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Killjoy June 10, 1958…
Weaving through the party guests, Estelle Bartoli checked the time on her brass pocket watch dangling from a gold chain around her neck. For twenty years, she’d served as the head housekeeper for the Whitaker family. Naturally, Estelle was no stranger to elegant events at Wind Song Mansion, where six generations of Whitakers had lived and made their fortune in river transportation. Currently, Gavin Whitaker was at the helm of the Whitaker Barge Company. He reined over fifteen fleets of towboats and barges, dry dock cleaning, and dry dock stacking. Four years ago, Pittsburgh’s most eligible and wealthiest bachelor married Miriam Williams. The Williams family owned two massive marine ways, cranes, and equipment to execute underwater and topside marine repairs. Needless to say, Gavin’s mother was relieved and overjoyed with the union. At the time, her only child and heir to the Whitaker fortune was closing in on forty.
This evening, Gavin was throwing a thirtieth birthday party for his beautiful wife. Fortunes combined, Gavin and Miriam Whitaker were one of Pittsburgh’s most elite socialites, and everyone who was anyone in the Iron City was in attendance this night. Estelle nodded respectfully at the mayor as she passed. Glancing across the vast room, she spotted Miriam’s parents showing off their nine-month-old granddaughter, Sarah, to the city council president and his wife. Good. Riona Connery, the baby’s nanny, was getting a much-needed break. Lord knows the poor girl was trapped in the nursery with barely any time to herself. At seventeen years old, Riona was loving, attentive, and patient with the child. Estelle had her doubts when Miriam hired the girl, yet over the past six months, Riona proved herself competent and unfailing. Sarah was a happy baby, always smiling, as she was for the councilman. A peel of laughter from the far corner of the room caught Estelle’s attention. It appeared several wives of council members had a little too much wine. Gathered in a tight circle, they were giggling like naughty schoolgirls. Disgraceful. Regardless, the party was going perfectly. The wait staff Estelle had prudently hired to cover the event was performing eloquently. Each guest had a drink in hand. The appetizers Angus had created were delicious, and soon the champagne would be flowing, and the cake would be served. That is, when Gavin decided to set the cigars and the cues aside to emerge, with his friends and business associates, from the billiards room. Searching the crowd, Estelle set eyes on Miriam, looking lovely, as usual, and chatting with guests.
Just then, someone sneezed, and another sneeze, and then a rapid succession of sneezing, followed by wheezing. “Are you alright?” Estelle heard someone inquire, and then she saw Miriam excuse herself from her conversation to wind through the throng of guests toward the wife of the conductor for the Pittsburgh Symphony. Lotte was easing down on the pink and gold striped French sofa. She was having some kind of attack. Miriam sat down next to the woman, gently cupping her shoulder. “What’s going on, Lotte?” The woman pressed a handkerchief to her nose. “Spring allergies, I’m afraid. It seems something in this room is really getting to me.” She nodded toward a large vase filled with roses. “The roses, perhaps?” Somewhere in the house, there was a loud pop! Miriam flinched. Lotte’s eyes widened, and all the guests glanced about the room. Within a moment, everyone returned to their conversations, and another round of sneezing took hold of Lotte and Miriam’s focus. Immediately, Estelle gestured to a waiter. “Get rid of those roses,” she instructed, in a heavy Italian lilt. Setting his tray on a nearby table, the young waiter obliged. Yet, the wheezing intensified. Estelle’s suspicions were mounting that Lotte’s ailment was caused by something else in the house, and she had a feeling she knew what it was. “Are you allergic to cats?” she inquired. Another sneeze. “Oh, yes, they are the worst. I can’t breathe if there’s a cat about,” Lotte croaked. “Oh, dear, we have a cat, a Himalayan, but she spends most of her time upstairs in the nursery with Riona and the baby. Zsa Zsa loves our Sarah, and she’s quite fond of the nanny, too,” Miriam explained. A young woman approached to hand Lotte a glass. “Here, drink this. It’s tonic water.” Smiling and nodding a thank you, Lotte took the glass and sipped. “I saw a young girl walking in the gardens earlier. A cat was following her. It was so beautiful. A Himalayan, you say?” the woman inquired. “Yes, that’s our Zsa Zsa. She’s very beautiful, and I’m certain she was following our nanny, Riona. The cat follows her everywhere. They were probably out for a bit of fresh air,” Miriam expounded.
