Murder Under the Covered Bridge

Copyright Information

Murder Under the Covered Bridge: A Bucket List Mystery
© 2016 by Elizabeth Perona.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Midnight Ink, except in the form of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

As the purchaser of this ebook, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. The text may not be otherwise reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or recorded on any other storage device in any form or by any means.

Any unauthorized usage of the text without express written permission of the publisher is a violation of the author's copyright and is illegal and punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

First e-book edition © 2016

E-book ISBN: 9780738748627

Book format by Teresa Pojar

Cover design by Lisa Novak

Cover illustration by Greg Newbold/Bold Strokes Illustration, Inc

Editing by Nicole Nugent

Midnight Ink is an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Perona, Elizabeth, author.

Title: Murder under the covered bridge / Elizabeth Perona.

Description: First edition. | Woodbury, Minnesota : Midnight Ink, [2016] |

Series: A bucket list mystery ; 2

Identifiers: LCCN 2016003100 (print) | LCCN 2016007210 (ebook) | ISBN

9780738748054 | ISBN 9780738748627 ()

Subjects: LCSH: Murder—Investigation—Fiction. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.

Classification: LCC PS3616.E74975 M88 2016 (print) | LCC PS3616.E74975

(ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23

LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2016003100

Midnight Ink does not participate in, endorse, or have any authority or responsibility concerning private business arrangements between our authors and the public.

Any Internet references contained in this work are current at publication time, but the publisher cannot guarantee that a specific reference will continue or be maintained. Please refer to the publisher's website for links to current author websites.

Midnight Ink

Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

2143 Wooddale Drive

Woodbury, MN 55125

www.midnightinkbooks.com

Manufactured in the United States of America

Dedication

To all the dreamers out there, keep dreaming and working toward your dreams! Perseverance matters.
—Tony

To Isaac, I'm so glad that God chose me to be your mommy and have you join our family. I'm so looking forward to watching you grow. Love you, Goober!
—Liz

Acknowledgments

First, as alway
s, I thank God. For everything. Were it not for his peace, this book would never have found its way to completion. There were many early mornings he shaped, prodded, and manipulated me as well as my writing in ways I still don't understand. But I am grateful.

And I am grateful to my co-author and “Elizabeth Perona” partner, my daughter Liz Dombrosky. Thank you for making this series and this book possible.

A number of people contributed to this book, and for that I want to acknowledge their help. First, the genesis for this book was a long time coming. It was first suggested to me more than five years ago by Doug Weisheit, a cousin who was involved with the Covered Bridge Festival. Thank you, Doug! I also want to acknowledge the staff of the Rockville Public Library, who helped with the research for this book. The manager of the Rock Run Café and Bakery, which is located just outside the Roseville Bridge as described in the book, provided much lore about Doc Wheat—who really did exist, though I have enhanced his legend quite a bit. The Rock Run owners also have allowed me to use their wonderful café as a location in this book. Their food and hospitality are well worth the drive. Please check them out.

I also wish to thank Parke County Sheriff Justin Cole and Deputy Sheriff Jason Frazier for helping me with their expertise about the county and law enforcement details. The Parke County Highway Department also provided some historic details about bridge fires and how they have tried to stem them in modern times, although for dramatic purposes I have not chosen to include some of them. Plainfield Police staff, especially Capt. Jill Lees, Lt. Gary Tanner, and Det. Scott Ardnt, also provided their expertise, as did Fire Chief Brian Russell. Any mistakes in this manuscript are mine as the author, and not theirs.

My aunt, Nancee Margison, has helped in a great number of ways with this series, all of which shall remain a mystery to the general public for now.

The character of Joy McQueen is named for reader Joy McQueen, who won the right to have a character named after her in a contest. I hope she continues to enjoy this series.

I am privileged to be a member of an incredible writers group, the Indiana Writers Workshop, and I wish to acknowledge their help with this manuscript. It is so much better because of their critiques: David Ballard, Teri Barnett, Pete Cava, John and June Clair, Steve Heininger, Sylvia Hyde, Cheryl Shore, and Steve Wynalda. I also want to acknowledge IWW member Lucy Schilling, who passed away during the writing of this manuscript. She was a marvelous writer, and I miss her friendship and her critiques. I also appreciate the support of the local Speed City Chapter of Sisters in Crime, of which I am a member (a Mister Sister).

