Hearth and Bone: Naomi & Winston Mysteries, #2

By Maddie Sutton

When Naomi discovers her uncle has been arrested for the murder of Harmony Grove's local art gallery owner, she knows the police are barking up the wrong tree…

Proving his innocence isn't going to be a walk in the park. For one, her uncle and the gallery owner have been fighting like dogs over accusations of art theft. For two, the sole witness to the crime is a Maltese named Maude that has Naomi's Chihuahua, Winston, in puppy love.

Between clearing her uncle's name, and preparing her dog grooming business for its grand opening, Naomi is elbow deep in fur and trouble. Will she be able to sniff out the culprit before they strike again?

Or is she digging for the truth in dangerous places?

The second book in the southern, small town Naomi & Winston Mystery series, Hearth and Bone contains no adult situations or gore, only fun and high jinks as the heroine solves mysteries and chases behind her perpetually confused, endearingly curious, and continuously chatty Chihuahua. This story has a light paranormal element.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maddie Sutton
• Release date: Aug 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201376932

Book preview

1

The aroma of bacon filled the house. At the kitchen table, I sipped at my cup of coffee and enjoyed the sounds and smells of Mom in full breakfast-for-supper mode.

The best supper there was.

I fully intended to take advantage of the quiet. Soon enough, my mornings would be filled with dogs in various stages of shaggy, all waiting for the TLC that I could give them.

For the moment, the quiet time was mine. I claimed it in the name of having been struck by lightning at a murder scene before I’d been home a week. I was a little distracted.

The quiet didn’t last long. Gramma came down the stairs and flopped a legal pad in front of me. She slapped down a pen on top of it before she sat in the chair across from me at the kitchen table.

What’s this? I asked innocently. In actuality, I knew exactly where this was heading. Gramma was a huge fan of lists. She did everything, wrote everything down, in the form of lists: Roman numeral outline lists, bullet point lists, numbered, unnumbered; if it was something that was to be written down, it was in the form of a list.

What I didn’t know was what I was supposed to be making a list of.

You’d make a great school teacher, Miss LaLa. Jolene opened her tin of chocolate chip cookies and set them out in the middle of the table. You know just what to do to get things done.

You’re a suck-up, I told my best friend. It’s a good thing you brought cookies or I’d add traitor to the list.

Naomi is just jealous that she never learned the art of the schmooze, she said to Gramma with a smug grin. It’s probably why she ended up with the brainiac Todd Bateman in biology as a lab partner and I was assigned Chet Peters.

"I’m right here. And Chet was the football quarterback and dumber than a sack of rocks. If I recall rightly, I ended up with an A in that class."

"And I went to the junior prom with the best looking guy in the class."

She had me there.

I’m hungry, Mary.

Winston, my Chihuahua, padded into the kitchen in front of Dad. His hair stuck up at odd angles, looking suspiciously like he just woke up from a nap.

Dad, I mean, and not Winston. If my father was sleeping, so was my dog. It was a given these days.

I got up to give Winston his supper and refilled his water bowl. Thank you, Mary, he said as he crunched around his kibble.

Such a polite, good boy.

It had been two weeks since I took ownership of Winston. We had developed a close tie, although I wasn’t sure how it came about. One of two things had happened. His previous owner had been killed and, when I adopted him, we bonded. Or when I was struck by lightning —the great kapow, Winston called it— he was standing too close to me.

In either case, that bond included his ability to talk to me. Or maybe it was my ability to talk to him since no one else appeared to understand him.

I hadn’t figured out yet why Winston called me Mary. Well, he called everyone Mary. It could make for some confusing conversations, especially before my first cup of coffee of the day.

Gramma continued to look at me. Her finger tapped slowly on the table, gaze flicking from me to the pad. Right. I was supposed to be writing something.

Naomi, did you call your sister to find out if they’re coming for supper tonight?

Phoebe, this is important, Gramma huffed.

So is this. I need to know how many biscuits to make. Robbie alone can eat four of them.

She pulled out the fixings for sausage gravy. There was no such thing as too much pork.

I did. There was no way I was going to miss an opportunity to stall. She and Robbie are going to a concert in Jackson. Robbie’s cousin’s band has a gig on the reservoir and they wanted to go.