“That cat shouldn’t be around the baby,” Estelle put in sternly. “Cats have been known to steal an infant’s breath and cause crib death.” Miriam waved a dismissive hand. “That’s just an old wives’ tale, Estelle.” “Nonetheless, my dear, if there’s a cat in the house, I must be going. Can you find my husband and have our car brought round, please?” Lotte requested in a hoarse voice. Miriam patted Lotte’s knee. “Certainly.” She lifted her gaze to meet Estelle’s. Now it was Miriam’s tone that was stern. “Notify the maid that we need the maestro’s car brought round right now. And have one of the waiters go into the billiards room to get him straightaway.” “Yes, ma’am,” Estelle said, and with that, she made her way across the room, stopping to send a waiter to the billiards room. Almost to the foyer, she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to find a waiter with his silver serving tray folded against his chest. The tall, skinny, redheaded boy with acne covering his youthful face shifted from one foot to the other, as if he had something to say but didn’t know how to breach the subject. “Si?” “Um…Mrs. Bartoli, we’re out of…um, chardonnay. Where would I get more?” Cocking an eyebrow, Estelle clasped the gold chain around her neck and squeezed. “There’s none on the buffet in the dining room where all the wines are set up?” The boy fidgeted. He dropped his gaze to the floor. “No, ma’am.” Estelle tossed her hands in the air. “Che dolore!” Around an annoyed sigh, she added, “Angus must not have brought enough up from the cellar. Come. We’ll have him fetch more. You’ll need to go with him to help carry the wine up from the basement.” “Yes, ma’am,” the young man stammered. Estelle and the waiter weaved through the guests, until they stepped into the immense foyer where the young house maid stood at a narrow podium stationed beside the tall, double mahogany doors. The setting sun’s rays glimmered through the beveled glass, casting colorful prisms over the parquet floor. “Tessa, have a valet bring the maestro’s car round, immediatamente,” Estelle instructed, and then through the door’s side windows, her gaze caught sight of a blue convertible accelerating away from the house. Her brows furrowed. “A guest has gone already?” “Yes. Mr. Williams requested his car just a few moments ago.” She reached for the telephone affixed to the wall next to the door. “Mrs. Whitaker’s brother? Why?” Estelle asked. Her Italian tone was on the edgy side of insulted. “One of the boys got hurt, and they’re taking him to the hospital,” the girl replied. Rolling her eyes, Estelle flicked the very tips of her fingers under her chin. “Non mi interessa. Those boys are nothing but trouble.” She swung around, almost bumping into the jumpy waiter. How did this one get through my interview? With a wiggle of her forefinger, the waiter was on her heels as she proceeded through the wide corridor to the kitchen, where they found the cook, Angus Docherty. The large man stood at a long butcher-block table assembling delicate pastries onto trays. Angus’s white, double-breasted jacket barely fit. The buttons looked as if they would pop at any moment, and his belly flopped over his stained apron. Sweat beaded his brow and dribbled down his temples. His sausage-like fingers carefully cradled each pastry as he eased them onto the tray. Pausing from his chore, he picked up a champagne flute and took a greedy gulp. Estelle’s eyes popped. “Angus, did you open the champagne already?” It wasn’t a question. It was a reprimand...
