Easy Peasy: Ginny Dove Cozy Mystery Series, #2

By Lea Charles

Ginny Dove, a military widow, runs the Paisley Apron Diner in the small town of Sweet Springs, Virginia, located amid the picturesque Blue Ridge Mountains. She's drawn into the homicide investigation when Felix Quackenbush, a retired widower and world traveler, is found murdered. Along with her patient mother Marge and her irrepressible Aunt Cricket, Ginny sets out to learn what happened to Mr. Q. Acting Sheriff Roosevelt Baker has learned to depend on Ginny's sleuthing smarts and practical ideas to ferret out the right clues leading them to identify three murder suspects. When not operating the town diner and playing amateur sleuth, Ginny raises her rambunctious seven-year-old son Boone and continues her promising romance with Roosevelt. Mystery fans of Nevada Barr as well as Jim and Joyce Laverne will enjoy the humor, setting, and compassion found in the Ginny Dove Cozy Mystery Series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ed Lynskey
• Release date: Sep 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9798201443405

Book preview

Chapter 1

Upon arriving at the murder scene, they saw Deputy Sheriff Peewee Stubblefield pacing back and forth on the front walk. He stopped and smirked as Sheriff Roosevelt Baker braked the patrol car. He emitted a noise sounding more like a groan than a sigh.

Peewee made a big production out of consulting his wristwatch. He plucked the pencil stub out from behind his ear and licked the graphite tip. He rechecked his wristwatch. Sticking out his tongue, he printed the current time on the checklist.

Ginny used every bit of her impulse control not to poke fun at him or the checklist, which he swore by.

It warms the cockles of my heart to see our stickler for a deputy sheriff is following the correct steps, Cricket said.

Aunt Cricket, zip it, Ginny said, glancing over her shoulder at the short, stout lady with the sharp eyes and sharper tongue. She’d tied on a paisley headscarf.

How can I zip it? We confront the second murder in as many weeks, Cricket said. They’re dropping like ninepins on league night, I tell you.

Even if, we should maintain our ladylike decorum, Ginny said.

Mr. Quackenbush won’t bark, Cricket said. He’s dead as a rusty horseshoe and can’t hear a word I say.

Mr. Q was a heck of a nice guy, Roosevelt said as he shoved the gearshift into park. Somebody took his life.

Once again we observe how nice guys finish last, Cricket said.

Aunt Cricket, ixnay on the snarky quips, Ginny said.

Well, excuse me for being me, Cricket said. Shall we hop out and join Peewee? He’s on the verge of flinging a hissy fit. I bet Roosevelt wishes he had three more deputy sheriffs like him.

Roosevelt harrumphed. It’s bad enough that we’re cousins.

At least he provides us with comic relief during this stressful time, Ginny said.

Peewee is about as funny as a rubber crutch, Roosevelt said.

Roosevelt led them up the paved driveway to the trim, quaint cottage shingled in light blue. The window shutters and door were navy blue while the creek rock chimney added a rustic touch. Zinnias, hibiscuses, and geraniums in bloom bordered the front walk. The weeping birch occupied one corner of the yard, its drooping branches creating a secluded nook where a child—or perhaps a killer—might hide.

Where have you people been? Exasperated, Peewee flailed his arms as if taking flight. I phoned Roosevelt six and a half minutes ago. Didn’t I say I have a code red? Do I have to remind you a homicide gets our most urgent attention? Well, do I?

Take it down a notch, Peewee, Roosevelt said. I came as fast as I could safely drive.

You didn’t flip on your siren or red light, Peewee said, scribbling down a note. Your response time needs work. Lots of work, I should add.

Six and a half minutes is good enough, Roosevelt said. Mr. Q isn’t going to wander off anywhere, is he?

If you expect to win the sheriff’s election, we have to improve your response time, Peewee said.

Let’s hope I win it, Roosevelt said. Or you’ll be working at the carwash again.

Roosevelt had agreed to serve as the acting town sheriff after Sheriff Fuentes died. Now Roosevelt wanted the voters to elect him the town sheriff and felt like he had to prove himself to them.

Where is the late Mr. Q? Ginny asked to nudge them back on topic.

Peewee referred to his notes. He’s lying under the tablecloth on the living room floor.

Tablecloth? Roosevelt asked.

I either used it or the shower curtain, Peewee replied.

Did you double check Mr. Q’s vitals? Roosevelt asked.

He registers no heartbeats or breaths. Ergo, I stand by my original assessment he’s a goner, Peewee replied.