Midnight Ink has a great staff to work with! Special thanks to our editors, Terri Bischoff and Nicole Nugent, and to our publicist, Katie Mickschl. They make it a pleasure to be part of the Midnight Ink family.

None of this, of course, would have taken place without the love and support of my wife, Debbie. Thank you, Deb! And I appreciate the support of my daughter and son-in-law Katy and Taylor Jenkins as well as Liz's husband, Tim, who have all been troopers about this book business. I am blessed to have such a marvelous family.—Tony

First, I'd like to thank God for granting me this opportunity. I never in my wildest dreams saw myself on this crazy journey with my dad, and I'm just so thankful that He saw fit to make it happen.

Thanks Dad, for inviting me along to do this with you. It's been a blast, and I'm looking forward to more books!

I'd also like to thank my husband, Tim, for continuing to cheer me on and spend a little extra time entertaining our kids, so I can write, edit, and do appearances. I love you!

And finally, I'm thankful for nap time, a little bit of quiet time to get stuff done. Kidding, kind of. ;)—Liz

one

“Is Joy nervous or
is she just cold?” Francine whispered to Charlotte. “Her microphone is shaking.”

Francine McNamara and Charlotte Reinhardt shivered in the cold morning air as they stood and watched their friend Joy McQueen fumble the intro for her television spot again. Joy was the correspondent on senior living for the local ABC affiliate as well as an occasional reporter for
Good Morning America.
She'd landed the job after she and the other members of their Summer Ridge Bridge Club gained widespread notoriety for a
skinny-dipping
party with an uninvited guest. A dead body. Francine would later quip during a Dr. Oz show on seniors staying in shape, “I don't usually have that effect on people.”

“She's cold. That Channel Six jacket they make her wear is form-
fitting enough to look stylish, but it has no insulation whatsoever. And God knows Joy needs the insulation. How many seniors our age can wear those skinny jeans the kids have without looking ridiculous?”

Francine had to admit Joy's wardrobe alone made her look a good ten years younger than the other
seventy-somethings
in their Bridge Club. Joy was thin as a rail. She could shop at J.Crew and leave with a bagful of clothes that actually fit. Francine, though more physically fit than the rest of them, was usually assumed by clerks to be shopping for her grandchildren. Which, truthfully, was usually the only reason she would set foot in J.Crew.

“Joy, what's wrong with you today?” Marcy Rosenblatt, Joy's
forty-something
agent, pulled off her headset and let it dangle around her neck. Marcy served as the cameraman for the segment because the Bridge Club did not want people from the news station around. Coverage of the opening day of the Parke County Covered Bridge Festival was designed to divert attention from their real reason for being there: another bucket list item they didn't want anyone to know about. Though Marcy wasn't a part of the Bridge Club, she knew what was going on. “You usually whip this stuff out in two takes, ten minutes maximum.”

Joy threw her an icy stare. “I'm cold.”

“Told ya,” Charlotte whispered. “And I don't blame her. The skies were clear last night and the temperature got down to freezing. It may be early October, but the frost, as they say, is on the punkin'.”

Francine raised an eyebrow at Charlotte's paraphrase of the James Whitcomb Riley poem. Charlotte, a
white-haired
, short, plump woman wearing an orange down jacket, looked like a pumpkin with frost on her top. Francine, on the other hand, was tall and wearing a tan Burberry raincoat that was not warm but long enough to cover the rented costume underneath it.

“By the way,” Charlotte added, “have I told you yet that you look like a flasher in that raincoat and those
high-heel
laced-up
leather boots? Aren't you cold?”

“Yes, I'm cold. And if Joy doesn't get the intro done soon, I'm going to yank that microphone away from her and do it myself.”

Francine had high hopes for Joy's next try, which was going well until Marcy cut her short. “You're a professional,” Marcy said. “I need more enthusiasm. Tell me how these bridges are living history. Use that line from five takes ago about practically being able to hear the
clip-clop
of horses' hooves coming through the bridge a century ago when the structure was rebuilt after the fire. Then introduce Francine to tell the story of her
great-grandmother
. Then get out. The segment isn't supposed to be that long, anyway.”

