Ghost White Murder: African Violet Club Mysteries, #5

By Elise M. Stone

Who haunts the abandoned town of Greenville?

Rainbow Ranch, Arizona is neck deep in controversy over the development of a nearby ghost town into a tourist attraction. The business people see the ghost town as a boon. The townspeople see it as a blight.

The dispute has the town choosing sides, tempers flaring. When one of the adversaries is murdered, suspects abound. Including the Ghost of Greenville.

This time the chief of police doesn't want her help. Even though he needs it.

There's too much at stake for the people of Rainbow Ranch for Lilliana to sit on her hands. She's determined to solve the crime even if she has to solve it on her own.

Be sure to read this mystery filled with twists and turns!

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Elise M. Stone
• Release date: Apr 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386000167

Elise M. Stone

Elise M. Stone was born and raised in New York, went to college in Michigan, lived in the Boston area for eight years, and not too long ago moved to sunny Tucson, Arizona, where she doesn't have to shovel snow. Her first degree was in psychology, her second in computers. She's worked as a pizza maker, library clerk, waitress, social worker, programmer, and data jockey. Retired now, she spends her days doing her two favorite things: writing and reading. Agatha and Spenser, her two cats, keep her company while watching birds and lizards outside her office window. I love hearing from readers. You can connect with me at: Email: [e-mail] Twitter: @EliseMStone Facebook: www.facebook.com/EliseMStone

Book preview

Chapter 1

One, two, three, four. We don’t need any more.

Not terribly original, thought Lilliana, but at least it rhymed. Signs reading Stop the Ghost Town, We Don’t Need Tourists, and Keep Rainbow Ranch Quiet (that one ironic in light of the noise they were making) bobbed up and down in time to the chant.

The shouts of the protesters marching down Main Street almost drowned out the thumpity-thump of the wheels of Lilliana’s wagon as she pulled it over the uneven sidewalk. Pots of African violets she hoped to sell in the flower shop filled the wagon bed, making it heavy and unwieldy to maneuver. At least the air was cool and clean on this late October morning, the thermometer approaching the mid-seventies, unlike the life-draining hundred-degree temperatures of southern Arizona in the summer.

She recognized the psychic twins, Marilyn and Susan, a.k.a. Glennis and Glynda, right in the thick of the protest, along with Pastor Douglas from the Presbyterian church. As she approached her destination, another voice added itself to the din.

Get away from my store! Geoff Cameron, co-owner of Cameron’s Flowers and Gifts along with his wife, Penny, stood in the doorway shaking his meaty fist in the air. His face was almost as red as his beard.

We have just as much right to be here as you do, one of the protesters, a woman, yelled back at him.

You’re bad for business. I’m going to call the police. Geoff turned and entered his store, slamming the door behind him.

Lilliana was a bit miffed that he hadn’t noticed her and closed the door in her face. That’s why she preferred dealing with Penny. Geoff was gruff at the best of times. Lilliana couldn’t imagine trying to do business with him when he was angry. Fortunately, when she opened the door, he was nowhere in sight.

Let me help you, Penny said as she hurried from behind the counter to hold the door open. Several inches shorter than Lilliana’s own five-ten, she was the antithesis of her husband. Kind and amiable, she was always a pleasure to deal with.

Thank you. Lilliana wrestled the wagon over the sill.

What lovely plants! Penny exclaimed. Then, as she lifted a couple out of the wagon, she added, And such beautiful pots.

Lilliana had been wondering what Penny would think since this time she hadn’t purchased the pots from the Camerons’ store. I finally got to speak to Grace Dalton, the art teacher from the elementary school, about making some for me. She’s the one who gave the class at the retirement home a few months ago.

I remember. Penny set the pots on the counter and reached into the wagon for two more. As a matter of fact, she came into the store yesterday. Penny pointed at a fixture draped in colorful material on the counter. It looked like a mug rack that had been repurposed. She’s started making these wonderful silkscreen scarves. I told her I’d take them on consignment, just like I do your African violets.

Several scarves hung from each arm of the rack, organized by color. Abstract patterns of pink or lavender or blue swirled against the white of the material.

