right through to the kitchen, where a man with short
curly hair and black sunken eyes was shouting orders and inspecting plates
before they went out. He was thin and his face looked tired. He was angry about
a plate of food that was about to go out and started shouting frantically at a well-built
man with dark oily hair and olive skin who appeared to be the grill operator.

“We can’t
send plates out like this,” yelled Johnny Landon.

Allison followed
Beth’s gaze. “That’s my Johnny, always in the kitchen. Loves to cook; he used
to be the head chef at La Petit Paris in New York but he had to leave all of
that after his diagnosis. Leukemia.”

Suddenly
Allison’s comment after her mother’s memorial made sense; her mother was
probably supplying Johnny Landon with medical marijuana. That would explain why
Allison had said she had been such a great help. Beth felt proud of her mom;
her heart really was in the right place.

“What can I
get you, honey?” asked Allison just as one of the waitresses walked by with a
plate of shrimp and scallops cooked in a creamy garlic sauce, served on a bed
of linguine with a sprinkling of parmesan and black pepper.

“Could I
have one of those please?” said Beth and pointed at the pasta.

“Sure thing,
and what can I get you to drink?”

“I’ll have a
glass of water with a slice of lemon please.”

A middle-aged
man in light blue cotton shorts and a white golf shirt was at the counter
paying his bill. He looked over at Beth, gave her a cheeky grin, winked and
said, “Don’t forget to take a brownie. Allison makes the best brownies in
town.”

A look of
anger darted across Allison’s face; she quickly tried to hide it with a smile.
“Bert! Leave the woman be. Johnny hasn’t finished today’s batch yet.” She
pointed to the brownies in a large glass cake tray with a glass cover and said,
“Those are two days old. I was planning on giving them to the staff.”

Bert laughed,
stuck his hand in under the glass cover and grabbed a brownie. “If these are
old, then I’m sure you won’t mind me taking one.”

Allison
rolled her eyes at Bert and called Beth’s order in to the kitchen.

Beth drove
up to her
mother’s cottage and parked her car under the wooden pergola in front of the
garage.  The pergola was covered in pink flowering roses which provided a
welcome bit of shade. She remembered her mother mentioning that she had taken
on the pergola project shortly after purchasing the cottage; she called it her
rambling rose garden.

The cottage
was perched on a large cliff overlooking the ocean. The exterior walls were
painted blue with white window frames, white railings around the porch and a
bright red front door.

Beth smiled
to herself at the sight of the front door.
Just like Mom
, she thought,
not satisfied with a boring wooden door like everyone else, so she painted hers
bright red.

The cottage
was nestled on half an acre of land with a lovely green lawn and flower beds
laid out to resemble those of an English country garden. Her mother’s roses
were in full bloom—it almost felt to Beth as if they had all decided to flower
at exactly the same time as a final tribute to the woman who had so lovingly
tended to them. Beth remembered how run down the cottage had been and how terrible
the garden had looked when her mother bought the place. Years of neglect had put
other buyers off but her mother had seen it as a challenge. She had spent most
of her spare time bringing her dream of an English cottage and country garden
to life and by the looks of things she had done a fantastic job.

Beth walked
the stone path to the front door, passing a round three-tiered water feature on
the front lawn. She heard the sound of running water and chattering birds as
they fought for a spot in the top bowl of the water feature which appeared to
be a good spot to take a bath. She stopped to admire the red antique ladies’
Schwinn bicycle parked against the railing of the front porch before knocking
on the door. There was no answer. Beth knocked again. She was certain that
Bernard was at home—she had seen his car through the garage window. After what
seemed like forever, she heard the sound of footsteps and heard someone
fumbling with the latch.

The door
cracked open and she heard Bernard’s familiar grating voice. “Who is it?” Beth
could hear Bernard’s rasping as he struggled to catch his breath and regain his
composure.

“It’s me,
Beth. I came over hoping to go through some of Mom’s things.”

“Oh…you
caught me a bit by surprise. I wish you had called first,” replied Bernard from
behind the door.

Beth wedged
her foot in the door, sensing that Bernard was hiding something. “Let me in
please.”

Bernard pushed
back hard against the door from the inside of the cottage. “Just a minute…” She
heard the creaking of a second set of footsteps on the wooden floor.

“Who is in
there? Let me in now.”

Beth threw
her weight against the door, flinging it open. Bernard stood in the entrance;
hall his shirt was creased and the top two buttons were open. Beth stormed into
the kitchen and found a pretty, petite silver-haired woman with hazel eyes at
the kitchen table. Beth recognized her immediately. It was Jack Reynolds’ secretary,
Olivia. Beth had met her when she had gone to see Jack about her mother’s will.
Olivia was wearing her mother’s dressing gown, her hair was disheveled and her
pink lipstick was smudged across her top lip.

“Bernard,
what is going on?” asked Olivia. At the sound of her husky voice Bernard turned
into a blubbering fool. He looked as if he was about to pass out.

“This is
Elizabeth, Mary-Ellen’s daughter,” he replied with a heavy sigh and placed his
right hand on his forehead.

Olivia gave
Beth a guilty smile and extended a slender brown hand. Her fingernails were
painted orange; the color seemed misplaced. It was far too bright for a woman
her age.

“Hi, Beth.
Bernard, honey, I know who Beth is, she came around to see Jack earlier this
week. I told you all about her little visit, dear, you really need to pay more
attention.”

Beth glared
at Bernard. “Why is this woman in my mother’s house? Were you cheating on her?
Did you know about her cancer?” The words rolled off her tongue quickly,
betraying her anger and shock.