Joy paused for Marcy to get the camera going.

“All this week we'll be out here in Parke County at the Covered Bridge Festival,” Joy said in reporter mode. “Today's opening isn't for a couple of hours, but I wanted you to get a look at one of these historic bridges this morning.” She stood off to the side so Marcy could do a
close-up
. “This is the Roseville Bridge. Two hundred
sixty-three
feet long with beautiful
barn-red
siding and a shingled roof that protects anyone inside. Can't you just hear the
clip-clop
of the horses'
hooves echoing through the expanse as it pulls a carriage across? I've got a story for you today from Francine McNamara, whose
great-grandmother
was one of those carriage riders at the turn of the twentieth century.”

Joy indicated for Francine to join her on camera. Francine hurried to do so before Marcy demanded another take.

“Francine, tell us a little about this bridge and how it fits into your family's history.” She tilted her microphone toward Francine.

“My
great-grandmother
became the black sheep of the family as result of riding through this very bridge. She was secretly in love with her carriage driver, and when she was being driven from Rockville back to the family homestead, a storm blew up. While they waited out the storm, the physical attraction was too much. With no one to chaperone, they surrendered to temptation.”

Francine was getting ready to add another sentence, but Joy whipped the microphone away. “Oh, my! What happened to them then?”

“When my
great-grandmother
showed signs of being with child, the obvious questions led to the carriage driver being dismissed. She was married off quickly to a widower who needed someone to help him take care of his family.”

“Did they ever get back together?”

“We never knew. She outlived her husband but she didn't marry after his death. My grandmother, her daughter, wanted to believe they found each other again before they died, but we have no record that it happened.”

Joy brought the microphone back in front of her and looked straight into the camera. “The story of
star-crossed
lovers and the Roseville Bridge. We'll be bringing you more from the Covered Bridge Festival tomorrow. I'm Joy McQueen.”

Joy and Francine held their poses for a few seconds.

“And we're out,” Marcy said. She held up a hand. “High five!” Joy clapped it in the air.

Francine was relieved to have it over with, and now that they had established their alibi, she wanted to move on. “I'm freezing in this outfit. I'll see you inside.”

She hustled into the covered bridge and made her way toward the center, where they had set up a photo shoot. A carriage much like the one her family had owned a long time ago was in the middle of the set, surrounded by lights. Jonathan, her husband, was inside the carriage waiting. Francine stopped when she reached the circle of lights, taking in the warmth. “That feels glorious.”

Jonathan stuck his head out. “What took you so long?”

“Joy had issues. It's fine.”

Francine heard Charlotte's cane clicking on the floor of the bridge as she caught up. “How come you didn't mention the fire?” Charlotte asked as she made it to Francine's side. “The one that burned down Roseville Bridge the first time.”

“It had already been rebuilt. It really isn't pertinent to the love story. Besides, I was in a hurry to get my part done once Joy got through hers okay. She's not usually like that.”

Charlotte stood in front of one of the lights, hogging its warmth. “I'll say. She's usually quite the talker.”

Francine unbuttoned her raincoat. “I guess I'm warm enough for the photo shoot.”

“Good,” Charlotte said. “Yours is the last photo we need for the pinup calendar.”

As Francine pulled off the jacket, she wondered why she'd even suggested the complicated photo shoot for her part in the calendar. The idea of doing racy photographs had been Charlotte's. Each of the women had made a Sixty List of the top sixty things they'd like to do before they died. Francine didn't understand why this one was so important that it couldn't have waited until after the Covered Bridge Festival was over. As far as she knew, Charlotte wasn't going to keel over anytime soon. But once Charlotte got a notion in her head, it was hard to change. Francine had learned over the years it was often easier just to humor her.

She was surprised, however, that Jonathan had been so accommodating. He'd agreed to
re-create
the historic scene between
long-ago
lovers, arranged for the carriage and the horse, made the trip from the horse barn to the Roseville Bridge this morning in time for them to do the photo shoot, and even went with Francine to the costume shop to try on his clothes. “Might as well make sure they fit,” he'd said. Francine wondered if maybe this hadn't been something of a fantasy
turn-on
for him.

