Murder in Cottage #6 (Liz Lucas Cozy Mystery Series Book 1) (3 page)

“No. Since it happened on
my property, I should be the one to tell him.”

Wes took a gurney out of
the back of the van and rolled it into the cottage. He and Leroy carefully
transferred Barbara from the bed to the gurney and then pushed the gurney out
to the van and loaded her body into it through the open rear doors. When they were
finished, Wes drove back down the lane to the highway leading to town with
Leroy following.

“I’ll be goin’ now, Liz,”
Seth said. “Ain’t no more I can do ‘til I get the results of the autopsy from
Wes. Nice seein’ ya’, and don’t forget about that invitation to dinner or my
offer to get ya’ a little somethin’ from Victoria’s Secret.”

“Believe me, Seth, I won’t
forget. Thanks for getting out here so fast.”

Liz looked around as he
drove down the lane, thankful that it looked like no one had seen the police car
or the unusual activity going on at cottage #6.

When she returned to the
lodge, she called Bertha. “Would you please tell Sarah to clean up cottage #6?”

Red Cedar was a small town and even
though Liz had never been to Dave Nelson’s office, she knew that the office in
the early 20
^th
century building with the red awning and the words
“Dave Nelson Insurance Agency” was his. On her way she passed Gertie’s Diner,
known as the “in” place to find out the latest rumors about anything happening
in the small town. People from as far away as San Francisco were known to come
to Gertie’s for the rich chocolate malted milk shakes and thick juicy burgers.

            She smiled as she drove
by the other shops that were owned by some of the more interesting and colorful
townspeople of Red Cedar. There was the Custom Candle Shop, run by Nate, who
had retired from his job working on the docks of San Francisco. Everyone who
entered the shop was startled to see that it was owned by one of the biggest
and hairiest men around with a smile that could light up a city block.

            Then there was Walt’s
Western Shop, a wannabe cowboy shop owned by Walt, a former Chicago stock
broker, who at age sixty decided to do what he’d always wanted to do – play
like he was a cowboy. The shop was stocked with anything and everything a
customer who had dreams of becoming a cowboy could want – from spurs to Stetson
hats.

            When she passed Susie’s
Hair Salon, she made a mental note to make an appointment to get her hair
colored. At age fifty-two Liz was still a very attractive woman, short and
full-figured, but her auburn hair had always been her best feature, even if she
did need a little help from Susie to keep its deep rich color. Thick and
lustrous, it framed her alabaster complexion and accentuated her sea green eyes
and dark double fringed eyelashes.

            As she pulled into the
diagonal parking space a few shops down from the Dave Nelson Insurance Agency,
she noticed the sign for Red Cedar Antiques and Art and remembered that Barbara
Nelson and her partner owned the shop.

           
When I finish with
Dave, I need to go in there. I should tell her partner about Barbara before she
finds out from someone else.

           
She took a deep breath and
opened the door of her van. When she walked into the insurance agency, she was
greeted by an older rail-thin stony-faced woman with pink rimmed eyeglasses on
a chain perched on the end of her long nose. “May I help you?” the woman asked.
The nameplate on her desk read, “Rosie.”

            “My name is Liz Lucas.
I’d like to see Dave Nelson. I don’t have an appointment. This is a personal
matter.”

            The woman looked Liz up
and down. “Want to tell me what’s so personal? I’m his secretary. Been with him
for twenty years. He’s not here, anyway. Took an early lunch like he does most
days,” she harrumphed.

            “I’m afraid I have some
bad news. His wife was found dead this morning. I’m the owner of the Red Cedar
Spa, and Mrs. Nelson was a guest at the spa. Her body was discovered earlier
this morning by one of my employees.”

            Rosie half stood up and
then sat back down, obviously struggling to keep her composure. “I told him if
he kept seeing…”

            “I’m sorry I didn’t
understand you,” Liz said.