How did he die? Ginny asked.

Mr. Q sustained a fatal blow to the back of the skull, Peewee replied. Punt force trauma, it’s called.

"Blunt force trauma," Roosevelt said.

Correction duly noted, Peewee said, making it on the checklist.

Did you recover the murder weapon? Ginny asked.

Peewee inserted the step on the checklist, obviously still a work in progress.

No murder weapon has come to light, Peewee replied.

Then his killer more likely than not took it, Ginny said.

I’d take it if I were a hit man, Peewee said.

Would you follow the steps on your hit man checklist? Cricket asked.

Checklists are essential for doing even bad things in the correct order, Peewee replied.

Shall we go look in Mr. Q’s cottage? Ginny asked.

We’re burning daylight, Roosevelt said. Lead the way, Peewee.

Did you bring the roll of purple crime scene tape? Peewee asked, reading from the checklist.

"Crime scene tape is yellow," Roosevelt said.

Got it, Peewee said, scribbling away. My job is to cordon off the crime scene. We don’t want just any Tom, Dick, or Harry traipsing through it.

Cordon it off later, Roosevelt said. Time is of the essence.

You’re in violation of my checklist, Peewee said, holding up the clipboard.

How many times have I told you one size checklist does not fit all murder cases? Roosevelt said. Just escort us indoors.

Follow me inside then. Peewee shepherded them to the front

The boxwood hedge produced its distinctive scent, reminding Ginny of her grandmother’s yard. She leaned against the wrought iron railing. Peewee cracked his knuckles before he grasped the doorknob. It didn’t turn. He tried again with the same result.

How do you like that? Peewee said. It’s locked up tighter than a scallop with the mumps.

You closed it while you rushed out to find a phone signal to call me and the ME, Roosevelt said.

The step is right here, Peewee said, his finger pointing to it on his clipboard. I checked it off, too.

You done real good, Peewee, Roosevelt said. Will you unlock the door?

How so? I don’t have the door key, Peewee said.

That’s great, Roosevelt said. You locked up Mr. Q’s dead body in his house. What are we supposed to do now?

Scratching his scalp, Peewee flipped the page. Here it is. My checklist says to pick the lock.

Roosevelt glanced at Cricket and Ginny. Can either of you ladies pick the lock? he asked.

Can either of you gentlemen pilot a 747? Cricket replied.

Try your luck with a battering ram, Peewee said.

I’d only use it as a last resort, Ginny said.

Peewee made the notation on the checklist.

Have you got any other bright ideas? Roosevelt asked.

Peewee scanned the checklist. Nope. I’m all tapped out.

You’re a real piece of work, Peewee, Roosevelt said.

Why, thank you, Roosevelt, Peewee said. I return the compliment.

Mr. Q’s next-door neighbor Polly York might have a spare door key, Ginny said.

She must have a door key. I wrote down her message when she called me, Peewee said. She said she let herself in to check on Mr. Q and found him murdered. She didn’t want to stick around while she waited for us.

Polly is a busy lady, Cricket said.

Would you be so kind as to go next door and invite Polly to come over? Roosevelt asked. Tell her I’d like a few words. Be sure she brings the door key with her.

I’m on it like crinkles on a doughnut, Peewee replied.

A few minutes later, Polly holding the door key tied to a blue ribbon accompanied Peewee. Petite and curvy, she’d swept her dun-colored hair back into a bun. She had an open smile, pug nose, and the most expressive eyebrows.

Where did I put my brains today? Polly asked. I should’ve left the door key with Deputy Sheriff Stubblefield. Of course you’d want access to Mr. Q’s cottage, especially with him dead inside it.

No harm done, Roosevelt said. Just let me in to do my job.

Take a breath, Sheriff, Polly said. Rome wasn’t built in a day.

I wouldn’t know, Roosevelt said. Like the other guys, I slept through my U.S. History class.

Ginny didn’t correct him.

Polly keyed open the door, directed them to the living room, and turned on the floor lamps. The furniture suite—two armchairs, a sofa with end tables, and an ottoman—showed its age. The white tablecloth Peewee had spread over Mr. Q lay in the middle of the floor. Ginny couldn’t suppress her shiver. Gasping, Polly averted her face, and Roosevelt looked as grim as the reaper on a workday.

Would you like me to turn down the tablecloth for a peek? Peewee asked.

Cool, Cricket replied, opening her pocketbook. Where are my glasses?

Ginny frowned at Cricket who shrugged back.

