Murder in the Rose Garden: A Scent with Love Cozy Mystery (Scent with Love Cozy Mysteries) (2 page)

Beth went
back to the church building and gathered her things—her handbag and the printed
tribute she had handed out to all the guests with a photo of her mother waving
happily from her rose garden. She had inscribed the photo with the quote her
mother had given to anyone who had asked why she never took rose cuttings from
her garden.

 “I’m saving
them all for my funeral,” had been her mother’s favorite response.

She looked
down at the empty basket in her hand and thought that her mother would have
been delighted to know that she had treated everyone at her memorial service to
rose cuttings from her treasured garden.

She walked
out of the building, turned to the church rose garden one last time and waved
goodbye to her mother, who had been scattered amongst the blooms the previous
evening. Beth had almost reached her car when a gray-haired woman who had been
sitting in the back row of the church during the service brushed past her,
bumped into her and stuck a small, neatly folded note in her hand. The woman
did not make eye contact, and Beth could tell that she was afraid that someone
would notice the note in her hand. Beth clasped the note tightly, enclosing it
in the palm of her hand, and hurried to her car. She opened the note once she
was safely inside.

Things are
not as they seem. Meet me at Fisherman’s Wharf at three p.m. tomorrow
afternoon.

Millie’s
guest
house
and spa was located on the outskirts of town, on a beautiful patch of
beachfront real estate. It was popular with locals and big city visitors who
loved the peace and tranquility of the ocean setting coupled with recreational
golfing and pampering in the five-star spa facilities. The men came to enjoy a
round of golf, while the woman spent their days in the luxury spa facility.  The
nine-hole golf course was the perfect size, allowing plenty of time for a round
of beer in the bar which was aptly named the Tenth Hole. Beth had booked
herself into a large self-catering suite with a sprawling front porch and
direct access to the beach. There were two fluffy white sofas in the lounge
area which had an open-plan kitchenette. A large master bedroom and en-suite
bathroom led straight off from the lounge area. The bedroom had a large queen-sized
bed which was draped in white linen. The top of the bed was covered in a mass of
scatter cushions in blue and white linen in various floral prints, stripes and
plaids. A large frameless glass stacking door opposite the bed allowed for
spectacular sea views.

Beth sat
down on the bed, kicked off her heels, slipped out of her black knee-length dress
and put on a pair of linen slacks and a light blue angora sweater. She combed
her honey-blonde shoulder-length hair into a neat ponytail. She looked at her
face in the mirror and wiped away the black smudges that had formed under her
eyes. She had spent the entire memorial service fighting to contain the flood
of tears that had welled threateningly in her dark green eyes. Now that she was
safely within the walls of the guest cottage she felt secure enough to let her
grief show. Warm tears exploded across her cheeks and she was engulfed in a
sense of relief as she let her bottled emotions free.

Beth walked
out onto the beach, barefoot. The sand felt warm between her toes and the ambiance
of the ocean brought a sense of calm to her mood as she paced at the edge of
the water trying to collect her thoughts. Hungry seagulls wailed overhead,
anxiously crying out as they scoured the water for anything that looked like
food. So much had happened in the last few days, so many questions needed to be
answered, it was so overwhelming that she barely knew where to begin. Beth had
a nagging feeling at the back of her mind, a suspicion that her mother had left
her the flower shop for a reason. Beth was an experienced bookkeeper and it
almost felt as if her mother had wanted her to look into the finances at Scent
with Love.

The police
had been quick to rule her death a suicide and close the case without as much
as a second thought. Beth was no detective but years of watching television had
taught her that a suicide without a note was almost never what it seemed. After
her discussion with Jack she was even more concerned about the fact that there
was no note, and according to him her mother had cancer, which was news to
Beth.  Surely her mother would have left a note explaining this—for the benefit
of her only daughter if for no one else.  Then there was the mysterious note
from the elderly woman at her mother’s funeral. Beth had no idea what to make
of it; perhaps it was just a lonely old lady looking for a bit of attention.

