Death Placed a Bet: Happy Holloway Mystery Series, #4

By Audrey Claire

Trouble visits Amberlon again. When Annie gets a call in the middle of the night, she learns that her friend is in the hospital after being run off the road. She arrives at the hospital to find a very frightened Frannie, who asks if she would retrieve a toolbox from her house and hide it until she comes to get it.

 

The problem is, Frannie ends up dead before Annie can give the toolbox back, and she discovers there's $300,000 in cash hidden in the box along with some casino chips. Annie wonders if her friend was killed because someone wanted the money. Rumor has it that there's a secret group of gamblers, and no one knows who the members are. Did one of the group kill Frannie to keep their secret?

 

Annie's worries don't end with the death of her friend. She's got an uncle she never knew existed who is determined to find her grandmother's treasure without Annie's help. Stacy is mourning the loss of her love by going after a married man. And Aunt Bridge is still trying to marry Annie off. This time, her choice is a man who might be a murderer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Audrey Claire
• Release date: Mar 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393156208

Book preview

Chapter One

Annie sat back on the chair at her favorite coffee shop and opened her oversized bag while at the same time concentrating on her tablet. She kept one eye on the screen, and with searching fingers she came up with the plastic baggie that she had stuffed into her bag that morning, and she retrieved a baby carrot. The flavor was slightly sweet and not really bad. It was just the principal of the matter—that she had to diet. In a perfect world, she would never gain even an ounce no matter how many double-scoop ice cream cones she ate. That wasn’t the case, however, and last night, she had eaten two of those yummy cones. So, today was all about eating right. This time, she would stick to it. She might have limited her food intake this morning, but she couldn’t go without her large caramel iced coffee with cream. Never mind that it was late November. After all, it hadn’t turned cold yet in South Carolina. She probably should have gone without the caramel.

What are you concentrating so hard on, Annie? Stacy, who lived around the corner from Annie and who was a romance book addict, sat across from her. Her friend had purchased a cup of Earl Gray tea. Unfortunately, she had also sneaked a container of her famous cucumber sandwiches into the shop. Annie abhorred them. Stacy loved regency romances more than any other sub-genre of romance, and she enjoyed acting out what she read. So far Annie had found no way to discourage it.

It’s an article about Amberlon, Annie commented. Says here, ‘Amberlon, South Carolina is ranked at number six on the list of best places to live in America. If one wants to enjoy city life with a small town feel, Amberlon is the location for you. With a population of fifty-two thousand, three hundred forty-five, Amberlon has everything a growing family needs to raise children, to find a good job, and to locate reasonable home rates. The weather is amazing too.’

When Annie glanced up, she found Stacy nodding in agreement. Sounds wonderful. If I didn’t live here, I would move here immediately.

That’s what I’m afraid of, Annie said. Did you notice the population figures? We’re up over two thousand people. While I love everyone and can’t get enough of meeting new people, I’m a little worried we’ll get overcrowded and the quality of living will suffer.

You’ve got a point there. Why I’ve been seeing new faces at the grocery store and the library, which reminds me. Has anyone seen the new family that purchased Old Man Potts’ place?

Not that I’ve heard, but there’s still lots of construction going on at that end of the street. I didn’t think the place had fallen into such disrepair, but one never knows. It’s been years since he passed. I remember Aunt Bridge kept stopping by trying to coax him to come to one of her charity events.

Stacy chuckled. No dice?

Nope. Annie hated recalling bad memories, but they popped into her head anyway. Old Man Potts had been a pervert. In her opinion, he didn’t need to venture outside and potentially victimize some unsuspecting woman. On the positive side, like you I’ve seen several new faces in our neighborhood, and I’m eager to get to know them. Which brings up another subject.

What’s that?

Lately, I’ve felt like someone has come onto my property, and not just at night. During the day as well.

Stacy paled. Are you sure? Did you see anyone? Did you call the police?

Annie shook her head. No, it’s just a suspicion, really. I mean I haven’t seen anything. Shadow has stirred several times like he hears something, but he hasn’t barked or demanded to go outside.

Sweetheart, have you considered it might be your imagination? I mean there were some nasty situations that happened with people wandering across your property to get to my street. Remember that one man from…where was it?

California. You mean John Knight. Yes, I know, which is why I feel myself on alert.

Don’t be afraid to call the police. I don’t want anything happening to my dear friend.

Thanks, Stacy. I’m fine.

Annie put her suspicions down to what Stacy said, a jumpiness because of past events. There was no reason to think that there would be a repeat after what happened several months ago. Things had been quiet for a long while, and she expected the peace that had returned to Amberlon to continue.

She scanned the coffee shop, a cozy L-shaped establishment with the warming aroma of coffee, cinnamon, and pumpkin in the air. Her friends Lila and Sam owned the shop and had decorated it with an eclectic array of goods from their many trips around the country.

