A Merry Branson Murder (A Tiny House Cozy Mystery Book 2) Read online

  So what could it hurt to hold off on my duties and grab a bite to eat first? It wasn’t going to take long.

  My first instinct was to pick up the phone and order a pizza to have delivered. But then I remembered one rule Ava Dewey shared with me: “Don’t let anyone know that the family isn’t home.”

  A complete stranger ordering food to be delivered to a miniature house sitting in someone’s front yard, might be a giveaway that the Dallasandros weren’t around. I figured it might be better to go and pick-up something to eat myself.

  So I waved bye-bye to Alfie, unhitched the house from the car (on only the second try), and asked Google where I could find the closest pizza joint.

  It didn’t take me and my Orange Burst Chevy Sonic hatchback long to make our pizza run, I called the order in on the way and it was piping hot, fresh out of the oven when I got there. I laid my hand on the top of the box the entire drive back. I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into a slice.

  But as soon as I got back with my extra-large, DoubleLovers – double meat, double cheese – baked pie and went into the house, the ringer on my iPad, stuck down in my bag, went off.

  It was Dedek, which means grandfather in Slovene, calling. I figured he must’ve wanted to make sure I’d made it into town okay. I’d taught him how to FaceTime and he never missed an opportunity to check up on me. I knew I should have called him early.

  “I have a joke for you,” he said when I picked up, which was his usual salutation when we started a phone call. I could never figure out where he got all his corny jokes from.

  “Let’s hear it, Dedek,” I said pulling one of the gooey pizza slices loose from the pie.

  “Why did it get hot in the stadium when the game was over?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, Dedek,” I said chewing. “Why?”

  “Because all the fans left!” He started laughing so hard he began to choke. “You get it?” he said coughing out the words.

  My laughter erupted in intervals, but the more he laughed, the more I did too.

  “Good joke, Dedek,” I said. I grabbed a napkin and swiped it across my mouth.

  “I’ve got a million of them.”

  “Oh, please! Don’t tell me anymore now, I have to finish eating and go and walk the dogs.”

  “You should walk, burn off some calories, with all that pizza you’re stuffing into your face.”

  “I might even run, then,” I said and took another big bite out of my slice.

  “Did you get another dog?” he asked sounding a bit perturbed. “You can’t keep buying stuff.”

  “No, Dedek. I’m a pet sitter. Remember?”

  “Oh, no. I didn’t forget. You babysit now. I remember.”

  “No, Dedek. It’s house and pet sitting. Very important job.”

  “You know what even a more important job is? And this, Nixie, is not a joke.”

  “What, Dedek?” I asked.

  “Sitting with your grandfather.”

  That made me feel bad. I knew he wanted me home, but before I could say anything, not that I knew what to say, he continued.

  “I know, though, right now you must finish your trip around the states,” he said. “So that when you come back to Connors Grove you can be happy.”

  “I’m coming home soon,” I said. Although my plan was too stay away from Connors Grove, New York, aka No-Wheres-Ville, America, as long as I could. But I did add, “And being around you makes me happy”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Go do your dog walking. I just wanted to make sure you got to Branson okay.”

  “I did,” I said. “And I saw Swan.”

  “I was going to ask you that,” he said. “Be sure to tell her, ‘Hello,’ from me.”

  “I did, but I will again.”

  “Okay. I have to go and let the physical therapists torture me.” He smiled. “Ljubim te, princeska,” he said in Slovene, telling me he loved me and calling me his little princess.

  I answered back in English, “I love you, too, Dedek.”

  My grandfather was in pretty good health. He was in his early eighties and did most things by himself, but before I left for L.A., I made sure he got into an assisted living – I hate to call it a “facility,” because it was more like a resort. Gated community, grand fountains, green, manicured lawns, pretty brick bungalows. But he always complained about what went on there, except for the women that lived there. He never complained about that. He seemed to love all of them.

  Chapter Three

  I picked up the Dallasandro’s dog, Danger, from their across the street neighbor, and walked him and my little cockapoo mutt, Alfie, for about a half an hour.

