A Killer Deal (A Seagrove Cozy Mystery Book 1)

A Killer Deal

A Seagrove Mystery Series

Book 1

Leona Fox

Copyright © 2015 Leona Fox

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher

Chapter One

A wet nose in the face woke Sadie Barnett, and not for the first time. She tried to ward off the damp tongue she knew would follow the nose, but her eyes weren’t open yet and she missed. She wiped her face on her pillow and peered into the shiny black eyes that belonged to Mr. Bradshaw, her fierce and loyal companion of the last three years.

“Want to go out?” Sadie asked Mr. Bradshaw and he vaulted from the bed and ran for the stairs.

“Mr. Bradshaw, we cannot go down those stairs until I’m dressed, and you know that.”

She made her way into the bathroom to brush her teeth and hair. Her teeth were just like anybody else’s, as far as she could tell, but her hair was hers alone. Bright red peppered with white, it curled like a mad woman’s briar patch. Sadie loved it. So what if she couldn’t get it to behave. Why should her hair be different than any other part of her life?

Mr. Bradshaw jumped around her ankles and made the growly noises that passed for canine conversation. He was ten pounds of muscle and fur, and the smartest Jack Russell cross she’d ever met. No matter he was the only Jack Russell Terrier she ever met, Mr. Bradshaw was incomparable.

Sadie pulled on her work day clothes: a skirt, blouse, jacket combination that was respectable if not pretty and a pair of sensible shoes. She spent large portions of her day either standing or walking and she did not tolerate aching feet. Mr. Bradshaw danced beside her to the doorway at the top of the stairs and then bounded down them ahead of her, waiting at the front door of the shop.

They went for a quick walk in the park across the street with little baggies in hand; Sadie was ready to dispose of Mr. Bradshaw’s morning droppings, as she called them. There was nothing in the world as awful as stepping in dog doo. She wasn’t about to leave Mr. Bradshaw’s lying around.

The morning business attended to, Sadie and Mr. Bradshaw made their way back across the street to The Bake House, the bakery next to her store.  Mr. Roger Roberts had her coffee and chocolate chip scone with a strawberry garnish all ready for her, as well as a plate of tiny doggy treats for Mr. Bradshaw on the floor. Sadie dropped into the chair across from the balding baker.

“Roger, you are a prince,” she said and sipped her coffee, “what’s new with you?”

“Sadie, my girl, you are easy to please. It’s very gratifying. Tell me what you picked up on that trip to Ireland. Anything I want?” the older man asked.

“I don’t think so, Roger, unless you like China. Do you like China?” she asked. He shook his head, his mouth full of muffin.

“No, I didn’t think so. The most interesting thing I brought back was an ancient potato peeler. It looks almost like a tool an Undertaker would use to let the blood out of a corpse. Sharp as anything. Look, I sliced my thumb on it.” She held up her bandaged thumb. “Stupid of me really, I was trying to see how sharp it was.”

“You are not supposed to use your fingers to test the sharpness of a blade, Sadie, dear. Slice a piece of paper next time.” He reached over and patted her hand. “You must save your fingers for finding treasures.”

Sadie picked up the strawberry from her plate and popped it into her mouth.

“These are delectable, Roger. Did you get them from Olivia Brown’s organic farm?” she asked.

“I did,” Roger said, “but I could swear I saw Olivia using conventional pesticides and fertilizer and it’s been worrying me ever since. I don’t think I can keep buying her produce.”

“Oh, surely not,” Sadie exclaimed. “Olivia has always prided herself on a pristine organic practice. Why in the world would she ruin that by using pesticides?”

“I can only tell you what I saw,” Roger said. “And I’m positive I saw a jug of Smack Down weed killer when I was there buying fruit two weeks ago. I may have to drive over to Hammondville to get my produce.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that, Roger,” Sadie said. “You’re not getting enough sleep as it is. You should be trying to make things easier for yourself, not harder. Men – you’re not happy unless you are making the simplest things complicated.”

“And you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if you didn’t have us to complain about,” Roger said. “This reminds me, I do believe Chief Woodstone has a crush on you, Sadie dear.”

“Don’t be silly, Roger. Police Chiefs do not get crushes.” But she was secretly pleased.

They talked a while longer and Sadie finished her coffee and scone. Mr. Bradshaw made short work of his treats and ran to the big glass window to watch for activity on the street. It was a little early in the morning and not much was happening to interest him, so he watched the birds in the park. Those swallows needed a
lot
of watching.

“See you later, Roger,” Sadie said as she tidied up her place and took her plate and mug to the counter.

She really wanted to take them into the kitchen and do the washing up, but Mr. Roberts was immovable on that point. No customers in the kitchen. Not even regulars.

“I may come by to see that potato peeler, dear,” Roger said as Sadie was stepping out the door. “It sounds like an instrument of torture.”

Back in her own shop, Sadie turned over the open sign while Mr. Bradshaw checked for signs of rodents. He had a very strict rule about mice in the shop.

“Any rats hanging about, Mr. Bradshaw?” Sadie asked him.

“Rowr, rerr,” Mr. Bradshaw said.

“That’s what I thought,” Sadie said. “Why don’t you watch for customers while I do the sweeping up?”

Sadie spent a solid two hours sweeping, dusting and tidying. It was rather easy for a treasure shop to get dirty. She took down a couple of brass doodads and polished them, put them in the front window where their shiny selves would attract attention and possibly customers. Then pulled the trash bag from her bin.