            “It was nothing. I didn’t
mean to say anything. It doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

            “Could you tell me where
I could find Mr. Nelson? I really don’t want him to find out about this from
someone passing on a rumor made up of half-truths.”

            “Usually goes home at
lunchtime. I’d knock real loud if I were you. May take him a little while to
answer the door,” she said cryptically.

            “I’m not sure I know
where he lives. Would you mind giving me his address?”

            “He lives two streets
over. 417 Cedar Road. You can’t miss his house. It’s the big white one in the
middle of the block with a grey roof. His silver colored Ford pickup truck will
probably be in the driveway along with another car.”

            “Thank you,” Liz said as
she left.

           
That was weird. I
think she said, “I told him if he kept seeing.” Wonder what that was all about.

            A few minutes later she
parked her minivan on the street in front of Dave Nelson’s house. In addition
to the Ford pickup truck, there was a red convertible in the driveway. She
walked up the steps and rang the doorbell. When there was no response, Liz
knocked as loud as she could, certain that someone must be in the house if
there were two cars in the driveway. Finally she heard footsteps coming towards
the door and a male voice asked, “Who is it?”

            “It’s Liz Lucas. I’m the
owner of the Red Cedar Spa, and I need to speak to Dave Nelson about his wife.”

            “Just a moment,” the
voice said. She stood waiting for several long minutes and then the front door
was finally opened by the man she recognized as Dave Nelson from his campaign
photos.

            “May I come in?” she
asked.

            “Yes, of course. I’m
sorry. I don’t know where my manners are. What can I do for you, Mrs. Lucas?”

            “Mr. Nelson, I’m sorry to
have to be the one to tell you this, but Mrs. Nelson was found dead this
morning at the Red Cedar Spa. She was discovered by my manager when she didn’t
check in for her spa reservation.”

            He blinked several times
and then staggered backwards, landing on a nearby couch. “Barbara dead? Are you
sure it was her?”

            “Yes. She had dinner with
the other guests and me at the lodge last night. She told us how happy she was
with the spa gift you’d given her as a thank you for helping you win the
election. After dinner was finished she retired to the cottage where she was
staying. That’s where she was found.”

            “I can’t believe this.
She was fine when she left yesterday morning. Do you know what she died from?”

            “No. The police chief and
the coroner were out at the spa this morning. The coroner is going to do an
autopsy tomorrow. I imagine we’ll know more then.”

            “Dave, what’s going on?”
asked a female voice which came from an adjoining room.       Liz heard high
heels clicking on the wooden hallway floor and turned her head just as a
beautiful brunette woman walked into the living room.

            “I heard voices and
wondered who was here.” She walked over to Liz and extended her hand. “Hi! I’m
Darcy Martinez, the principal of Red Cedar High School. Dave has been helping
me over at the high school by talking to some of our seniors about different
occupations and careers they can pursue when they graduate. And you are?”

            “I’m Liz Lucas, the owner
of the Red Cedar Spa.”

            “Nice to meet you. I’ve
been meaning to get out there one of these days and treat myself to a little
rest and relaxation.” She looked at her watch. “Dave, I have to get back to
school. Lunch break time is almost over. Is something wrong? You don’t look very
good.”

            “Darcy, Barbara was found
dead this morning at the Red Cedar Spa. They don’t know what she died from.”

            “Oh, honey, that’s
terrible news. I’m so sorry. I hate to leave you at a moment like this, but I
really do have to get back to the high school. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Lucas.
Come by the high school some time. Maybe you could talk to some of the
seniors,” she said as she walked out the front door.

           
Honey? That’s weird.
Dave doesn’t even seem aware she said it. His grief seems genuine.

           
“Mr. Nelson, can I call
someone for you? Or take you somewhere?”

            “Yes. Here’s my sister’s
phone number. If you could call her, I’d appreciate it.”

            Liz punched the numbers
into her cell phone and told his sister what had happened. “Mr. Nelson, she’ll
be here in a few minutes. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

            “No. Thank you for taking
the time to come to my home and tell me in person. I’ll be fine. It’s just such
a shock.”