Bernard let
out a sob. “I had no idea about the cancer,” he wailed. “The first I heard
about it was when Doc Jennings told me about it when I called him out to the
house the afternoon I discovered her body. I was just as shocked as you when I found
out.  I assumed that the cancer was the reason for her suicide.”

Beth
interrupted him. “Why would someone who had gone into remission commit
suicide?”

“I don’t
know. I asked Doc Jennings, and he thought that perhaps the drugs she was
taking had made her depressed. He said it was quite common for cancer patients
to suffer from depression.”

Beth got up,
put the kettle on for some tea and took a seat at the kitchen table. A large
blue-and-white pot full of fresh roses stood in the middle of the table. The
pot looked like those she had seen at the shop.

Beth pointed
at Olivia. “And her? Are you having an affair with this woman?”

 Bernard
placed his head in his hands and nodded as he let out a sob. His hair, which
was usually combed to the side, had fallen back to reveal a shiny bald head.
His sharp beaked nose had become red and jutted out sharply from the softness
of his round pudgy cheeks. Beth couldn’t bear to look at him so she focused her
attention on the roses.

 “Olivia and
I have been seeing each other for a few months…” Beth looked at him, her eyes
daring him to tell the truth. “Nine months, Olivia and I have been seeing each
other for nine months.  Your mother was just so busy, she was always in and out
of the shop—she even did the deliveries herself. I felt a little left out. The
shop was doing so well and when she told me about her plans to open a second
branch I just lost it. She had been promising to slow down, scale back and
appoint more staff but nothing ever came of it. I wanted to spend more time
traveling but she only had time for her rose garden and the shop. We had just
grown apart.”

What did he
mean about the shop doing well financially? Beth was almost sure he was lying,
trying to cover his tracks.

Beth grilled
him a little more. “Aunt Genie told me you have developed a bit of a gambling
habit.”

Olivia snorted
sarcastically and placed her arm of Bernard’s shoulder to comfort him. “Bernard
doesn’t gamble. That is the excuse he used to give your mother when he came to
see me; he would tell her he had a poker night with the boys.”

Olivia
looked like a smart woman; she took care of her appearance and she was well
spoken.
She exuded an air of confidence, the kind that women develop
after years of practice at getting weak-minded men who acceded to their every
whim.

Beth
wondered what on earth she saw in Bernard. Perhaps the dating pool became so
small once you hit your sixties that anything with a heartbeat would do. Or
perhaps a more plausible explanation was that Olivia was after Bernard’s money.
The problem was that in reality he didn’t have any.

Beth was
desperate; she didn’t want to let Bernard and Olivia in on all that she knew
but she would have to try and find out if they were hiding anything.

“Bernard, I
am convinced that Mom’s death was not suicide… Now can you think of anything
that she might have done or said in the days leading up to her death, anything
that may give us a clue as to who could have murdered her?”

Bernard’s
hand was trembling. “Are you sure that your mother’s death was murder and not
suicide, Elizabeth? I just can’t imagine anyone wanting to harm her.” Beth
nodded solemnly. She didn’t have proof but her gut told her she was right.

“Well I
don’t know, she seemed a little distracted in the days before her death. She
had a lot of deliveries to get through and I do recall Sheriff Hunter coming
round the day before her death…Yes that’s right, I saw them arguing out on the
front lawn the day before Mary-Ellen died. I had just gotten back from the post
office and I was surprised to find your mother at home. The sheriff was in a
terrible mood—he thundered out of here, barely even greeted me. Your mother
told me that he had come to see her about the blackmail letters she had been
getting, but now that I think of it, they could have been arguing about
something else.”

Sheriff
Hunter’s name sure seemed to be coming up a lot. Beth wondered what they had
argued about the day before her mother died. She wondered if she could trust
Bernard—after all he had been sleeping with Olivia behind her mother’s back.

Beth sipped
the last of her tea and looked over at Bernard, who was a pale, trembling mess.
Olivia on the other hand looked fine. She didn’t seem surprised to hear that Mary-Ellen’s
death was not a suicide.

“One more
thing, can the two of you tell me where you were last Tuesday afternoon?”

Olivia gave
Beth an icy stare. “I was out riding my bike with Bernard. Isn’t that right,
honey?” Bernard looked at her bobbing head and nodded his head in agreement.

“Yes, we
took a ride out to the top of Lavender Hill. Olivia has been helping me get
back into shape.”

“Did anyone
see you out at Lavender Hill?” asked Beth.

“I’m not
sure, I can’t remember seeing anyone,” replied Olivia.
How convenient.

“One last
thing, I have been trying to trace someone by the name of P. Pots; you don’t
perhaps know where I might find them?”

Olivia
answered her. “I know a Piper Pots.  She is Betty Mitchel’s niece. She has been
staying with her since last November when her mother died.”

This was getting
weirder by the minute. Beth decided that she needed to talk to Sheriff Hunter
and Piper Pots. She wasn’t sure how to go about it without raising the sheriff’s
suspicions but perhaps Chase would be able to give her some advice.

Beth left
Bernard and Olivia in the kitchen and headed out to her car. It was late
afternoon and Hannah would have closed the shop by now to do the afternoon
deliveries. She needed to talk to Chase about what she had learned before going
to see the sheriff, so she decided to take the scenic route back to Millie’s
for a stroll on the beach. A long walk on the beach sounded like a good idea,
the perfect opportunity to collect her thoughts.