Her mother’s
financial trouble also seemed strange. Beth’s father had left her mother with
more than a million dollars in life insurance money when he had passed away as
a result of a heart attack five years earlier. Her mother had never been frugal
when it came to money but it did seem almost impossible for her to have
squandered that amount of money in such a short time. The cottage had been
bought with the proceeds from the sale of their Boston brownstone. The earnings
from the flower shop coupled with interest from the insurance money should have
allowed her mother to live comfortably
.
Beth was lost in thought as she
climbed the steps back to her cottage after her walk on the beach.

Beth could
not help but think that perhaps her mother’s financial troubles were the cause
of her death. She thought that if she could figure out what had happened to her
money then she would possibly be able to find some evidence to support her
theory that her mother had been murdered.

After an
hour of pacing on the beach, Beth decided to head back to the cottage for a
light dinner and some rest. She made herself a sandwich with the leftover
chicken from the night before, ordered a bottle of wine from the Tenth Hole and
called her boss at Anderson & Cole.

“Hi, Andy…yes,
the service was today…as well as could be expected under the circumstances, I
guess… Listen, I know that things are a little crazy at the office right now
but I need a bit more time to wrap up my mother’s affairs.”

Andy went
quiet for a moment and replied, “Take all the time you need, Beth.” He cleared
his throat nervously. “I’m here if you need me; if you need anything just call
and I can come out to help you.”

“Thanks,
Andy, I’ll let you know if there is anything you can do… Look, I have to go,
someone’s at the door.”

Beth put
down the phone and let out a deep sigh. Andrew Anderson had been more than just
a boss to her: they had been lovers for four years and had been on the brink of
marriage when she found out that he had been cheating on her with Julie
Sanchez, his twenty-two-year-old secretary with thick curly brown hair, red
pouty lips and a perfectly shaped pair of silicone boobs.

Beth had
been heartbroken. She had spent weeks mailing wedding cancellations while her
mother had tried to convince her that what she had with Andy was worth saving, but
Beth was not the “
forgive and forget
” type. Julie had eventually run off
to South America with a twenty-eight-year-old musician who looked like the
poster boy for a Calvin Klein advert and Andrew was left to wonder what could
have been between him and Beth. It was not easy at first and Beth had
considered finding a new job but the thought of leaving the job she had worked
at since leaving college scared her too much. In the first year after the break-up
working together had been awkward but as the years had passed they had forged a
business relationship. Andrew still loved her in his own way and he had even tried
to patch things up a few times in the last two years but Beth was not
interested. She had embraced the single life and was quite happy living alone
in her rented one-bedroom apartment overlooking the Boston harbor.

Beth got up
and answered the door. She collected her bottle of wine from the waiter who had
walked down from the bar and sat down at the kitchen table with the black
ledger Jack had given her and her chicken sandwich. She spent hours going over
the financials, months and months of poorly captured financial records. She
found that the shop had a large order book which ranged from small orders for
local residents, a bunch of roses here and there and larger bouquets for
functions, to large weekly orders from the local hotel, Millie’s, and several
large contracts with Magical Weddings, a local wedding planning company run by a
woman called Sylvia White.

Beth was
shocked. With so many large orders it seemed odd that Scent with Love was
experiencing financial difficulty. The financial records highlighted
significant expenditure on an external consultant named P. Pots; the ledger
entries were vague and lacked the details given to all the other entries but
one thing was clear: P. Pots was the single biggest monthly expense at Scent
with Love and there was no clear indication as to what service they were providing.

Beth took
off her glasses and sipped the last of the wine from her glass, closed the
ledger and decided to call it a night. She took a quick shower, climbed into
bed and drifted off to sleep with the calming sound of waves crashing against
the rocky cliff next to the pier in the background.  

~

A bell rang,
the flower shop door swung open and a bubbling brunette swanned in. It was nine-thirty
and Hannah King was late for work.

“Morning,
sorry I’m so late; had a bit of trouble getting the kids to school this
morning.” She walked into the back of the shop, hung her handbag in the closet
and made two cups of coffee.

“You must be
Elizabeth. Look just like your mom, you do.”

Beth smiled
and took a sip of warm coffee. “Most people call me Beth.”  