  I didn’t even break into a trot.

  As much as I exercised, a little ole pizza wasn’t going to do anything to my waistline. Plus, I was still in my twenties. My metabolism still paced like it was on steroids.

  The neighborhood where the Dallasandros lived in was really nice. Verdant, manicured lawns, large architecturally striking homes. Even in the early fall, the sun seemed to shine brighter down its streets, and a rarity of green leaves were still clinging to the trees.

  The only eyesores were the house to the right of the Dallasandro’s and a funky blue VW Beetle that looked as if were from the 70s.

  The house wasn’t so much of a wreck as it was a construction site. There was scaffolding out front, and half of the siding was off the house, and scattered about the yard. The car, was definitely a wreck.

  After our walk, I headed into my place to get the keys for the house I was sitting. I needed to water plants and leave their dog inside of it.

  “I saw your house parked here,” a guy said to me as I stepped outside my door. He was standing in the driveway. Bespectacled and short, he was balding in the top and had a portentous look on his face. “I came over to check it out.”

  “Oh, well, hello,” I said. I was starting to think that if I gave tours of my tiny house, I might just be able to pay off my credit cards.

  Or I could buy that new pair of Jimmy Choo’s I saw . . .

  “Tours are closed for the night,” I said to him. “Check back in the morning.”

  “I know you’re being sarcastic,” he said. “I’m a part of the Neighborhood Watch Committee.” He pulled out what looked like a credit card, flashed it at me and stuck it back in his pocket. “Just wondering what you’re doing here.”

  Nobody told me about a watch committee, especially one that carried a badge. And if the Dallasandro’s neighborhood had one, what did they need with me?

  I watched his face and stance, and thought he might not be a friendly visitor. He was standing far away enough from me that I knew I could run into the house and barricade myself in if he tried anything. Still he made a chill go up my spine.

  Yes. Yes. I could defend myself, but he was old. I hated flipping old people. I could break their hip. He had to be at least in his fifties. Yep. Too old for me to go throwing to the ground.

  I took a longer look at him. Gray around the edges of his balding head, he carried a little extra belly around his middle. He wore brown, belted polyester pants and brown loafers. He was using a small notepad to count time with, smacking it to some absent beat against his hand while he awaited my answer.

  “I am here house and pet sitting,” I said anchoring myself ready to bolt. I looked at him out the side of my eyes.

  “You were hired by the Dallasandro’s?”

  “Yes. I was.”

  “What do they look like?” he asked. Disbelief written all over his face.

  “Why would I be here, parked in their driveway, if I wasn’t hired by them?” I cocked my head to the side.

  “Maybe to rob the place,” he said then took a long look at me. “Do you always wear high heels?”

  I looked down at me feet and smiled. My shoes were sooo cute. I’d bought them in Memphis before I left. Sure I had just started working and hadn’t gotten a paycheck yet, but I knew I’d have the money soon and I didn’t have to pay
for rent or a hotel room anymore with my new abode hitched onto the back of my car. So I whipped out one of my smoldering credit cards and bit the bullet, so to speak.

  Although, that probably wasn’t such a good analogy since I hadn’t too long ago seen Big Willie Carter after he’d been shot. But still, I had new shoes. What could be better?

  “Why are you smiling,” the man said to me.

  I took my eyes off my shoes and looked back at him. I shook my head to clear my wandering thoughts. “Focus,” I mumbled. “The man is accusing you of high crimes.”

  “Are you talking to yourself?” he asked, peering at me through his round glasses.

  “No.” I said. “I was talking to you. I was saying that I’m not here to rob the place. And yes, for the most part, I always wear heels.”

  What do they look like?” he asked.

  “My heels?” I frowned up and stuck out one foot. “Can’t you see them?” I said. I glanced up at the afternoon sun, the glare making me squint. “Actually they’re called peep-toe booties. They’re by Steve Madden-”

  “I meant the Dallasandros,” he said deadpan, stopping me in my dialogue. “What do they look like?”

