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  A Crafty Killing

  Firefly Junction Cozy Mystery #10

  London Lovett

  Wild Fox Press

  A Crafty Killing

  Copyright © 2021 by London Lovett

  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.

  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

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Death at the Museum

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  He's bringing flowers." Edward's scoffing tone drifted from somewhere behind me as I poured myself a cup of coffee. "He has them hidden behind his back as if to surprise you."

  I turned around with a sigh. "I guess there's no such thing as a surprise when you have a nosy ghost in the house. You're like Mrs. Tuttle, the little blue haired lady who lived across from us in my old neighborhood. She would sit on her porch pretending to read a newspaper, but she was really just spying on all of us. She was a stool pigeon too. She couldn't wait to let my parents know that I'd hit a baseball through Mr. Garner's garage window. Even though I had every intention of confessing to it . . . eventually . . . once I'd worked up the courage."

  Edward's image sharpened. He was leaning against the kitchen counter. "I understood little of your story about an odd woman with, of all things, blue hair, and pigeons that sit on stools but when I was a young buck, like what's his name, the women brought me gifts for St. Valentine's Day. I'd receive all manner of trinkets from silk handkerchiefs and cherry pies to hand painted cards, perfume scented, of course." He momentarily drifted off into one of his long lost memories. A devilish grin curled his mouth. "One woman even sent me a pair of her knickers with my name embroidered right across—" He popped out of his moment of reverie with a sheepish expression. Something told me I had just been the first person in history to witness a ghostly blush.

  The front door opened. The dogs raced toward the entry to greet Jackson.

  "I suppose my progeny has to work harder than me at courtship because he didn't inherit my superior appearance and charm," Edward said as I headed out of the kitchen.

  I stopped in the doorway and shook my head at him. "I wonder if there is some kind of a directory or online site where I can swap my ghost for one with a touch more humility."

  My pace picked up when Jackson's deep voice rolled down the hallway as he greeted the dogs. His smile widened and he pulled a bouquet of roses out from behind his back. I'd already been practicing my pleasantly surprised expression on my trip down the hall.

  "Flowers! But it's not even Valentine's Day yet."

  "It's not? Then I guess I should take these back." He teasingly pulled them out of reach.

  I had to reach around his back to grab them. He wrapped his arm around me and held me close for a kiss.

  "Good lord, here they go again," Edward moaned. "In my day, kisses were not given so freely."

  Jackson interrupted our kiss to respond. (Their banter was so commonplace, I expected no less.) "Well, Gramps, that's because back in your day there was no toothpaste or breath mints." Jackson focused back on me. "Kisses weren't nearly as enjoyable." He pressed his mouth against mine again. I wasn't fooling myself. The second kiss was more to annoy Edward than for affection. That still didn't make it any less pleasant. Jackson was one heck of a kisser no matter what the motive.

  Jackson's plan worked. Edward vanished (although I was certain he hadn't gone far).

  "I've got a pot of coffee on." I waved the flowers toward the kitchen. "I'll put these in some water."

  Newman had sat himself like a sentry in front of Jackson. The dog stared up at him with his multi colored eyes and a please, please, please throw the ball expression. Jackson patted his head. "I think I better toss a ball for this guy before coffee."

  "Oh, would you? I haven't had a chance to take him outside to play. I've also got some of Emily's tasty cinnamon coffee cake. I'll heat you a piece to go with the coffee."

  "Sounds good." Both dogs trotted enthusiastically behind Jackson as he walked out to the yard.

  I pulled a glass vase out from under the kitchen sink and took a moment to smell the lush red roses as the vase filled with water. I hurried the process when my phone rang. I plunged the flowers into the water and answered Emily's call.

  "Jackson and I are just about to polish off that coffee cake. Let's absolutely put it on the breakfast menu for the inn. It's delicious."

  "Great. I'm glad you like it. Nick thought there was too much cinnamon in the topping."

  I cut off a slice of the coffee cake. The warm scent of cinnamon wafted up to my nose. "Don't think it's possible to have too much cinnamon. I think it's just the right amount." I placed the cake into the microwave for a quick warming. Spicy aroma filled the kitchen, immediately sparking a nostalgic memory of a childhood Christmas where we made snickerdoodles for Santa.

  "I called to let you know that our big sister has decided she wants us to meet the new guy," Emily chirped excitedly. "We're thinking about having a sweetheart's dinner on Wednesday. What do you think?"

  "I can't believe it. Lana is actually going to introduce us to the mystery man?" My older sister had been divorced for years. She rarely dated, mostly because she was far too busy to meet people. At least, that was her excuse. Emily and I theorized it had more to do with the bitter breakup she'd endured with her first husband. It had turned her against the idea of ever falling in love again. We'd only learned about this new man through our mutual friend, Raine. She hadn't told Raine anything about him, only that she'd had a few nice dates with the man and she hadn't found anything to hate about him . . . yet. Which, believe it or not, sounded promising coming from Lana.