Beth had
opened the flower shop at nine a.m. and set about compiling an inventory of all
stock items, assets and furniture. If she was going to sell the place for a
good price, she needed to get a better handle on what the place was worth and
all of this information would assist in compiling a comprehensive valuation. The
shop was busier than she had expected—there was a constant flow of customers
throughout the morning and by the time lunchtime came around she was starving. Hannah
picked up the phone and ordered them some lunch from the diner.

“Hi, Allison,
its Hannah from the flower shop…yes…could you send over two grilled chicken
salads please. Thanks.”

The phone
rang again just as she placed the receiver down.

“Scent with Love,
how can I help you today? ...Oh hi, Mom, yes I got the kids to school this
morning a little late but we managed just fine. Lucie is having a rough time at
the moment, misses her dad. Luke started walking yesterday…I made a video, I’ll
send it you via e-mail later this afternoon when I get home…thanks, Mom, love
you too.”

Hannah put
down the phone and smiled at Beth apologetically. “Sorry about that, my mom has
been calling about a hundred times a day to check up on me since Ben ran out on
us. The kids have been struggling but we’ll get by.”

Beth felt a
stab of guilt at the thought of selling the shop and leaving Hannah without a
job.

Beth sat
on the wooden
bench at the marina next to the Fisherman’s Wharf hotel and restaurant building
waiting for the gray-haired woman who had shoved the note in her hand after her
mother’s memorial service. Expensive yachts painted in white and blue sat
docked next to small fishing boats with rusty red paint and decks cluttered
with fishing gear. Beth sat reading the names that were inscribed on the boats.
The yachts bore names like
The Midnight Express,
Lovely Laura
and
The Ocean Angel
while the rusty fishing boats had names like
Charger
and Piranha
.

The smell of
freshly caught fish hung in the air and gulls circled overhead, hoping for a
taste of fresh fish. It was a windy afternoon; the ocean air clung to her
cheeks, making them feel sticky, and her lips stung with the taste of salt. It
was a little after three in the afternoon. She had been waiting for the gray-haired
author of the mysterious note for fifteen minutes and she had started to doubt
if she was going to show up.

A fishing
boat came in from the sea with its worn nets brimming with fish. The fishermen
on board looked tired. Their skin was a dark leathery shade of brown from years
in the sun and they smiled with big gaps in between yellow-stained teeth. Beth
admired their work ethic: they woke up before the sun, came back in the late
afternoon and worked late into the evening, gutting and cleaning the day’s
catch so that it could be sold at the early-morning fish market the next day. It
was a hard life, but they looked happy. The boat didn’t dock at the marina,
instead the captain steered it past the pretty buildings at the front of the marina,
towards the back where the docks and the warehouse buildings were located.

At three-thirty,
Beth had tired of watching the fishermen so she decided to head back to the
flower shop to finish the afternoon shift—perhaps Hannah could take some time
off and fetch her kids a little early. It seemed like she could do with an
afternoon off; raising two kids alone couldn’t be easy. As she was about to get
up, a woman sat down next to her. Beth remained calm and continued to look out
at the boats in the marina, not daring to turn to face the woman sitting next
to her. The woman reached for her purse and took out a loaf of stale bread,
broke off small chunks, balled them in her hand and threw them out onto the
water for the hungry seagulls.

“Hello,
Elizabeth, I’m glad you decided to come.”

Martha Crawford
was a tall, stout woman with an enormous chest and a slim waist. She wore a
navy blue cotton shirt and matching blue slacks. She had a pair of black
leather flats and navy stockings on her feet. Her gray hair was cut in a
perfect bob with short bangs that brushed the top of her dark eyebrows that sat
on top of smiling honey-brown eyes.

“You must be
wondering why I brought you here.” Martha spoke quickly as she continued to
throw bread for the hungry birds.

“I have been
wondering what all of this is about. To be honest it does seem a little weird.
Why all the cloak and dagger tactics? ” Beth replied.

“I needed to
talk to you without anyone seeing us. It’s not safe to be seen together in town;
Sheriff Hunter might become suspicious if he sees us together and I can’t risk
the likes of Allison Landon spotting us—the whole town will hear about it at
the diner’s breakfast rush tomorrow morning.”