  “Oh, yeah. You did ask me that, huh?” I pursed my lips and lowered my head. “I-I have . . . uhm.” I swallowed to calm myself. For some reason he was making me nervous. “I work for a service.” He squinted his eyes at me. I flapped my arms. “I’ve never met them. Okay?”

  “I knew it,” he said. He marked something down in his notebook with a pen he fished from his pants. Then he reached inside of his jacket pocket and produced a cell phone. “I’m calling the police.”

  “The what? No!” I screeched. “I’m supposed to be here.” I felt a pounding in my head and a lurch in my stomach. “I’m supposed to be here,” I repeated.

  “What’s going on, Andie?”

  A woman came bounding across the grass, her arms swinging like she was going to a fight. She’d come from the house that was being renovated. She wore a pastel-colored house dress and moccasin-like shoes. Her strawberry blonde curls bounced as she thundered over.

  “Go away, Clover,” he said once she got close, not looking up from his phone.

  “It’s Mrs. Carling to you, Andie.” She looked over at me. “What are you doing here?”

  Who are these people?

  Clover Carling was short and squat. Her face had red splotches and her thick legs were bare. And with all that curly hair and a housedress, I could picture that she probably spent a lot of her time in rollers.

  “Don’t worry about it, Clover,” the man said. He pointed to the phone up to his ear. “I’ve dialed the non-emergency police number. I’m on hold.”

  “Mrs. Carling,” she said with emphasis. “And what did she do?” She looked at me. “What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” I said. “I’m a house sitter.”

  “You’ve been sitting out here a long time,” Andie said. “I didn’t see you go in the house. House sitters go into houses.”

  “You’ve been watching me?” I asked.

  “I’m on the Neighborhood Watch Committee,” he said. I know he wanted to add, “Duh,” but he was too busy trying to report me to the authorities.

  “I’m the President of the committee,” Clover said.

  “Not for long,” Andie said and looked like he wanted to say something else, but was interrupted evidently by someone picking up the call. “Yes,” he glanced over at me, “I want to report a suspicious house in my neighbor’s yard . . .” His voice trailed off as he turned and walked away.

  “Did you go into that house?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” I said, I tried to keep an eye on, and ear out, for Andie.

  “Oh, so you do admit to trying to go in there?” she asked. “You do know that the people that own this house are not home?”

  What don’t they get about being a house sitter?

  I glanced over at Andie and then back at Clover. “No,” I said. “It’s not like it’s a crime for me to go in there. It’s my job to go in there. I have the keys.” I let the key ring dangle from my hand and shook them making them clink. “I have their dog.” I pointed down at the pure bred, slightly-built Collie. Now looking up at me, he had been watching us as if he was at Wimbledon. “I’m supposed to be here.”

  I turned to see Andie as he flipped his phone closed with a snap. “The police are on their way,” he said.

  “Guess you’re going to jail now,” Clover Carling said. She planted her hands on her hips and pursed her lips.

  “We don’t need you, Clover,” Andie said. “You can go home. I’m sure you’ve got some workmen over there doing another addition to that ghastly house of yours.”

  “Don’t you worry about what’s going on at my house,” she said. “And stop calling me, Clover. As President of the Watch Committee, I demand some respect.”

  “If you want respect,” he said. “Try getting that husband of yours to wear a shirt.”

  “Well, I never,” Clover said and huffed. She turned to walk away, but then turned back to me. With her fingers shaped like a “V” she swiveled them from her eyes to me. “I’m watching you.”

  As it seemed, everyone was.

  I just smiled at her, then looked at Andie just as his phone rang again. He took the call and walked a few feet away, I guessed so I couldn’t hear his conversation. Not that I was interested.

  “I have to go,” he said. “Only for a few minutes. I’ll be back. The police are on their way, so I’d watch my step if I were you.”

  I watched him as he retreated back into his own yard on the other side of the Dallasandros.