Lilliana paused in her task to comment. They are lovely. I’m sure they’ll sell well. In fact, she just might buy one for herself. Later, when she determined if her sales would accommodate the extravagance. She resumed unloading the rest of the African violets. When she was done, she glanced around the store. What happened to Geoff?

He went in the back to call Chief Cartwright. Penny pressed her lips together for a moment. I wish he wouldn’t make trouble.

Lilliana could sympathize. Antagonizing the residents of Rainbow Ranch didn’t seem to be a good business tactic since they also provided the largest share of the store’s customers. Much as the Camerons had hoped relatives coming out from Tucson would stop to buy something for their elderly parents living in the Rainbow Ranch Retirement Home, the locals still provided most of the store’s business.

That’ll show them. Geoff emerged from the back of the store and stomped toward the front door. He slammed it again on his way out. His voice was clearly audible inside the shop as he yelled at the protesters again. You’d better leave if you know what’s good for you.

After she returned to her usual spot behind the counter, Penny pursed her lips again as she took a ledger from underneath. She consulted Lilliana’s ledger page, then filled out a receipt in silence, the ballpoint pen plowing furrows in the pad. When she finished, she hit the No Sale key on the register, and the drawer popped open. She carefully counted out the bills before handing them to Lilliana. Here you go.

Lilliana glanced toward the door. Why is Geoff so angry? The Town Council approved the ghost town, which was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

Most of the business owners had been in favor of developing the old mining town of Greenville as a tourist attraction. They all thought they’d make a lot of money from the additional traffic. The residents, as evidenced by the marchers outside, hadn’t been quite as enthusiastic. They wanted to keep their small town quiet and private. The retirement community had been a big enough change for most of them, increasing the population of Rainbow Ranch by almost twenty percent in one fell swoop.

Penny nodded, the blue-green stones that dangled from her earrings sparkling as they caught the light with the movement of her head. Yes, but he’s afraid there will be some kind of proposition brought up to void the agreement. We’re not too sure how things work here yet.

The Camerons had emigrated from Scotland not too long ago and were recent arrivals not only to Rainbow Ranch, but also to the United States. Even Lilliana wasn’t sure how things worked in Arizona. Born and raised in Massachusetts, she knew a town meeting could have outvoted the council in a heartbeat. But Arizona didn’t seem to have town meetings.

The town’s lone police car pulled up at the curb, and the Chief of Police got out. Chad Cartwright, a good-looking young man not quite thirty, could have played his role in a movie. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the years of experience he should have for the position. He scanned the line of marchers before heading for Geoff Cameron.

About time you got here, Geoff shouted. I need you to get these people off my sidewalk.

Marilyn Koster raised her voice to respond as she joined the two men. It’s the town’s sidewalk.

Harlan Taft, one of the more senior members of the Rainbow Ranch Retirement Community, came up behind her. Lilliana wondered what he was doing here—other than looking to make trouble, something he had a natural talent for.

Mrs. Koster is right, Cartwright said.

They’re blocking my store, Geoff countered. That must be against some regulation.

Cartwright lifted his cap and scratched his head. Harlan pulled out his cell phone and snapped a not-very-flattering picture of the chief. Ah! thought Lilliana. Mystery solved. Harlan was gathering material for his What’s Up Rainbow Ranch Facebook page.

We have a right to march, Marilyn said.

It looked as if the chief needed some assistance. Excuse me, Penny. I’ll be back in a minute to get my wagon.

She pushed the door open and stepped outside. Good morning, Marilyn, Chief.  She grimaced as she caught a glimpse of Harlan out of the corner of her eye maneuvering to include all of them in a picture.

I’m a little busy right now, Mrs. Wentworth, Cartwright said as he repositioned his cap. The scent of starch and laundry detergent from his crisp uniform shirt hung in the air.

So I see, Lilliana said. I think Mr. Cameron has a point, though. It’s going to be difficult for me to maneuver my wagon through this crowd. I might bang into one of them or run over someone’s toes. I wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.

Grabbing onto this, Cartwright eagerly said, You’re correct, Mrs. Wentworth. Blocking the sidewalk is a matter of public safety. He faced the demonstrators. As Chief of Police, I order you to stop protesting in front of Mr. Cameron’s store.

We have freedom of speech under the first amendment. Harlan, white hair askew and the sleeves of his sport shirt flapping around his bony arms, pushed his way in front of Marilyn. I demand you allow us to exercise our first amendment rights.