Gramma cleared her throat.

There was no getting out of it. I clicked the pen, poised ready to write. So, what am I doing?

She pressed her lips together in annoyance. It’s been two weeks. You closed on the house for your shop. It’s yours, free and clear. Now we need to figure out how to get it ready for business.

Mother, Mom chided. Don’t rush her. I’m sure she’s already ahead of us and has everything planned out inside that brilliant head of hers.

She kissed the top of my head as she passed me on the way to the stove.

I loved that she and Dad were so supportive when I was about to embark on a new chapter of my life.

Which is why I didn’t tell her that I hadn’t given it much thought at all. I shouldn’t have bothered. Gramma had my number, which was why she was still staring at me.

I was waiting for when Dad was free so we could start discussing some of the renovations. I’ll want the downstairs finished first, since that’s where the bulk of my business will be.

Being the new owner of an older home meant a lot of work was needed to make sure I had the room. Grooming stations and kennels to hold my clients until their owners could pick them up would take up the entire bottom floor.

With the entire downstairs was allocated to Tangled Tails, the second and third floors are where Winston and I would eventually live. So, a lot of work would have to be done upstairs as well.

That’s why I got the building for a song.

My dad was a miracle worker with that sort of thing. He was so good, in fact, it was the reason he opened his handyman service. Our ongoing battle was over whether he would accept payment from me. He was willing to do it for free because I’m family. I didn’t want to get free stuff.

The war was at a stalemate but don’t count me out yet. I had the money and I would pay.

I had to finish up the Robertson’s back deck before I could commit to helping Naomi out.

Dad, bless you for covering my butt.

Except, Gramma didn’t buy it. Well, it was a good effort.

Good Lord, girl. I could be dead waiting on you. She snatched the pad and pen and started making a list of everything that needed to be done, with sub bullet points on a few items. Already, it was a more complete list than what I had come up with.

And that was how I passed biology lab.

After supper, Jolene and I cleared the table and washed up the dishes while Mom, Dad, Gramma, and Winston went into the living room to watch a movie.

I did most of the washing while Jolene stole looks at the extensive list Gramma had written up. Eventually, she drifted away and sat down at the table to read the list. Miss LaLa thinks of everything.

I dropped the dish cloth in front of her so she could wipe down the table as I put the leftovers away. Is there anything on there that needs to be done next week?

Well, have you taken care of the utilities and getting those changed into your name?

Uh...

Right. How about the building permits that you’ll need?

Yeah, um...not sure...

Uh-huh. Jolene scanned the list. How about I prioritize this list and we eat this elephant one bite at a time?

Thank you, Jolene.

Feeling a little overwhelmed?

If by a little you mean a lot? Yeah. A little.

Once we get your momentum going, it’ll be easier. You’ve had a difficult month. So, enthusiasm is hard to come by.

Oh, I’m plenty enthusiastic. Just not feeling the need to be super organized at this time. As it rolls on, I’ll get it more together. Want some more sweet tea before I put it up?

No, I’m fine, thanks. Jolene patted a chair next to her as she scooted over. Have a seat and let’s do this the right way. For every chore, we’ll do something fun and exciting.

One of Jolene’s many talents was her ability to make anything fun. The next morning, errands consisted of getting the utilities squared away. Afternoon would be something fun. We met Mom and Gramma for lunch at the Happy Harts Grill on the downtown square. They made a pulled pork sandwich that was to die for. Plus, the owners, Helena and Harvey Hart, and that’s not as confusing as it appears on face value, were as pet friendly as the health department would allow. They accommodated Winston to sit at the tables outside with us, even giving him his own water bowl.

That art store, Mom said, using her pinky to point at the store next door as she held her corn on the cob. Have you two been in it yet?

No, I said. Two bites in and my sandwich was leaking all over my hands. It was perfect. Is it new?

Fairly new. Jolene wiped her fingers and pulled out her phone to search for it online. "Ignatius Derringer is the owner. It’s been open for a few months now. Looks like it’s a gallery of some kind. Oh, I’m sorry...adult gallery. As if there’s a difference. The website says it features local artists."

It’ll be an empty store. We ain’t got no one that talented around here, Gramma said with a snort.

Mother.