  "I'm happy to cook the meal, but could we have the dinner at the inn? I thought it would be fun to eat in your dining room. We could push a few of the guest tables together and cover them with linen tablecloths and Lana's good silverware. I would host the dinner," Emily said, "but Nick is adding a pantry in the far corner of the kitchen. He's got sawdust and tools all over the place."

  "We can have it here in the dining room. I so rarely use that space. It'll be nice to eat dinner in there for a change. But I'll have to close the curtains. The backyard is embarrassing."

  Emily laughed. "Not too sure you can classify that unruly patch of weeds as a backyard but it'll be dark. No one will notice." A hammer pounded in the background. "Here he goes again. I guess I can't complain though. I'll have a great storage pantry." She sighed. "Jeez, I guess this is what happens once you pass thirty. Things like storage for your flour and sugar become the highlight of your existence."

  "Sounds like someone is going through her 'ugh I'm thirty and the
twenties are long gone' phase." Jackson returned to the kitchen. I pointed toward the microwave to let him know his coffee cake was waiting.

  "I found a gray hair, Sunni. A gray hair," Emily complained. "And it was right in the front, near my forehead." I got the sense that she was pointing at the exact location as she spoke.

  "Em, I don't think you have to start thinking about sleeping in a chin strap quite yet. Hey, I've got to go. Jackson's here. He's just biting into the coffee cake, and there is a look of pure joy on his face."

  "Ask him what he thinks about the cinnamon." Emily took her culinary skills very seriously. She loved to get feedback, especially now that she'd started blogging about her recipes. She was gaining an impressive following online and rightly so.

  I pulled my phone to the side. "What do you think? Enough cinnamon?"

  Jackson had his mouth full but was able to respond with an energetic head nod and thumbs up.

  "He has given it his thumb of approval. Let me know the details about the dinner once you work everything out with Lana. Guess maybe this is going to be something," I added but lost Emily on my train of thought.

  "What do you mean?" she asked.

  "I mean, our big sister rarely introduces us to her dates."

  "That's because she rarely goes on a second date," Emily reminded me. "But I agree. This does make it seem more significant. From the tidbits she shared with me, he just moved to town a few months ago and is still going on job interviews."

  "What does he do?" I asked as I poured Jackson some coffee.

  Emily chuckled. "I was so shocked that she wanted us to meet him, I forgot to ask." The hammering got louder. "Guess that's our cue to hang up. I'll talk to you later."

  "Later, Em." I handed Jackson his coffee. "Wow, you had me so discombobulated with those kisses—"

  "Now you're just making words up to irritate me," Edward said from somewhere in the room.

  "Nope, that word exists," I said briskly, then refocused on Jackson. "What happened with the dead body on the park bench? Do we have a murder case?" I just about rubbed my hands together in glee but decided that would be pushing it.

  Jackson was dabbing up the last of the cinnamon crumb topping with his forefinger. "First of all, we don't have a case. I'm the detective. That's why there's a shiny badge on my belt."

  I shrugged as I sat down next to him. "Shiny badge or laminated press pass, same thing."

  His wry smile was one of his best in the arsenal of disarming smiles he possessed. "Not really the same thing, and to add to your disappointment, my ghoulish love, it was not a murder. There's no case. Poor guy was drunk, passed out and choked on his own—"

  I held up a hand. "That's all right. You don't need to finish that sentence. Guess it's going to be another uninspiring week as lead reporter at the Junction Times. It seems like as soon as Mr. Newsom made me head reporter, all the good stories dried up, and to reinforce the new term of endearment you just bestowed on me, by good I mean grisly, heinous murders."

  "Again, sorry to disappoint." Jackson stood up to carry his dish to the sink.

  "That's all right. Valentine's Day is coming up. Something tells me a terrible crime of passion is just around the corner. Speaking of Valentine's, that was Emily."

  He nodded. "Figured that much when you asked about the cake."

  "Right. Guess that's why you have the shiny badge." I produced my best smirk and carried on. "It seems my big sister is ready to introduce us to her new mystery man." I didn't get the excited, stunned reaction I'd expected, but on further evaluation, I realized it was exactly what to expect from Jackson. Or most men, for that matter.

  Jackson sat back down to finish his coffee. "Who is this mystery man?" he asked.

  "If I knew that, Mr. Shiny Badge, he wouldn't be a mystery man." My response earned a deep, ghostly chuckle from an invisible Edward.

  "Gramps, you know I hate it when you hover around without showing yourself." Jackson took a drink of coffee.

  Edward appeared on the opposite side of the table with a flourish. "As I've said many times, I don't hover. I linger." His eyes flitted toward the flowers, and I knew, at once, Jackson was in for a lecture. "And while you obviously didn't inherit my fine features—"

  Jackson pointed using his cup. "You mean those wavy brows and that nose that sometimes leans to the left and sometimes to the right depending on which way the draft is flowing through the kitchen?"