Cartwright opened his mouth as if about to speak, then closed it.

Lilliana nudged him with her elbow. Perhaps the protesters can move across the street. She pointed to the other side of Main Street where only desert scrub bordered the sidewalk. That way they can still be seen, but won’t be a potential safety hazard.

Harlan didn’t look happy with that solution. His wrinkles grew deeper as his expression tightened.

Marilyn tilted her head as she looked from Lilliana to the chief to Cameron to Harlan, then back to Lilliana. She raised a hand to her face and curled her fingers in front of her mouth.

I think that’s a good idea, Cartwright said. Any objections?

I suppose that would be okay, Marilyn said.

The chief glared at Harlan, who reluctantly nodded. Follow me.

Cartwright led the way to the corner, the marchers following, then stepped out into Main Street with his hands raised to stop the non-existent traffic. Lilliana supposed a car might drive down the street while the demonstrators crossed it, but the odds of that happening at this time of day were slim.

Geoff Cameron watched them, assuming a pose that resembled nothing so much as standing guard in front of his fortress. Lilliana went back inside.

I’m glad you were able to defuse that situation, Penny said. She glanced furtively at her husband outside and lowered her voice. Geoff has been so short-tempered lately. The least little thing sets him off. Sometimes I think he’s going crazy.

Being short-tempered doesn’t mean you’re insane, Lilliana reassured her.

No, but talking in your sleep might. Penny wrinkled her brow and started twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

What does he say?

She took another glance at Geoff before she whispered, He keeps talking about ‘finding the fairies.’

Chapter 2

Lilliana’s heart stopped at Penny’s words. She’d thought that particular problem was behind her. Unknown to most of the people who lived in the community, Rainbow Ranch had two secrets. The first was the existence of a beautiful live cave, one that rivaled Kartchner Caverns to the south in the variety of still-evolving formations. And the Rainbow Ranch cave remained unspoiled.

Despite all the precautions taken to preserve the natural environment, Kartchner Caverns had suffered from the daily influx of tourists walking through it. The temperature had risen a few degrees, and the microbial population thrived on the hair, skin cells, and lint the tourists brought with them, forming a kind of slime in areas near the walkways. The whole idea turned Lilliana’s stomach, and she hoped the Rainbow Ranch cave would never be discovered by someone who would exploit it.

The second secret was the troop of fairies who lived in the cave. How the Scottish fairies wound up in a cave in Arizona wasn’t totally clear, but part of the reason had been avoiding Geoffrey Cameron.

Back in Scotland, one of the fairies had lent their magic to a type of cookie baked by the Camerons in their bakery. Rather than adding pounds, the wafers acted as an appetite suppressant, causing those who ate them to painlessly lose weight. Selling the wafers had been a lucrative occupation for the Camerons—until Queen Esmeralda discovered the use of fairy magic and put a stop to it. That had destroyed the Camerons’ main source of income.

Geoff Cameron had been desperate to recover the riches he’d lost, even to the point of following a lead across the Atlantic Ocean. Initially, he’d prowled the countryside looking for the fairies. Lilliana hadn’t heard he’d continued to do that, but the words he’d muttered in his sleep showed he hadn’t forgotten his quest.

Lilliana?

Penny’s voice interrupted her musings, and she focused on the woman behind the counter. Sorry. A consequence of old age, I’m afraid. Sometimes I get lost in the past when I should be focusing on the future.

Penny nodded, as if understanding, but her creased brow and blank stare indicated her confusion.

I’d better get going. I’ll call you next week to see if you need more plants, Lilliana said.

Take care of yourself, Mrs. Wentworth. Penny sounded concerned.

Chagrined, Lilliana took the handle of her wagon and headed toward the door. Now Penny thought she was just another of the addled senior citizens from the old folks’ home. Which might not be such a bad idea. It might be better if Penny didn’t know how concerned she was, since there was always the chance she might say something to Geoff.

LILLIANA maneuvered the wagon through the glass front doors of the retirement home, feeling like a contortionist as she leaned back to hold the door until the end of the wagon cleared. Usually Beverly, the receptionist, rushed to the door to hold it when she saw Lilliana coming, but this afternoon no one was behind the reception desk. Strange.