Beth folded
her hands on her lap and looked at the cars in the hotel parking lot.  She
noticed a big white van with the words ‘Autumn Sunsets, the best place to spend
your golden years’
written on the side in curly black lettering. Martha’s
navy blue attire suddenly made perfect sense—she was the matron at the local
retirement home.

Martha
continued, “Your mother didn’t kill herself, Elizabeth. I am not sure what is
going on in town but things just don’t seem right. There has been a lot of
rumbling of late. The sheriff was onto us and someone was trying to blackmail your
mother.”

Beth was
shocked by Martha’s revelation.

“Blackmail? What
on earth was my mother involved in?”

“Now, dear,
I don’t want you to think badly of your mother; if anyone was to blame it was
me,” sighed Martha. “Your mother was supplying me with pot for the old age home.
The sheriff found out about it and he was not happy. He gave us a warning and
threatened to arrest us if we continued growing and supplying pot. Soon after
that your mother started getting threating letters in the mail: someone wanted
her to sell the shop. They threatened to report her to the police if she didn’t
sell up by the end of the month.”

“Pot?”
replied Beth, almost afraid to hear Martha’s response.

“Marijuana,
dear, weed, grass, cannabis, call it what you like. The operation started out
small but it grew quite large over the last year. We even started to supply to the
neighboring towns.”

Beth cleared
her throat. “I am hoping that your little business was for medical purposes and
not…how shall I say…recreational?”

Martha let
out a dry, hoarse cackle. “I may have smoked a joint or two back in the sixties
but that was way back then. No…your mother and I were supplying those in need, terminally
ill patients, with medical marijuana. It helped to ease their suffering, gave
them a means to escape from the pain. When your mother was diagnosed with
breast cancer she explored a number of treatment options but found that a delicately
spiced brownie was the best form of pain relief. She also found the supply of
medical marijuana to be severely constrained and prices were sky high so she
decided to grow her own. She grew for her own use at first but once I found out
about it, I convinced her to start supplying to others in need.” Martha started
to sob. “I can’t help thinking that somehow all of this led to her death.”

“So she did
have cancer then. I wish she had told me,” sighed Beth.

“Your mother
was a proud woman; she didn’t tell anyone except me and Dr. Jennings, who
diagnosed her in the first place. She used to come to the home once a week for
chemo with Dr. Jennings. Scheduled it to coincide with her weekly flower
deliveries to the home. She told me that she hadn’t let you know, was waiting,
and hoping to go into remission so she would not have to break the terrible
news. That’s why I find it impossible to believe that she committed suicide. She
went for a scan two weeks ago, and Dr. Jennings declared her cancer free.”

Things were
starting to make sense; her mother wasn’t dying. After going into remission she
would have had everything to live for. Beth was now convinced that she did not
commit suicide. She wondered if the mysterious P. Pots in the black ledger had
anything to do with the supply of medical marijuana—the term P. Pots may have
been code for pot. How did Sheriff Hunter fit into all of it and why would a
blackmailer want her mother to sell the shop?

Beth’s mind
was racing. “Do you know who might have wanted her dead?” she asked softly.
Martha shook her head apologetically.

“All I know
is that all of this smells fishy to me.  Chase told me Emily Dawson, the county
coroner, suspected foul play but Sheriff Hunter wouldn’t hear her out. Open and
shut case according to him, didn’t want to hear anything more.”

“Who is
Chase?” asked Beth.

“Sorry,
dear, I keep forgetting that you’re not from around here. Chase is my son. He
is a private investigator, has an office in town on the main road. Deals mostly
with petty crime, divorce, missing teenagers and the like, works for all the
big name lawyers around here. He would be able to help you if you decide to try
and find your mother’s murderer.”

“Thank you,
Martha, I have a lot to think about. I’ll talk to Chase and see what else he
knows but I am not sure if I am the right person to take on my mother’s case. I
think I might go see the sheriff, try to convince him to re-open the case.”

“Just be
careful, dear, I am not sure who to trust anymore. My Chase is a good boy; I
would talk to him before going to the police.” Martha threw the last piece of
bread for the gulls, got up and walked to the white minivan Beth had spotted in
the parking lot. Beth sat five minutes longer to make sure that no one saw them
leaving together and drove back to Millie’s.