The Girls Whispered Murder: An Izzy Walsh Mystery

By Lynn McPherson

The second book in the Izzy Walsh Mystery Series! Springtime is beautiful in the cozy town of Twin Oaks, nestled along the New England coastline. It’s 1954, and Izzy Walsh is at The Mariner’s Whisper, Twin Oaks’ most popular dinner club, for a girls’ night out. But the fun is short lived and the highballs run dry when the chef is found murdered the next morning. Izzy finds herself drawn into the mystery when clues turn up everywhere she goes. She is determined to help, but a party of suspects begins to crowd the menu, and it becomes hard to choose just one. Can Izzy find the culinary killer and live to tell the tale, or will her boundless curiosity lead to her own dead end?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black Opal Books
• Release date: Sep 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781626949867

Book preview

The second book in the Izzy Walsh Mystery Series!

Springtime is beautiful in the cozy town of Twin Oaks, nestled along the New England coastline. It’s 1954, and Izzy Walsh is at The Mariner’s Whisper, Twin Oaks’ most popular dinner club, for a girls’ night out.

But the fun is short lived and the highballs run dry when the chef is found murdered the next morning. Izzy finds herself drawn into the mystery when clues turn up everywhere she goes. She is determined to help, but a party of suspects begins to crowd the menu, and it becomes hard to choose just one.

Can Izzy find the culinary killer and live to tell the tale, or will her boundless curiosity lead to her own dead end?

KUDOS FOR THE GIRLS WHISPERED MURDER

In The Girls Whispered Murder by Lynn McPherson, Izzy Walsh is at it again, trying to solve another mystery and involving her best friends in suspense and danger. This time, the chef at their favorite restaurant has been murdered, and once again, one of her friends is a suspect. Even though Detective Jones tells all the ladies to leave it to the police, Izzy is not the type of woman to abandon a friend in need. Her friend, Harriet Smith, the wife of the restaurant owner, has a mysterious and secret past that she refuse to talk about, so Izzy and her three best friends go on the hunt for clues, determined to discover if Harriet could possibly be guilty of murder. Charming, intriguing, and highly entertaining, McPherson has another winner on her hands. A really great read. ~ Taylor Jones, The Review Team of Taylor Jones & Regan Murphy

The Girls Whispered Murder by Lynn McPherson is the second in her Izzy Walsh Mystery series. This time our intrepid heroine, Izzy, is out to prove that her new friend, Harriet, is not guilty of murder. Harriet is the owner, with her husband Howard, of The Mariner’s Whisper restaurant, and when the chef is murdered, Harriet and her husband are the natural suspects. Izzy wants to believe her friend is innocent, but when Harriet refuses to talk about her past, it raises questions that Izzy is afraid the police will find suspicious. So Izzy and her best friends--Mary, Jo, and Ava--take it upon themselves to solve the mystery. The Girls Whispered Murder takes you back to a simpler time--a time when crime levels were low and murder in a small town was a rare occurrence. With marvelous characters, an intriguing mystery, and plenty of twists and turns, this one will keep you engrossed all the way through. ~ Taylor Jones, The Review Team of Taylor Jones & Regan Murphy

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I have to start by thanking the talents of Kerrin Hands, Rosemary Graham, Jen Bistolas, Averyl McPherson, Black Opal Books, and Dad.

Mom and Stella, your dedication and hard work helped my dreams come true.

Troy, your love and support give me the inspiration and motivation to keep writing.

Finally, Scarlett and Remy, you define love and joy for me.

The Girls Whispered Murder

AN IZZY WALSH MYSTERY

Lynn McPherson

A Black Opal Books Publication

Copyright © 2018 by Lynn McPherson

Cover Design by Kerrin Hands

All cover art copyright © 2018

All Rights Reserved

EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-626949-86-7

EXCERPT

I hadn’t really meant to eavesdrop. I was just curious...

I began to daydream about a life of luxury when a tiny ray of light coming out of a wall distracted my future planning. It alerted my curiosity, so naturally, I walked over to inspect it. I took a closer look and was surprised to see there was a piece of the wall that seemed subtly different from the rest. I realized it wasn’t part of the wall at all--it was some sort of discreet opening. It sat just below shoulder height, so I hunched down to get a better look. There was a small grip along the side I could use to maneuver the cover of what I realized was an actual passageway. I couldn’t help but give it a try. I pulled out what proved to be a sliding drawer that opened up to the kitchen. I peered through. I saw Harriet still talking quietly to Maurice. I leaned in farther on the tips of my toes. I wanted to know what they seemed so determined to keep private. I slowly negotiated my head and shoulders into the limited space then turned my head to the side to see better.

When I finally secured a view I was satisfied with, I realized Harriet and Maurice had, in fact, ceased their hushed discussion. They were now both staring at me. Panic set in and I tried to pull myself back out quickly. Unfortunately for me, my shoulders were seriously wedged in. I had to wriggle like a baby swaddled in a tight blanket to get myself completely out. Harriet and Maurice began to walk toward me. By the time I was standing up properly again, the two friends were back in the dining room standing next to me. I was utterly humiliated.