            “Stay where you are. I’ll
let myself out. Again, I’m sorry.”

Liz got out of her car and looked at the front of the
Red Cedar Antiques and Art shop, surprised at not only how large it was, but at
the caliber of the merchandise. The front window had a display of brightly
colored pottery, Arts and Craft style furniture, stained glass lamps that
looked to Liz’s untrained eye like real Tiffany lamps, and other decorative
pieces, all beautifully arranged in a room setting.

            “Hi, may I help you with something?” the
attractive blond woman asked Liz when she walked into the store.

            “I had no idea your shop had antiques of
this quality. When I used to live in San Francisco, I loved to go to some of
the antique shops and just look around. I fell in love with the Arts and Crafts
style furniture and accessories. You have an incredible collection of them. Red
Cedar is such a small town I’m amazed your shop can carry this caliber of
merchandise. Do you have a lot of customers from the San Francisco area?”

            “Yes. We have quite a number of San
Francisco clients. What most people don’t realize is there are a lot of ranches
and old homes in this area that were built about the time the Arts and Crafts
movement became popular in the early 20
^th
century. That was the
style of furniture and accessories the residents bought in those days. Many of
the younger people who inherited the houses and the furniture want newer
furnishings and we’ve developed a reputation for buying Arts and Crafts style
furniture and accessories at fair prices. It works both ways. The sellers know
we’re fair and the buyers know we have good quality merchandise. I guess you
could say it’s a win-win for everyone.”

            “From what you’re saying, am I to
understand that you’re one of the owners?”

            “Yes. My name is Linda Wright. I’m the
co-owner of the shop along with my partner, Barbara Nelson.”

            “I’m Liz Lucas, the owner of the Red Cedar
Spa. I’m afraid I have some bad news. Barbara Nelson’s body was discovered by
my manager this morning in one of the cottages at the spa where she was
staying. She was dead.”

            Linda’s face visibly paled and she sat
down heavily in a nearby chair. “I can’t believe it. I just saw her night
before last at Dave’s victory party, and she was fine. Do you have any idea
what caused her death? To my knowledge she was in excellent health.”

            “No. The coroner found no marks on her
body that would indicate any foul play. The lock on the door didn’t appear to
have been tampered with. The police chief thinks maybe it was suicide. There
was a bottle of Jack Daniels on the nightstand next to her bed.”

            “No, that just can’t be. Barbara hated
hard liquor. The only thing she ever drank was wine and maybe on a special
occasion, a glass of champagne. It is absolutely not possible that she would
have taken her own life by drinking excessively. Is the coroner going to do an
autopsy on her body?”

            “Yes. He said he couldn’t get to it today,
but he’s scheduled it for tomorrow. Why do you ask?”

            “I can’t help but think she was murdered.
Barbara was in perfect health and a very strong Catholic. She would never
commit suicide. I have no idea why, but I think someone put the bottle there to
make it look like it was suicide, but I’d bet every penny I have it wasn’t.”

            “Have you noticed anything strange about
her in the last few days? Was she having problems? Did she share anything with
you?”

            Linda looked down and suddenly seemed to
develop an interest in her fingers, while avoiding eye contact with Liz. “What
do you mean?” she asked.

            “Well, I’ve heard rumors that Dave was
having an affair. That may be all it is, a rumor. I’m wondering if Barbara had
heard the same.”

            “Nothing new there. Barbara had heard the
rumors for a long time. This time it…”

            “You just said, ‘this time it.’ Are you
implying that there had been other affairs before this one?”

            “Barbara learned long ago she would never be
the only woman in Dave’s life. As I mentioned, she’s a very strong Catholic and
she simply decided she would stay with him no matter what. She was sure he
would never divorce her for his current ‘flavor of the month’ as Barbara called
them. He always came back, repentant, and promising never to do it again. I
think she really believed him when he made those kinds of promises to her.
Plus, she liked being the mayor’s wife. In a town as small as Red Cedar that’s
a pretty big deal.”