Pink was the dominating color for the shop as it was Sam’s favorite. Each day, Annie looked to see what she would wear to show off her individual style. Today, she wore an odd tunic five times too big. The dress that extended to just above the knees sported a pink floral print and included two random panels of beige material. The beige theme continued over one shoulder with a row of squares, sewn haphazardly. Below the squares were circles made of the same floral material but sewn onto one of the beige panels. Sam had paired this funky creation with black suede boots and black tights. Of course, the entire look was polished off with Sam’s obligatory pink headband, a flashback from the eighties. Annie could only admire a woman who was brave enough to wear something so outrageous, and she had given Sam a thumbs-up and a wink when she walked into the coffee shop earlier.

This shop was her favorite because of the coffee and the baked goods, and of course because of Sam. It was second only to her home office. Sam’s Coffee Shop had almost a monopoly on coffee in Amberlon, and everyone, including her aunt, the woman who hobnobbed with the upper crust, stopped by to satisfy the caffeine monster.

The bell rang above the shop’s door, and Annie glanced over to see who had come in. Speaking of new faces, here was a woman she had seen in several places, including the grocery store as Stacy mentioned. In her late sixties perhaps, the woman wearing a plum pantsuit and a head full of Shirley Temple curls shuffled over to the counter and stared up at the chalkboard behind it. Even when Lila greeted her and asked what she would like, she didn’t respond. A slight crinkle between her eyebrows told Annie she concentrated hard on deciding what she would like to order. Annie had met several people with that habit. They didn’t use the common uh or um as most did to indicate they heard the question and were just thinking. Instead, they continued to think in silence, leaving the one asking the question to wonder if they were being ignored.

Stacy. Annie leaned forward across the table and lowered her voice. She nodded toward the older woman. Do you know who that is? I’ve seen her around town, but I’ve never spoken to her.

Stacy looked around and brightened right away. That’s Frances Worthy. She’s new, moved into an apartment off of Milton Road four months ago.

Four months! Annie frowned. How is it possible I didn’t know?

Stacy’s sunny disposition dimmed a bit, but she kept her smile in place. Well, we were still grieving the loss of my sweet Robert, you know.

We weren’t grieving that murderer.

Annie touched her friend’s wrist as she avoided touching anyone’s hand. You’re right. And I was trying to get closer to Flynn.

You mean get over your fear of intimacy.

Annie groaned.

Never mind that, dear. Let’s call her over. Before Annie could respond, Stacy waved her hand wildly in the air. Yoo hoo, Frances. It’s me, Stacy. Come and join us.

Frances gazed at Stacy as if she had never met her and offered a half smile and nodded. She turned back to the counter and placed her order. When it was done, she shuffled over. She seemed always to shuffle, hardly raising her feet off the ground.

A searching and curious gaze flitted back and forth between the two of them as she gripped a cup of steaming black coffee before her. All that deliberation, and she had ordered the basic blend.

Frances, Stacy gushed, this is Annie. She—

—is the daughter of a murderer, Frances said, without a shred of emotion or tact.

Chapter Two

I’m surrounded by ladies who say whatever comes to mind, and it is always about me!

In all fairness, Annie understood that she and her family gave the average talkative, gossipy lady of Amberlon, South Carolina plenty to discuss. When she was a child, her dad killed her mom, and before that he assaulted Annie and her older sister. Annie and Jane were allowed to testify, and it was their testimony that caused their dad to be sent to an institution for the criminally insane.

This bit of family history wasn’t enough to destroy Annie’s life forever, but it did make her one challenged woman. Being diagnosed with OCD and having a fear of intimacy made it tough to nurture the relationship she currently had with one deliciously handsome firefighter from Mars Cove, North Carolina. And if that weren’t enough to win the prize for worst family ever, then her sister sealed the deal by following in their dad’s footsteps.

More often than she liked, Annie’s past was thrown into her face, a constant reminder should she forget. She straightened her back and drew in a fortifying breath. After a moment, she blew it out. Her personal motto was to live life to the fullest and enjoy every minute of it at all times. With that kind of outlook, there was no time to feel sorry for herself—or to give into the crazy blood running through her veins.

Then again, my penchant for getting into dangerous situations could be considered giving in.

She decided not to examine that way of thinking and focused on Frances instead. With a bright smile in place, she said, That’s me. Everyone knows my background. I’m like a historical figure around these parts. It’s nice to meet you, Frances. Can I call you Frances? I love meeting new people. Where are you from?

Here and there.

What’s the last here…or there? Annie waggled a finger at her. I think I hear an accent.