~~~
...“Who’s there?” a woman inquired from inside the apartment. “Detective Slater and Constable Mulligan,” Slater replied. The lock clicked and when the door opened, Nora stood before them with an expectant look in her eyes. “I was wonderin’ when you’d come back. What’ve ya got, then?” “May we come in?” Slater asked. Nora stepped aside to give them entry. Slater removed his fedora. Winnie followed him into the apartment. Bonnie Connery stood in the humble kitchen area, pouring hot water into two teacups. Oh, yes, Winnie remembered the woman well. When Bonnie first arrived at The Lazy Hound Pub with her family, she was a lovely, vibrant Irish woman. Full auburn tresses spilled about her shoulders, and her green eyes were always smiling, even if she wasn’t. Now, Bonnie was overtly thin. The green and white polka-dotted dress she was sporting hung loose on her boney frame, and when she turned to see who had come into her quarters, her eyes were not smiling, nor was she. Despair had drawn Bonnie’s pretty features downward. Still, the resemblance to her sister, Nora, was most apparent. Except for their eyes. Nora’s eyes were more resolute, probing. “Nora and I were about to have some tea. Can I get you some?” Like Nora, Bonnie’s Irish lilt was very heavy. “No, thank you.” Slater turned to Winnie. “Constable?” Winnie shook her head no.
“I assume you’re Bonnie Connery.” “That I am, Detective.” Bonnie carried the cups and saucers to a tiny table, set them down, and gestured for her sister to sit. Nora obliged. “I’m sorry. I only have three chairs. Constable, would you like to sit?” Slater nodded to Winnie, and she took the third chair. He moved toward the kitchen while pulling out his pad and pen from his jacket. Setting his fedora on the counter, he leaned a hip against it. “I hope you enjoyed your shopping trip.” “We haven’t just been shoppin’, Detective. We hired a solicitor to arrange for Riona’s body to be exhumed and taken to the coroner,” Nora said. Bonnie’s gaunt face pinched in anguish as she sipped her tea. Slater exchanged glances with Winnie. “I see. Mrs. Connery, I wanted to ask you some questions about your daughter.” Closing her eyes, Bonnie nodded. “How long did Riona work at Wind Song Mansion?” Bonnie stared into her teacup. “Six months.” “Did she like working for the Whitakers?” She lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “I suppose.” The corners of Bonnie’s lips arched ever so slightly. “She adored that wee one, but it was hard for such a young lass to provide constant care like that.” Bonnie dragged her watery gaze to meet Slater’s. “Riona rarely came to visit. The Whitakers didn’t give her much time away. I missed her. I wasn’t allowed to visit. I’m not sure why.” She covered her mouth to stifle a sob. Nora gently laid her hand over Bonnie’s. Slater softened his tone. “I know this is hard. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Connery, but when Riona came to visit, did she seem on edge or uncomfortable about anything going on at the Whitakers’? Did she get along with the staff?” Bonnie shot an uncomfortable look at her sister. Nora nodded for her to expose all. With a shaking hand, Bonnie sat her cup on the saucer and lifted her gaze to meet the detective’s.
“It was that cook. Angus Docherty, I tell ya. He was always makin’ inappropriate comments to Riona. Tellin’ her how pretty she was, suggestin’ they might go to dinner sometime. He was old enough to be her father, for God’s sake. I told her she could quit. She should come home, we’d make do somehow. She didn’t have to put up with the likes of Angus Docherty. But Riona insisted she could handle him. He was on the suspect list, ya know. Everybody thought he’d done it. That other detective was suspicious of him, I’ll tell ya. But he just…went away. I don’t know what happened to him, if he died or left the department, but I never heard another word about me daughter’s…” Her words gave way to weeping. Bonnie pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her dress to cover her nose and mouth.
“Detective Mark Schultz. I don’t know what happened to him, but I didn’t know the man at all. Unfortunately, all his notes disappeared, Mrs. Connery. I’m starting over with this case,” Slater said. “And you’ll get to the bottom of it, I’m tellin’ ya,” Nora said concisely. Bonnie pushed up from her seat. “I best be gettin’ downstairs. The dinner rush will be startin’ and I don’t want Molly or Winnie to have to pick up me tables. They’ve done quite enough of that.” With that, she made her way to the door, grabbed an apron from the coat hooks on the wall, and made her exit. The group remained silent while listening to Bonnie’s quick footfalls on the staircase. “We just interviewed Angus Docherty. He claims he didn’t kill Riona,” Slater said. “I see. So, when someone claims they didn’t do it, we’re supposed to say, oh, fair play, and scratch them off the suspect list, are we?” Nora bit out. “Here’s the facts, Detective: Angus Docherty had plenty of opportunity to kill me niece. Here’s how I see it: Riona came in from her walk through the kitchen because wealthy sods, like the Whitakers, don’t like the help waltzin’ through their fancy affairs. Angus lured her downstairs to show her somethin’, or to give her somethin’, but in fact, he wanted somethin’. When Riona resisted, he killed her, and dressed it all up to look like a suicide.”