“Want to help me take the trash out, Mr. Bradshaw?” she asked, and Mr. Bradshaw followed her through the back room to the rear door. He scrabbled and whined, then jumped for the handle.

“What’s gotten into you, Mr. Bradshaw?” she asked. “Your manners are atrocious today.”

But then she opened the door and knew what had gotten into her dog. There, at the bottom of the back steps was Mr. Roberts, his head lolling off the step and his face a horrible bluish white. He was clearly dead as a Dodo.

“Oh Roger,” she said sadly, “What have you gotten yourself into now?” She went down the stairs and touched his arm feeling for a pulse, but as she expected his skin was already cold.

There were strange burns on Roger’s chest that had melted away large areas of Roger’s polyester shirt and scorched his skin. The smell caused a shudder to run through Sadie. This was not at all nice.

Mr. Bradshaw was on the top step, barking like there was no tomorrow, so she took him inside and called 911. Then she called Lucy Shylock to come sit with her through what was bound to be a fiasco. This was Seagrove, after all.

The police arrived before Lucy, which was saying a lot – Lucy lived just around the corner. When Lucy did arrive they stood in Sadie’s kitchen watching the activity in the alleyway. They were still collecting evidence and Chief Woodstone was taking notes.

“What do you suppose happened?” Lucy asked. “Could it have been an accident, do you think?”

“That was no accident,” Sadie said. “Someone melted Roger’s shirt right onto his chest. I can’t see how that could happen accidentally.” She remembered the smell and winced. “Something particularly unpleasant is happening in Seagrove, Lucy, and I don’t like it at all.”

“Well if you don’t like it, I certainly don’t,” Lucy said. “The question is what are we going to do about it?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?” Lucy chewed on her bottom lip. “Well, we can’t just let people go around murdering people. It’s not right.”

The bell that signaled someone entering her shop rang downstairs. Lucy looked at Sadie with her eyebrows raised and Sadie shrugged. They trooped down the stairs to find Rosie Tricare standing just inside the shop door. She had a sun hat perched on her curly white hair and a brown cardigan that dropped down over her fingers. She was wearing white Keds over droopy brown tights and looked so stereotypically ‘old lady’ that she made Sadie want to laugh until she caught sight of Rosie’s face. Lucy surged forward and wrapped her arms around Rosie.

“Goodness, what’s wrong Rosie?” She asked. “You look like you’ve just seen the Manson murders.”

“Come upstairs and have a cup of tea,” Sadie said. “It will settle your nerves and you can tell me, uh us, what happened.”

Sadie and Lucy ushered Rosie up the stairs, Lucy keeping an arm around her waist so she didn’t fall. They got her settled at the little round kitchen table, with a cup of tea and a plate of shortbread dipped in chocolate. She sighed and sipped her tea.

“Thank you, ladies,” she said. “I was so distressed to hear that Roger was found dead on your back step, Sadie.” Sadie looked at her in amazement and Lucy’s face was echoing what she felt.

“How the heck did you find out about Roger so quickly?” Sadie asked.

“Oh,” she said. “My son bought me one of those police band radios, so I would know what was going on and not have to worry about.”

Sadie thought that listening to a police radio probably would make her worry more.

“But here’s the thing, girls,” Rosie said. “Two days ago Roger yelled at me in his shop, and I’m worried the police will think I murdered him for that.”

Sadie bit her lip and refused to meet Lucy’s eyes. She was sure the altercation seemed serious to Rosie, but she doubted Chief Woodstone would.

“But why did he yell at you?” Lucy asked. “I can’t imagine that.”

“Well, dear, I called him Robert again. Not Mister Roberts just Robert. You know how he hated that. I was buying bread and I said thank you Robert, and the next thing I knew he was throwing my change at me and calling me a stupid old biddy.” Rosie sat up straighter in her chair. “I gathered my money and my bread and I left. But it was a very humiliating. He called me the B word as I was leaving.”

“Biddy?” Lucy asked.

“No, dear, the other B word,” Rosie said.

“That’s hardly a reason to kill someone,” Sadie said. “Or Roger would’ve been dead long before this. He had a very short fuse when it came to his name.”

“Unfortunate for a man with two first names,” Lucy said. “You think you could’ve developed a thicker skin after a lifetime of being called Robert Rogers instead of Roger Roberts. I mean really.”

“You should go talk with Chief Woodstone,” Sadie said. “I’m sure he’d make you feel better.”

“You don’t think he would arrest me?” Rosie asked.

Not unless you have a flamethrower hidden away in your house, Sadie thought, but she didn’t say it because she didn’t want to explain.

“Not at all,” Sadie said. “I’d bet my two-hundred-year-old family quilt on it.”

“Well,” Rosie said, “I suppose I could do that.”

“If you need some moral support, I’ll go with you,” Sadie said. “Chief Woodstone is almost always happy to see me.”

“I’d say that was fifty-fifty,” Lucy said. “You do tend to complicate his life.”

“Let me just walk Mister Bradshaw,” Sadie said. “In case it takes a while.”

“I’ll stay here,” Lucy said, “and keep an eye on Mister Bradshaw in the shop for you.”

“You just want to gossip,” Sadie said, “and I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities. Mister Bradshaw, you be good for Lucy.”

Mister Bradshaw wagged his tail and jumped up on the window seat overlooking the front of the shop. It was right next to the little balcony where Sadie sat on sunny days. Very handy for keeping up with the goings-on in the town. Sadie suspected she’d find Lucy sitting out there with Mister Bradshaw when she got back. She peeked out the back window.