No, you don’t. Frances had spoken this in a dull flat tone, and then as if it just occurred to her, she added a smile to lighten the mood. Annie looked at Stacy, and her friend blinked back. Neither of them knew what to make of Frances, but she had Annie’s curiosity stirring.

Annie scooted over to the chair next to her, freeing the one she had occupied. Won’t you join us? It’s not easy finding an empty table in this place.

Frances scanned the coffee shop, and Annie tried not to feel that she searched for a better option before deciding to take them up on their offer. After a moment and a heavy sigh, complete with heaved shoulders, she sat down with her coffee. Annie had noticed this reluctance with a tinge of annoyance, but Stacy acted like she and Frances were fast friends.

Frances, my dear, Stacy began and patted Frances’ hand, do you know that our Annie is a writer? Yes, a successful one too. She writes mystery, but I’ve been trying to change her direction to romance.

Frances made a small noise Annie couldn’t interpret.

Oh, Annie. Stacy clapped her hands with glee. "I’ve come up with another line. You did use that other one, didn’t you? I’ve been purchasing your books looking for it, and I haven’t come across it. You write so well, you almost convince me to switch to reading mystery. She writes mysteries, Frances. Isn’t that fun?"

Frances’ glassy gray eyes swiveled toward Annie, and she stared openly. Her mouth worked for a bit, and then she spoke. You’re good at solving mysteries in Amberlon too, I hear. A lot of people don’t like when someone gets in their business.

Is that how you feel, Frances? Annie studied the woman a bit more closely. She seemed calm like she hadn’t a care in the world, but her fingernails had been chewed down to the quick. Her cup squeaked because she held it in too tight a grip. Annie suspected it would cave before long.

Just saying people.

She’s all right, Stacy said, but Annie wasn’t sure which she her friend referred to—herself or Frances.

Stacy was probably more interested in why she hadn’t seen the line she had given Annie in any of her new books. In all honesty, Annie couldn’t remember what Stacy had said. She recalled thinking it was funny, especially the way Stacy delivered it, her hand in the air, a Thespian on stage, expecting applause after a fine performance.

Now, with Stacy’s seeking gaze on her face, Annie squirmed. I’m sorry, honey. It didn’t fit with the theme of any of my current work, so I haven’t been able to use it yet.

Stacy appeared heartbroken, but nothing ever kept her down. Well, wait until you hear this one. I should try my hand at writing, Annie. I might give you a run for your money.

I’m sure you could. Annie had heard this before.

Okay, here we go. Stacy shook her hands like she expected to get down to typing. She rolled her head on her neck in first one direction and then the other. Her eyes were bright with suppressed excitement, and then her expression turned serious, lips pursed, eyebrows lowered, and head tilted downward a bit. He was a ne’er-do-well, a conman, a thief, a jokester, bone-idle, callous, compulsive, aggressive, and also aloof. In other words, he was not a good man.

Annie’s mouth fell open.

Frances, surprisingly enough was nodding. That’s pretty good.

Stacy beamed. And what do you say, Annie?

Annie could almost hear the theme music from Jeopardy, tick tick ticking away her time to find an appropriate answer. She found an excuse to delay by taking a good long sip of her coffee. What does bone-idle mean? I can guess.

Stacy almost quivered at that point. It’s a British term. It means extremely idle or lazy.

Isn’t that very similar in meaning to ne’er-do-well?

Oh… Does that mean you don’t like my line? The quiver didn’t look so positive this time.

Of course, I do. Yes, but it’s got to be used with the right situation.

And you can do that.

Annie suppressed a groan. There seemed to be no winning. She elected to change the subject. So, Frances, are you married? Any kids?

I have someone important to me.

Annie waited for her to go on.

He’s not here. She said the statement with such emphasis Annie assumed she was angry that her significant other hadn’t come yet. After four months of waiting on him, she might start to think he didn’t intend to come down. Annie had similar worries about Flynn, her boyfriend. How long would he wait for her to get over her fear of intimacy?

Stacy made a noise of understanding. Still back home, tying up loose ends. I had someone important to me too. His name was Robert, but he died last year. Actually, he was murdered.

Frances’ eyes grew round, and she slammed her cup down on the table and scraped her chair back. She stood. I have to go. In a flash, she was gone, leaving behind a faint scent of her presence. Annie and Stacy sat blinking at each other.

Do you think she was jealous of our writing ability, Annie?

Ah, no, Stacy. I think it freaked her out to hear about murder. After all, she just moved here. We know crime exists everywhere, but to be greeted with it after you’ve just moved halfway across the country—

How do you know she moved halfway across the country?

"I don’t know. I just meant after a big move, one doesn’t want to think of murder."

Stacy’s shoulders drooped, and she ducked her head, almost touching the lid of her cup with her nose. I wanted to be like you, Annie. You bounced back so quickly after what happened with Jane, but all I can think about is Robert. I feel like I’m pretending to get on with my life, but I’m not.