“I like it. I really do, but why would Coroner Lawson cover up a murder for a cook?” Slater threw up his hands. “Okay, maybe he’s a really good cook, but I hardly think a respected coroner is going to jeopardize his reputation for someone the Whitakers could easily replace.” “Maybe the cook had somethin’ on one of the Whitakers or the coroner himself,” Winnie put in. Nora pointed a stiff finger at Winnie. “Now you’re talkin’, Constable.” Slater raised his hands in surrender. “You might be right. That said, I think we need to look deeper than what’s on the surface.” “You’re right. So, have a seat then, Detective Slater,” Nora said. Slater obliged. “I think I’ve got somethin’ to show ya that ya haven’t seen before.” The Irish Constable stood and made her way a short distance to walk around a double bed. She picked up a briefcase, laid it on the bed to open it, and plucked a manilla envelope from inside. Returning to the table, she sat back down and slid the envelope across the table to Slater. “Take a look at those, Detective, and you too, Constable.” Slater dug into the envelope to retrieve photographs, then with furrowed brows, his gaze snapped up to meet Nora’s. “Crime scene photos? Where in God’s name did you get these?” “Look at the return address, why don’t ya.” Slater flipped the envelope over. The photographs had been sent from his precinct. “Who…” “I’ve got me contacts, and I don’t wish to share them at this time. Take a look at the first photo, the shot of Riona sittin’ against the wall. Notice where the gun is lyin’.” Winnie leaned in to see the picture. “It’s next to her right hand.”
“That’s right. But Riona was helplessly left-handed. If she were inclined to shoot herself, which I don’t believe she was, wouldn’t the lass have used the hand she was certain of?” “I’d say yes, if you’re askin’ me,” Winnie replied. “Evidently, it’s a little detail the killer wasn’t aware of,” Nora said. Slater studied the photos closely. “That’s a Luger that’s been placed next to her hand. Where would a young girl get a Luger? Where would she get a gun in the first place, and why would she have one?” “So, you agree that she didn’t kill herself?” Nora questioned. Slater’s gaze met Nora’s. “Regardless, if she was left-handed or not, the Luger is laying in the wrong position and too close to the body.” He pointed to the photo. “See, it’s right next to her thigh. If she’d shot herself, the gun would have dropped farther away when her hand flung away from the kickback, not right next to her thigh. Yeah, someone laid her hand there and placed the gun to make it look like she’d shot herself.” He glanced over the other photos, and then hesitating on the third photo, he pointed at a spot. “What’s this? A puddle? Blood?” Nora and Winnie looked over his shoulder. “Is it a shadow?” Nora asked. “Don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to look at the original coroner’s report. We picked it up, along with the few notes I had in my desk, on the way to the interviews at Wind Song Mansion.” “I looked it over a bit while we were drivin’ along,” Winnie began. “There was no mention of gun residue at all. Not on the lass’s hand or her head. It basically said the lass died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Not much more information, I’m afraid.” “Well, there ya have it, then. Like I said, a dodgy coroner’s report. Now, what’ve ya got in mind, Detective? Because, this time, I’ll be comin’ along,” Nora stated. Slater stood. “We’re going to see Gavin Whitaker at his office. Let’s go.” Nora and Winnie pushed up from their seats. Quickly, Nora gathered up the teacups and placed them in the sink before checking to make sure the stove was off. She handed Slater his hat and then grabbed her coat and purse from hooks next to the door. Plopping his fedora on his head, Slater held the door open for the ladies, and then the trio stepped into the hallway and headed for the staircase. Slater brought up the rear. Halfway down the stairs, Winnie stopped and turned toward Nora and Slater. “The baby was nine months old when Riona died. Bonnie said Riona was the Whitakers’ nanny for six months. So, who took care of the wee one the first three months? Why did they give up their position, and where are they now?” Slater stopped short. “Good question.” “How did ya know the baby was nine months at the time of Riona’s death?” Nora asked. “Um…I must’ve read it somewhere or someone must’ve mentioned it. I…I’m fairly good at rememberin’ little details. Part of me job, isn’t it, then?” Winnie pointed out. “Perhaps ya might not be too hasty to send this one back to Ireland, Detective Slater,” Nora stated.