  “You aren’t me,” I said after I knew he was out of earshot. I wasn’t afraid of him. But one rule of housesitting was not to draw attention to yourself.

  Although I’m thinking I’ve failed at that one.

  “C’mon, Danger,” I said. “Let’s put you in your own house where you belong.” I looked down at my chocolate fur ball. “You stay here, Alfie. No need of both of us having to have a run in with the law. I may need you to post bail.” Alfie gave out a couple of yelps. “Calm down boy. It’ll be okay.”

  But, it wasn’t. As soon as I opened the front door to the Dallasandro’s house, I had to choke back a couple yelps of my own. Right there, sprawled out in the middle of the huge foyer was a dead body. And to make matters worse, it was the woman that Swan wanted me to “do karate on.” It was Blu James.

  Chapter Four

  I recognized her immediately. The woman sprawled out in the foyer of my very first housesitting job. It was the girl that wanted to get in and take a look around my tiny house. The one with the big blue eyes and name to match.

  Only now I couldn’t see those vibrant eyes.

  She was still wearing her expensive jeans and shiny cowboy boots. But there was a big gash in her head and a statute of a face made out of heavy bronze lay close by. It looked like she was trying to get out of the door when someone attacked her from behind.

  I just wanted to scream, but nothing would come out. It was like my brain couldn’t register what my eyes were taking in. It seemed it even took Danger a minute to comprehend what we were looking at and for him to react. But in the end, he regained his loss of senses before I did, and started barking.

  He was jumping up and down and growling, yapping and woofing. I had to hold on tightly to his leash so he would bowl me over. And before I could get him settled, I heard, “Don’t move.”

  It was the police. I’m sure they had arrived about my breaking and entering, or trespassing or whatever it was that Andie had reported me doing. And with the dog making such a ruckus, they had entered to see what was going on.

  “Turn around, slowly,” the officer said. “And hold on to your dog.”

  “He’s not my dog,” I said as I made the move to turn around. I just knew I was going to turn and look into the barrels of a slew of guns and rifles and the faces of a dozen cops. But when I made t
he 180 degree swivel, there was only a lone police officer standing behind me and no gun in sight.

  “Whew!” I blew out a breath.

  “Who are you?” he asked

  “My name is Nixie Culpepper,” I said quickly. “I’m the house sitter for the Dallasandros.”

  “From Harrington House and Pet Sitters?” he asked.

  “Yes!” I said excited that someone knew about me.

  “Okay, the Dallasandros left instructions with us that you’d be here. That’s your house out there on the lawn?”

  I peeked around him to make sure my house hadn’t rolled away from where I’d left it. “In the driveway,” I corrected. “Yes. That’s my house.”

  “And who is that,” he asked and pointed to the dead body.

  I stood still. Not letting out a peep.

  I knew her. I knew who she was. And how was I going to explain that to the police? I was a stranger in town, and out of the four people that I’d knew their full name, this girl was one of them. And now she turns up where I was staying, dead.

  They wouldn’t – couldn’t be seen as a coincidence. Could it?

  “Uhm . . .” I stood looking dumbfounded.

  “Do you know her?” he asked. Then he clicked on the radio on his shoulder. “I need backup at 36710 Orchid Tree Lane. Possible homicide.”

  Oh no, I thought. Here I go again.

  ***

  The police officer made me sit in the Dallasandro’s living room while he rounded up help. Before I knew it the house was swarming with uniformed police officers, plain clothes detectives, and medical personnel. And every one of them asked me the same questions, one by one, over and over again.

  Thankfully, none of them seemed to think I did it, which was a surprise to me, because I was the only one in the house with the body when it was found. They did, however, want me to tell them who had.

  I, of course, had no idea.

  When I was finally let out of the house neighbors were everywhere along the street, in the yard, and surrounding my tiny house. I let out a short, high-pitched squeal, not sure if it was delight from being released, or the fear that all these people might be a part of the watch committee. Maybe on some vigilante jaunt to make sure I pay for coming into their neighborhood bringing chaos.