She handed her raincoat to Charlotte and stripped off the white blouse that she'd worn over the costume. At first she'd been appalled at what the costume store had in stock as a “naughty Victorian,” but Jonathan's reaction had been so
eye-popping
she'd decided to go with it. Her undergarment was a lacy
see-through
chemise with its hemline shortened so that it dropped only a few inches below her buttocks. Over that was a red and black lace corset that emphasized her bust. The boots were a little too dominatrix for her, but it was a package rental.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Charlotte held up the raincoat.

“I don't know. It's not warm but it's my good raincoat, so I don't want it on the dusty floor. We can't have it in the carriage. It would be historically inaccurate.”

“Like your entire outfit isn't historically inaccurate.” Charlotte looked around for something to hang it on.

“Let's call it a variant on historically accurate. At least we know they wore chemises and corsets.”

Francine opened the door to the carriage and placed the blouse in a corner where it wouldn't be seen by the camera. She was thankful Jonathan had tied the horse to a tree outside the bridge. She felt a general unease around large animals. And as Joy said, animals can be unpredictable and you don't want to be upstaged by one. Joy's other camera, the one she used for photography, was sitting on a tripod aimed inside the carriage's open window. Francine pointed to it.

“Maybe you could hang it here, at least until Joy gets back to take the photos,” she told Charlotte. “Where has Joy gotten to, anyway?”

“I'll go find her.” Charlotte threw the coat over the camera and started back toward the entrance to the bridge. Francine noticed Charlotte seemed to be more interested in checking out the features of the bridge than hurrying to retrieve Joy. Or maybe she was tired.

“What happened to Joy and Marcy?” Jonathan asked as she climbed in the carriage.

“I have no idea. I want to get this photo shoot done as much as the next person.”

“I
am
that next person, and I definitely want it done.”

Francine eased into the space next to him. He lifted the wool blanket he was using to stay warm and she nestled under it, trying to get comfortable. Jonathan's costume was a white,
long-sleeve
shirt unbuttoned to the navel and the pants a working coach driver would have worn,
well-constructed
but stiff. His boots were shiny, black, and heavy. “I really appreciate your humoring me.”

“When you said we were going to
re-create
a historical event, I thought maybe you were getting into reenactment, not something out of your family's scandalous past. Until then, I didn't realize your family had a scandalous past.”

“Didn't want to scare you off at first, but now that we've been married
forty-eight
years, I supposed it was okay to let it out.”

“I still find it hard to believe it was Charlotte's idea to do a nude calendar.”

“It's not a
nude
calendar. A sexy pinup calendar. Like men used to hang in their garages back in the 1940s, when times were innocent.”

“You know what I mean. I can't believe Charlotte had that on her Sixty List.”

The items were still something of a secret to anyone except the ladies, but the fact that the Summer Ridge Bridge Club members had lists wasn't—not since the Friederich Guttmann Incident. Guttmann was a race car mechanic whose body had been discovered at the
skinny-dipping
party, high on Joy's list (#10 Go
Skinny-Dipping
). The whole nightmare ended with Charlotte checking off her top item (#1 Solve Murder Mystery), though it hadn't been as easy as all that. Francine shuddered at the thought of Friederich's dead body, even though she felt secure with Jonathan right beside her.

“It's not even all that far up on the list. Something like
thirty-nine
, Be a Sexy Calendar Girl.”

“I'm sorry, but the last one of your friends I want to imagine nude is Charlotte.”

“Jonathan!” Francine said disapprovingly. She may have agreed with him in a physical sense, but Charlotte
was
her best friend. And besides, it was not fair to assume that just because a woman might be older, or overweight, or had a face that looked a bit grumpy when she wasn't smiling, that meant she didn't have a sexy side or wouldn't look desirable under the right conditions. “First of all, I've seen Charlotte's photograph. She is not nude, and it reveals a side of her that people never see. I'm sure Philip found her desirable.” Philip was Charlotte's husband who had died in his
mid-fifties
of a heart attack.

“You're right. I'm sorry.” He leaned over and kissed her, then brushed his lips against her ear. “But you are still a ‘ten' on my sexy list.”

His warm, gentle breath in her ear made shivers go down her spine. “Let's not do that in here, okay? We're just pretending for the camera.”