~~~
McDonald has really upped her game in her latest Owl's Nest Mystery Series... And I LOVED It! First, let's set the stage for the theme of the series... Angel Characters... I was excited to read the first book in this series... But, instead of a straight cozy mystery where readers are working along with the amateur detective in trying to sold a murder mystery, C. S. has added humor... And just like the "Who's on First?" comedy scenario, readers may begin to feel like we're running around trying to follow exactly what is happening... Because we now have two angels to keep track of... And, she ups it further by switching the ghost human partners, by including her dearest work partner to substitute for her! So, while this might be a rather fast-paced story, be prepared to slow it down to keep track of who's on first...
Alexa Owl is our main character who owns Owl's Nest Couturier Shoppe. She is normally the one who works with one of the angels--and, did I mention time travel is also involved? You see, the angels are sent back to solve cold cases! Detective Bobby Starr has been in all of the first books while he has been working to gain permanent membership in the Guardian Angel Squad... Alexa is his human contact. As of now, we the readers have not been told how Alexa happened to be that human... (if I remember right, LOL).
“We’re here today to read the last will and testament of one, Jacob Allan Burnley, a fine attorney, sharp businessman, and…um…well, he was a human being.”~~~
This time, however, there is a case in the present. And it involves Alex's sister, Natalyn La Pearle. She has been accused of killing her boss...in her bed...with a knife... Twelve Times...
Now here's the twist. Alex is involved with Detective Cliff Slater, the primary homicide officer. However, since Alex's sister is the accused and also intimate with Cliff, he has been cut out of the case. And, of course, that means that Alex, who has been used to helping with cases for many years, with Starr, she refuses to be excluded from working this most important case... Obviously Cliff will help... In this book, Detective Starr gets to meet the real Cliff Slater and immediately starts comparing him to his grandfather... The new angel in training...
Detective Errol Jones has been assigned her sister's case and even though Cliff is a good cop, Jones wants to play it straight to exclude Cliff, or Alex... But, since this is Jones' first murder case, Cliff asked for and got the chance to work along with him... Thankfully... Because it was quite clear that Jones believed that Natalyn was guilty... quickly pointing out that even the knife used was from her kitchen!
So let's head back to 1958 where we find Detective Starr with a new partner, not knowing how to deal with her, as well as the family members of the girl that had been killed and found in a wine cellar, and never having her case solved. And a persistent family member who wants to work along on the case as well. So Detective Starr introduces them as Constables who are visiting America from Ireland. And they both proved to be excellent at the details that even Starr had not seen. This cold case was solved!
One of the little plot manipulation that had to occur was that both Alex, when they traveled back in history, and for Winnie this time, was that they were replaced by Heavenly actors in their places. Now, for Alex, that didn't prove to be a problem since Winnie knew all about Detective Starr and what happened in Alex's absence... But now Winnie was being pulled back into the past. Winnie was a wonderfully outspoken individual, friendly and talking with everybody. But, could a fake Winnie fool Louie Santorini when he came calling for an evening out?
Clearly this is a character-driven novel. But the writer helps her reader by providing a list of characters at the beginning of the book, in case you need to refresh just who or what is handling which case... Seriously, it's a fun, perhaps, more complex story than the average cozy mystery, but certainly worthy of providing the warmth and concern that cozy mysteries always seem create... Highly recommended! In fact, I recommend the whole series, so if you haven't read this author yet, why not start with the first in series shown above...
And, if you like her writing as excerpted above, do check out the author by searching in the right-hand column for C. S. McDonald or Cindy McDonald. I think I've read most if not all of her books... A Favorite Author for me...
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