Oh, honey. You don’t have to pretend. You don’t have to act like you’re over what happened. Go at your own pace. No one will fault you for that.

How do you do what you do? The question was innocent enough, but Annie heard a note of desperation as well. She had thought Stacy was doing fine, but apparently she had bought the act too. She should have known better, given Stacy’s dramatic personality and weakness for romance.

Stacy’s boyfriend, an older man in his sixties, was murdered when his career choice came back to bite him in the bum. At the time, Annie elected not to tell Stacy the whole truth about his background. She didn’t think it would help her friend to know how dark and evil Robert was. Better to let her friend grieve him and then move on.

What you need is a cause, Annie said and cringed because she sounded like her Aunt Bridge, the charity-obsessed woman who raised her.

Stacy moaned. Bridget has already called me half a million times trying to get me to attend one of her events. She’s stopped by as well. I told her since Jane and then Robert, I’m not interested in gatherings of that sort.

It isn’t like anything happened at one of her events, right? Guilt assailed Annie. She didn’t want to attend a charity event run by her aunt either, but it was for a whole other reason. Aunt Bridge insisted on making them matchmaking opportunities, as she tried to find Annie a husband. She liked what she knew of Flynn but felt he couldn’t possibly be the man Annie thought he was if he hadn’t yet broken through her shell.

What you need, Annie, Aunt Bridge had said just the night before on the phone, is for me to find your husband for you. I found Donovan for Jane, and I can do the same for you. Guaranteed.

Annie shook her head, trying to dislodge her aunt’s voice from her memories. She focused instead on Stacy. I’ve got just the thing for you, Stacy.

What’s that?

You should start a romance reader’s book club.

Chapter Three

An incessant ringing brought Annie to the surface of dreamland. She tried raising a hand to wave next to her ear, but couldn’t make it move. The darn ringing continued, dragging her closer and closer to the surface. She resisted as long as she could, and then her eyes popped open. For a moment, she wasn’t sure where she was. A kitchen? No, the broad black thing against the far wall wasn’t an old-styled refrigerator but her dresser. Why did she even think so? How likely was that?

This was her bedroom, and although she couldn’t see it, near the closet were not one, not two, but three tall laundry baskets full of dirty clothes. She had told herself she would do laundry all week long, but she never got around to it. The clothes were multiplying because she was sure she didn’t own that many outfits.

On top of the dresser and on the floor beside it were piles of five by seven inch notebooks she had filled with plot details for her mystery novels. She refused to throw them away even after she had covered every page with handwriting her sister used to call chicken scratch. As much as she went after dirt and disorder in the kitchen and bathroom, that’s how much she ignored the organization of her bedroom. The place was a disaster area and should be cordoned off with yellow tape. Since Flynn was always coming over, she’d learned to do better, but with him out of town, she let the room go.

The phone had stopped ringing while she came awake, but it started again. Who in the world?

She squinted at her bedside clock but couldn’t see it. Had the power gone out? She reached blindly in the general direction and found a T-shirt blocking the view. Oh, yeah, she’d stripped just before bed and fell across the mattress, telling herself she would shower in the morning.

Forgetting the time, she moaned and fumbled for her phone. Now where was that? Under the bed. Who knew how it ended up there. Maybe bumped off the dresser while she struggled to wake up. The caller ID flashed Marianne’s name, and Annie hesitated to answer. Their friendship had been somewhat strained of late, and while Annie didn’t like anyone to hate her, she had enjoyed a wonderful reprieve from hearing how she could lose the excess weight if only she would join Marianne’s gym.

She’s certainly not calling to get me to sign up at the gym. Annie pressed the connect button on her phone. Hello, Marianne.

Annie! Jeez, you finally answered. Irritation and something else sounded in Marianne’s tone.

Well, I was sleeping. Annie couldn’t keep the annoyance out of her own sleep-thickened voice. Is everything okay?

No! There’s been an accident.

Annie’s stomach dropped. The first person she thought of was Flynn. He worked as a firefighter, and his job could be dangerous. On the side, he was developing a private investigations business, and there was no telling what trouble could be stirred up. She pressed a hand to her pounding heart before she recalled that Flynn would hardly call Marianne to tell her he was in trouble, and Flynn was away at a conference. As far as she knew, he wasn’t in any danger.

What kind of accident? As she questioned Marianne, Annie caught the background sound of someone making an announcement on a loudspeaker. She knew right away Marianne was at the hospital.

It’s Frannie.

Frannie was one of the neighbors who lived on their street. She was in her early forties and single. Frannie had hailed from New York originally and moved to South Carolina when she was seven. As far as Annie knew, the