My face was beet red, and I stammered for a moment before getting my words out, I must greatly apologize for intruding on your privacy. It was not my intention.

They both looked at me in a bewildered sort of way then exchanged a look with each other. Harriet tried to stifle the body-shaking giggles that possessed them both.

Maurice didn’t bother. I don’t think I’ve seen less grace since witnessing my overweight cat try to climb an apple tree.

DEDICATION

For Troy. I love you.

Chapter 1

The ocean always smelled good in the spring. Today, the fresh April air offered a sense of renewal. I took several deep breaths while standing near the edge of the cliff overlooking the New England coastline. The sun gave me a fine soaking of its warm rays. I closed my eyes, and a light spray from crashing waves on the shore below moistened my face. I couldn’t think of a better way to wash away the old and welcome the new, especially in our cozy town of Twin Oaks. The Whitmore Estate, owned by my dear friend Mary Whitmore, had the best view in town. I was in no rush for this moment to pass.

It had been an exceedingly slow winter, with cold days, long nights, and gentle healing. Mary lost her husband of twenty years the previous summer and struggled to recover, challenged by the unsettling discovery that he had a dark and violent temper. Unbeknownst to Mary, he unleashed it on several unsuspecting women. It was this secret rage that got him killed. But like the buds of tulips emerging in her garden, Mary was ready to break new ground. It was 1954 and time to embrace the day ahead.

My roaming thoughts were interrupted as I heard someone come up behind me. I opened my eyes and turned to see who was approaching. It was my best friend, Ava Russell. She was getting her black stilettos awkwardly stuck in the soft ground as she walked, simultaneously eyeing me with an odd look of concern and confusion. Her dark, arched eyebrows raised up, and her bountiful chestnut curls fell to one side as her head tilted to the left, exaggerating her rather tenuous balance.

Izzy, I didn’t know your face had so many sweat glands. It’s not even remotely warm out. I think you need to go inside. It looks like you’re about to overheat and fall over those cliffs.

I’m not sweating, you oaf. One of Ava’s favorite pastimes was getting on my nerves and interrupting any peace and quiet I could manage to find. She never failed to succeed.

"Excuse me, perspiring then."

She regained her balance using my poor, unsuspecting arm. She brushed herself off and pulled down her red kitten-framed sunglasses, to get a second look.

I was curious. Have you ever walked out this far to look at the spectacular view? The sea mist rises up from the pressure of breaking waves.

Her eyes widened so much, I could see her warm brown eyes behind the thick layers of black mascara. Of course not. It’s a treacherous walk. I almost broke my leg trying to reach you.

I pressed my lips together firmly in an effort to restrain my smile. Perhaps it’s time to invest in flat footwear again. The walk might be reduced to mildly alarming.

"Don’t be ridiculous, Izzy. That would give away my true stature. I’d almost look as...petite as you."

I swatted at her. I don’t mind you calling me short. I’ve accepted my five-foot-two-inch frame. It’s much easier than trying to emulate your long gams.

She put both hands on her hips before facing me. My legs are my best asset. I just try to focus on the positive.

Of course, your pretty eyes and perfectly pouty lips must be quite a burden, I teased.

Why must you insist on giving me a hard time? Sometimes I wonder why I put up with you.

I folded my arms over my chest. It’s probably because I always remember to bring extra wine when we go somewhere. I’m guessing that’s the real motivator for your visit.

Ava turned her frown upside down and threw her arms up in defeat. Okay, you got me. Your trunk is locked, and I couldn’t find the key.

I took the key out of my pocket and tossed it to her, Voila.

Thank you, she said as she started back for solid ground then paused as she realized I wasn’t following. Aren’t you coming?

I’ll be there in a jiff. I just want one more moment to take in the view.

Ava turned away and jingled the car keys high in the air. Leave it to me. It’ll be sitting on ice.

It felt so right to be back here with Ava and Mary, just waiting for the fourth in our quartet of confidantes. Jo Reynolds completed that circle, and together I believed we could get through anything. Over ten years earlier we first met, working together at a munitions factory. Life-long friends, Ava and I signed up together. We immediately bonded with Mary, sharing a love and a need for laughter as we labored through the darkness of the war. Jo came about a year later. She was shy and unsure of herself. Mary, who was our line manager and den mother, took extra time and care to bring Jo out of the fragile shell in which she existed. She had just come from an isolated family and was struggling to cope with the recent loss of her beloved brother. Once Jo became more comfortable and accustomed to life with us, her confidence grew, and she naturally blended into our little clique like butter on bread. That bond remained strong to this day.

A taxi pulled up, and Jo emerged, looking every bit the professional woman she had become. Quite a contrast from the timid young woman we met so many years ago.