            “I can see how it would be. I know you
haven’t had time to think about it, but will Barbara’s death have some adverse
effect on your business? Can you run it by yourself without Barbara as your
partner?”

            “Yes. The business is in my name. Barbara
was a partner in name only, but because she was from a family whose roots go
back to the founding fathers of this town, it was advantageous for me to bring
her in as a partner. She knew everyone for miles around, plus she had great
instincts and was very knowledgeable about the Arts and Crafts movement. I only
know of one time when her knowledge was questioned.” She paused. “Never mind,
forget I said that.” Whatever she was finding of interest in her fingers
intensified.

            “Linda, I’m not trained in law
enforcement, but from what you’re telling me you seem certain that Barbara
didn’t commit suicide. For all we know, she may have died of natural causes,
but you also told me she was in excellent health. If she didn’t commit suicide,
and she was in excellent health and now she’s dead, that leaves one conclusion,
that someone may have murdered her. If that’s true, the reputation of my spa is
at stake. Please tell me what you know.”

            “I can’t see where this would have
anything to do with her death, but a few weeks ago she bought a Tiffany style lamp
from a man who inherited a ranch from his grandfather. It was in the ranch
house. He needed money to maintain the ranch and sold us the lamp. His
grandfather had told him several times that the lamp was an original Tiffany
lamp. It was beautiful. Barbara was pretty knowledgeable about Tiffany lamps,
and she agreed with the young man’s grandfather, that it was an original and
the work on it was extraordinary. She bought it for $20,000 and called one of
our clients in San Francisco who collected Tiffany items. He came up the shop
and bought the lamp for $48,000. Naturally, we were thrilled. Matter of fact, I
think that was one of those times we shared a glass of champagne to celebrate
the sale, as it was one of our largest. Last week the buyer called and said he
had the lamp appraised, and the appraiser told him it was not an authentic
Tiffany lamp. Barbara told him the appraiser was wrong. He asked for his money
back, and she refused because she was certain the lamp was authentic. He
threatened to sue the shop.”

            “Has he?”

            “No.”

            “What do you think? Was it real or was it
a fake?”

            “I’d put my money on Barbara. The buyer,
his name is Henry, is not a wealthy man. He wears tattered clothes, drives a
twenty year old car, and scrimps on everything so he can buy Tiffany pieces.
It’s almost as if he’s obsessed with the objects. I can understand why if
someone told him it was a fake, he’d be furious. That’s a lot of money to spend
for something that’s not authentic.”

            “How did Barbara end the conversation with
him?”

            “She asked him to give her the name of the
appraiser, but he refused to tell her. She told him to have the appraiser call
her after tomorrow, because she was going to a local spa for a couple of days.
Barbara really wasn’t all that concerned about it. She told me that a lot of
appraisers these days take a couple of classes in antiques and then call
themselves appraisers. It’s not a closely regulated occupation. Henry just
wanted someone to tell him it was an authentic Tiffany lamp, so Barbara was
sure he’d gotten the appraisal from some individual who called himself an
appraiser, but had no established credentials.”

            “Interesting. Does Henry seem like the
type of man who could commit a crime?”

            “I’ve only met him once. He’s rather
fanatical, but whether or not that means he’s capable of committing a crime, I
don’t know. Why?”

            “Well, if it’s determined that Barbara was
murdered, then I would be interested in knowing who might have had a motive for
killing her, harsh as that sounds. This guy Henry might fit into that
category.”

            “I see what you mean. I don’t think
there’s anything else I can tell you. I’m going to close the shop and go home.
I need to make some decisions about what I need to do now that Barbara is
deceased.”

            “You’ve been very helpful, Linda. Here’s
my card. Think about everything we’ve talked about, and if you remember
something you think may be important in helping me understand how and why
Barbara died, I’d really appreciate it if you would call me. Thanks, and again,
I’m sorry for your loss.”