  "Never mind," Edward said in a huff. "Bring flowers, chocolates and grovel if you must. Just don't let anyone know you're my descendant. I have a reputation to uphold."

  Jackson nodded. "Don't worry about that. Our family's dirty laundry will stay piled in the clothes hamper." Once Jackson realized that Edward was utterly baffled by modern phrases and idioms, he seemed to go out of his way to use them. The latest collection of words had done the trick.

  Edward was silently mulling over why Jackson would be talking about dirty laundry. It gave us enough time to leave the kitchen and walk out to the front yard before he fired off a round of questions about the statement.

  Newman was waiting with his ball, and Redford was staring intently up the trunk of a winter bare tree. On the branch above, a squirrel stared down at the dog just as intently. It was a rare warm February morning. Piles of snow from the last storm were melting into puddles and the very first signs of an imminent spring seemed to be whispering through the trees.

  "Nice morning. I'll sure be glad to see the backside of winter soon." Jackson took hold of my hand. "I think you're wrong about this week. No crimes of passion. Just a nice, calm week with lots of those freely given kisses." He made good on his prediction and pulled me into his arms for a kiss under the bright blue sky.

  Chapter 2

  I'd overslept and was rushing around to get dressed. My contractors, Ursula and Henry, were engaged in their usual bickering, the first of probably a dozen quarrels for the day. On second thought, it was probably not their first of the day. I was sure they'd had at least three arguments on their way to the inn. This particular heated conversation seemed to center around the size of window for the upstairs landing. Whatever the topic or whoever the leading opponent, I didn't have time to referee their squabble. I'd hit the snooze button once too often. Parker would be drumming his desk with his thick fingers waiting for me to walk into the news office. It was Monday and the start of a new edition. Never a good day to be late.

  The scent of cinnamon drifted down the short hallway as I sat on the edge of my bed to pull on my boots. Ursula and Henry had helped themselves to the last of the coffee cake. Not any surprise.

  What was surprising was the abrupt end to their discussion the second I stepped into the kitchen. My gaze swept from one Rice sibling to the other and back again. They were both staring down at their plates. Even more surprising, Henry was merely picking at his slice of coffee cake. Normally, he'd have half of it in his mouth, cheeks bursting like a chipmunk and crumbs dotting his flannel work shirt. Instead, his pinky was curled up as he daintily pinched off a piece. He pushed it into his mouth without looking up from his plate.

  Ursula never failed to greet me with a big hello and a rundown of everything planned for the day. Instead, she fidgeted with her fork before oddly deciding to use it to stir her coffee. She didn't seem to notice her unorthodox use of the utensil even though she was staring straight down at her coffee as if she expected the cup to tell her something important. The whole scene was quite unsettling. I peered quickly around the room to make certain the strange behavior had nothing to do with a certain apparition. There was no sign of Edward.

  "Something wrong with the coffee cake?" I asked tentatively as I reached for a coffee cup.

  "Huh?" Henry blurted. "Uh no, no, not at all. It's delicious."

  I smiled at him. "Then why are you eating it as if you're sitting at a lady's society luncheon rather than in the usual Henry manner? You know. Like Henry the Eighth at a feast."

  I knew Henry Rice well. He would conside
r the Henry the Eighth comparison a compliment. He grinned shyly and chuckled. It seemed I'd broken the weird ice in the room, at least on Henry's side of the room. Ursula was still avoiding eye contact.

  I poured my coffee. "What do you think, Ursula?" I asked. "Emily worried there was too much cinnamon."

  Ursula's face popped up with wide eyes. "Cinnamon? No, it's fine." She glanced nervously at the kitchen clock. "Aren't you late for work? We don't want to keep you."

  It was my turn to chuckle, but it was an unsure chuckle. "Why do I feel as if I've just dropped into one of those Twilight Zone shows. Maybe I should go back to the bedroom and try this again because nothing about this entire scene seems normal."

  For the first time, the siblings exchanged glances. They were under the impression that I hadn't noticed the secret exchange, but I'd caught it all. Henry seemed to be pleading with Ursula to tell me something, but his sister, in an unusual moment of shyness, had rejected the idea.

  I walked to the table and stood over them. They both pretended to nibble their breakfast, only I was sure neither of them tasted a crumb of the cake. "All right. Out with it. I'm a big girl. There's another expensive fiasco, right? We handled the plumbing catastrophe. We can handle this too. What is it? Ceiling caving in? Just give it to me straight. And make it fast. I'm late for work."

  Ursula was one of those people you could count on to be genuine. She wore every emotion and feeling right out in the open for all to see. So whenever she tried to hide those feelings and replace them with something like the fake grin she'd plastered on at the moment, it was especially disconcerting.