Jo looked around and waved at me. I could see a smile on her face coming from under the stylish velveteen circle hat she wore. She had learned how to best dress her tiny, almost boy-like frame with tailored suit jackets and matching skirts paired with trendy high-heeled pumps. She always completed the look with a fun accessory or two and light makeup that suited her delicate features and her curly, fair hair.

I waved excitedly and quickly made my way to the large entrance of Mary’s estate where Jo waited calmly for me. It took me no time at all, as I was undaunted by the thawing ground with my ballet-style flats and light step.

She tried to give me a big hug, but I pulled away after a brief squeeze, feeling the need to examine the soft, fitted beige suit she wore, paired artfully with the trendy hat. I think I need a stylist if I’m going to be socializing with the likes of you. Gorgeous, but understated. Absolutely fabulous.

Jo grinned. The way you talk, a person might think you dressed in a paper bag, Izzy. Given the fact your cropped fancy pants look like they just walked themselves off the fashion pages, I think you’ll fare just fine--and that little hair jewel, too. The violet sparkle against your black hair brings out your eyes. You could almost pass for a teenager, for goodness sake.

I bowed my head lightly. Thank you, Jo. I’ve always been drawn to a rebellious spirit. I kicked up my heel for effect.

Before I had a chance to finish my youthful demonstration, the door swung open. Mary and Ava came bursting out.

Mary reached Jo first. She opened her arms and enveloped the petite newcomer. There’s our hard-nosed journalist. Mary’s praise and approval meant a lot.

Don’t suffocate the poor girl, Ava scolded Mary before scooching in herself and squeezing Jo tighter than a lemon in a gin fizz.

Jo gave me a sideways smile as she tried to regain her breath. I shook my head. I can’t believe we get to celebrate yet another accomplishment by our youngest companion.

Ava now took a minute to survey Jo. You may need to slow down your professional successes. Every time you achieve something of note, we go out for a drink. Keep it up, and you might turn me into a lush.

I could feel my eyebrows lower. I tapped my lips with my index finger. Ava, we haven’t been out for a drink in months.

Ava dismissed my comment with the wave of her hand. Yes, but I hear about things and feel the urge to celebrate at home.

I scoffed. Like how Jo got to work every day last week on time?

We were all aware Jo had never been late a day in her life. Izzy, it’s important to celebrate the small victories, not just the large, Ava reminded me proudly. She sidled up to me and affectionately put her head on my shoulder then tried to jab me without anyone else noticing.

Mary ignored our antics and linked arms with Jo. Let’s get you inside so you can relax. It’s a big day. They headed straight for the sunroom.

Ava looked dismayed at the fact she couldn’t quite hear the conversation between the two walking in front. I don’t want to miss a speck of gossip. Speak louder.

Jo had been given her first official writing assignment at the local newspaper where she worked. She started her career there less than a year ago and had gone from a girl Friday, doing entry level secretarial jobs; to editorial assistant, working directly on the articles going into the paper; and often staying late in the process. Her hard work and dedication paid off. She was given a trial writing assignment for the Town Life section. It was a behind-the-scenes look at Twin Oaks’ most popular fine dining restaurant, The Mariner’s Whisper. Jo recognized what a great opportunity it was and dedicated all her free time for a month to research the article. It was going to be printed in tomorrow’s paper, so we agreed to celebrate at the restaurant.

Mary’s housekeeper, Mrs. Collins, had prepared appetizers in the sunroom on a small coffee table covered by a crisp white tablecloth. The tasty spread allowed just enough room for each of us to sit comfortably on our favorite loveseats with copious amounts of fresh treats within reach. There was a variety of finger foods and a loaf of fresh bread with cheese, plus a jug of water with lemon and lime slices. A vase of delicate and brilliant violet orchids, Jo’s favorite flowers, sat in the middle. When Jo saw the thoughtful display, she was visibly touched.

Mrs. Collins, an older Scottish lady with a thick accent and strong opinions to boot, lumbered into the room just after we did. She always walked with a purpose, almost bull-like in her build and her movements. We’d all known Mrs. Collins almost as long as we’d known Mary. We had grown to love and respect her as an authority figure not to be messed with, and she, in turn, had grown to expect and accept our silly antics with rolling eyes and a sharp wit.

Jo approached the endearing housekeeper with open arms. Isn’t this your day off, Mrs. Collins?

Get away, she instructed sternly, waving Jo back, I’ve flour all over my apron. It’d be a shame to mess up that fancy garb. I will give you a pat on the back just the same. But, yes, it’s my regular day off. However, a victory for you is one for me as well, so I wanted to be here to congratulate you.

Thank you, Jo said sincerely.

Yes, well, I also couldn’t risk you lot causing too much of a stir before you head out to celebrate. I’ve my kitchen to protect, she said with a wink.

That doesn’t make it any less thoughtful. I’m touched.

Well, go on then and have some food before it goes to waste, Mrs. Collins instructed. She silently handed a corkscrew to Ava then exited the room with almost a bounce in her heavy step, clearly pleased she was notably appreciated. We