It’s the truth. Most of the good artists are in Jackson and points south in the state. Maybe some up in Starkville with Mississippi State. Delores Abbott fancied herself an artist, entering all those fancy art contests and going to all the art fair shows, but she never sells anything. Got a basement full of her art. I don’t know why Charles tolerates it. She must be good in the sa—

Mother, please.

Gramma snorted and scooped out a huge spoon of her baked beans. These aren’t near as good as yours, Phoebe.

Thank you, Mom said, obviously relieved that Gramma didn’t get any more risqué than that. Gramma could be that way, much to Mom’s embarrassment. Why don’t we pop in and see what he has available. I’m sure we can find something suitable for your shop to give you that professional finish.

God love you, Mom, but you’ve never worked as a groomer. One dog with explosive diarrhea could redecorate the grooming area in a hurry. I needed as much stainless steel as I could squeeze in there.

Sure, I said. What the heck, it made my mom happy.

Peach cobbler for dessert, along with coffee, made for a very enjoyable lunch. Jolene promised a relaxing reward for actually doing something that resembled constructive progress and she delivered.

As we chatted about my plans, what little I had solid in my head, a very expensive sedan zoomed up and slammed on the brakes as it slid to a stop. A very severe woman slammed out of the car and stormed into the art gallery.

Was that the mayor’s wife? What was her name... Mom frowned as she tried to remember.

Priscilla, Gramma offered. She flagged down the waitress for another refill.

Mom waved the waitress off. Mother, you’ll be up all night if you have coffee now.

With a harrumph, Gramma set her empty mug down.

What is she so upset about? I mused aloud.

Gramma leaned in her seat as if to see what was going on in the art store. Warping the minds of young people? Who knows with Priscilla.

The minds of the young are already warped, Jolene said.

Exactly my point, Jolene. Gramma wiped her mouth and stood up. I think I’ll pop in to the art store and see if they have anything tasteful to decorate Naomi’s shop.

Gramma—

She waved me off. No need to thank me. Y’all take your time.

Gramma was halfway to the store when Jolene gave me a guilty look. She slunk out of her chair to follow.

I sighed and looked at Mom. The look on her face was exactly what I was feeling. Gramma and Jolene should not be left on their own. I’ll handle the check, Mom, and catch up with you.

Before I could stand, she snatched it out of my hand. I’ll handle it. You’re on troublemaker watch today. Winston, are you with me or Naomi?

I’ll go with Mary!

She stared at him before standing up. Why am I talking to the dog?

No idea, Mom. I gathered the bags and scooped up Winston’s leash.

I don’t think she understood me, Mary.

No, probably not. I guess that means you’re just special to me.

I like being special to you.

I like that too, Winston.

2

By the time we entered the shop, the fight was at full volume. Gramma and Jolene huddled in the corner. Gramma’s attention was on the art hanging on the wall. Jolene flipped through some prints. Both acting like they were browsing. I joined them and turned so I could watch the drama unfolding.

What? Gramma and Jolene weren’t the only nosy busybodies.

Priscilla jerked at the cloth covering a picture on the easel and smoothed it down. "I will not allow that filth to be displayed in this town, Mister Derringer, she snarled. My husband has very good lawyers and he will have you shut down before the end of the week."

My dear Priscilla—

"Mrs. Hackman—"

Ignatius Derringer could not have held the part of 60s counterculture artist any better if that had been his middle name. Although balding with a bad comb-over, he held himself like a man who probably still counted himself as quite the sexual bohemian with a slick manner and affected high-class accent. He wore a cravat. Who wears a cravat any more?

He held his hands as if he were surrendering. Mrs. Hackman, perhaps we could discuss this later, when you’ve had time to calm down.

Oof. Bad move, friend. Never tell an upset person to calm down. When has that ever worked?

And, of course, Priscilla reacted predictably. "Mr. Derringer, if anyone, anyone sees that canvas, I will drag you into court and bury you and then burn your store to the ground."

She whirled on her heel and marched towards the door.

"Better make it soon, darling, he purred after her. The show opens in two days and I have a smashing reveal planned."

If Priscilla Hackman could have slammed a swinging glass door, I’m positive it would have given her great satisfaction. Instead, the small