She heard voices coming through the open door behind the reception desk and paused.

But that won’t be enough hours for me, Beverly wailed.

I’m sorry, but I’ve done a study, and most visitors arrive between ten and four. There’s no need for you to be here earlier than that, and I think I can get one of the residents to volunteer to mind the desk later on if necessary.

Huh. That was Russ Ellison’s voice, owner of the Rainbow Ranch Retirement Home. She hoped he didn’t have her in mind to volunteer.

What will happen to my health insurance?

Ellison cleared his throat. Well, um, of course we can’t provide benefits to part-time employees. I’m sure you can work something out.

Beverly’s voice was flat as she asked, Is there anything else?

Lilliana didn’t hear Ellison’s reply. Perhaps he didn’t make any. The next sound she heard was the click of Beverly’s heels on the tile floor. She hurried to resume her journey across the lobby, the wagon rattling over the tiles. She glanced toward the desk.

Beverly look drawn, and her eyes were unfocused as she took her usual place. Her hand shook as she reached up to push her bangs off her forehead. Seeing Lilliana, she tried for her usual perky smile. Mrs. Wentworth. I didn’t hear you come in.

Just coming back from dropping off some more African violets at Cameron’s Flowers and Gifts, she said gaily. Before she could say anything more, Ellison, a scowl on his face, loomed in the doorway behind Beverly. Rather than getting involved in a confrontation, she sailed down the hall toward her apartment.

Chapter 3

The book Lilliana had taken from its shelf remained in her lap, open to Act 1 of The Tempest . The words Act 1 were about all she had read of it. Through the entire afternoon, Lilliana had trouble keeping her mind off the threat to the fairies. She knew she should alert them to the danger, but she wasn’t quite sure how she was going to accomplish that.

Since Christopher had joined her on her morning hikes, she’d avoided going anywhere near the secret cave. She supposed she could use the signal she’d set up several months ago, but this particular problem struck her as needing a more personal touch.

She picked up her cell phone from the end table and checked the time. More than an hour remained before Christopher arrived to take her to dinner. Too short a time to get to the cave, too long for her impatience. She picked up the book with a sigh and tried to focus on the words.

No sooner had she started to read then a knock sounded on her door. Not Christopher’s knock, so she wondered who had come calling. Calm washed over her as her jitters faded. Hopefully, whoever it was would distract her from her current problems.

A smile spread over her face when she saw Dan in his brown uniform waiting on the other side, a familiar white box in one hand, his electronic pad in the other.

My new African violets! she exclaimed before he could utter a word.

Good afternoon, Mrs. Wentworth. He held out the tablet for her to sign.

Good afternoon. I didn’t expect these until tomorrow. She signed her name and thrust her hands out to take the box.

Well, if you’d rather... He pulled the box back a fraction of an inch.

Don’t be silly. Give them to me.

He did, then went on his way. Lilliana closed the door behind him and hurried to her plant room, eager to unwrap her new treasures. The hum of the humidifier seemed louder than it really was after the silence in the rest of her apartment. Although it—and the plant lights—added a significant amount to her electric bill, they also encouraged her African violets to thrive. An explosion of color filled the room, accompanied by the earthy smell of damp potting mix. Her own private garden and refuge.

After positioning the box on her work table, it didn’t take her long to slit the packing tape, open the box, and peel back the silvery insulating material from the contents. She carefully lifted out the first plant, wrapped in damp newsprint taped and stapled to hold the small African violet pot securely.

There was something addictive about growing African violets. You started with one or two or even half a dozen, and all too soon you had scores of plants, hundreds of plants, and always wanted more. Even though Frank Bellandini, the most expert grower of African violets in Rainbow Ranch, had given her leaves from many of his hybrids from which to start her own, she couldn’t resist ordering more from a recognized grower. When the magazine from the African Violet Society of America arrived every other month, the gorgeous pictures enticed her to want to duplicate each one shown in her own collection.

As she unwrapped the newsprint, she wondered which cultivar nestled inside. Jackpot! It was the white Russian hybrid that had inspired her latest buying binge, EK Tsarina Magnolia. For some reason, she’d never added a pure white blossom to her collection before. According to the pictures, this one produced frilly, pure white petals. Of course, now it was merely four green leaves