Well, Peewee did ask us, Cricket said.

When the ME gets here, she’ll take over, Roosevelt said.

Ginny knew the sight of blood made Roosevelt queasy, and he did his best to avoid it. She carried the smelling salts in her pocketbook in case he fainted.

Polly, why did you feel it was necessary to check up on Mr. Q? Roosevelt asked.

We met at eight o’clock every Tuesday morning in my kitchen, Polly replied. We’d held our coffee klatch there since Lois died. He enjoyed it so much I couldn’t very well stop. We made it into a weekly ritual.

I take it Mr. Q was a no-show this morning, and you wanted to know why, Roosevelt said.

He’d never missed one before now, Polly said. I was afraid something had happened to him.

Oh? Roosevelt asked.

He’d acted more aloof and distracted lately, Polly replied.

Did you ask him if anything was wrong? Roosevelt asked.

I thought maybe I misread his mood, and I didn’t want to pry into his personal affairs, Polly replied. He was a proud, independent gentleman who would’ve taken offense.

Had you grown fond of Mr. Q? Ginny asked.

He was a second father to me, Polly replied. I lost my dad to a coal mining accident when I was eight. They never recovered his body entombed in the rubble of the collapsed mine shaft.

Sorry for your loss. How old was Mr. Q? Ginny asked.

Roosevelt beetled his eyebrows at Ginny. If you don’t mind, that’s my line, he said.

Ginny and I also have our lines, Cricket said, taking up for her niece.

Anything pertaining to the murder case falls within my purview, Roosevelt said.

Then take it away, Sheriff, Ginny said. I want us to cover all the bases.

Can you give me Mr. Q’s age? Roosevelt asked.

He just celebrated turning seventy-five, Polly replied. Lois has been dead for five years.

Give me his background, Roosevelt said. I’m too lazy to look it up for myself.

Eyebrows raised, Polly gave Ginny a quizzical look.

Sheriff Baker means we’d appreciate any biographical facts you might happen to know about Mr. Q, Ginny said.

What can I tell you? Polly said. Mr. Q was a spiritual man who insisted we say grace before having our coffee and sticky buns.

"I also say grace, but I do it after the meal, Cricket said. What’s the point in giving thanks for bad chow?"

Aunt Cricket, pipe down, Ginny said. Go on, Polly.

The Quackenbushes had no kids, Polly said. They retired from the high school where Lois was a guidance counselor, and Mr. Q taught English. They played smoke-free bingo and usually lost at the fire department every Sunday night. Do you need more information?

You gave us enough to get us started, Ginny replied.

It seems to me you know a lot more about Mr. Q’s life than you first let on, Roosevelt said.

Five years is a long time to gather the bits and pieces to a person’s life story while drinking coffee with them, Polly said. I’m a good listener, and Mr. Q liked to talk.

Did you ever quarrel with him? Roosevelt asked.

He could be a cranky old coot if he took the notion, Polly replied. Despite our disagreements, we remained friends.

Tell me more about these disagreements, Roosevelt said.

Our fussing never amounted to anything to speak of, Polly replied. He grumbled about the bluebird houses I put up because he thought we already have enough songbirds in our yards. You can never have enough songbirds singing their songs, I told him.

Did you disagree with him about anything else besides your bluebird houses? Roosevelt asked.

Nothing consequential comes to mind, Polly replied.

How did you obtain his spare door key? Roosevelt asked.

Mr. Q gave it to me several weeks after Lois died from the complications following her cardiac surgery, Polly replied. I might have needed to get in if he had a medical emergency. He could’ve fallen, broken his leg or hip, and couldn’t get back up. The other old neighbors in town do the same thing with their spare door keys.

Had you needed his door key before this morning? Roosevelt asked.

Thankfully nothing bad ever happened, and I nearly forgot I’d put his door key away in my kitchen drawer, Polly replied.

Did you touch any surface? Roosevelt asked.

No, but my prints are present since I’ve been in to visit Mr. Q before I came over this morning, Polly replied. Will that be all? I have to get ready for work.

Peewee, did you get the notes to type up at the office? Roosevelt asked.

What notes do you mean? Peewee asked.

You were supposed to jot down what Polly told us germane to Mr. Q’s murder case, Roosevelt said.

This is the first I’ve heard about my note-taking assignment, Peewee said.

Do I have to tell you everything to do? Roosevelt said.

It’s found not on my checklist, Peewee replied.

Then why don’t you add it? Roosevelt said.

You sure are bossy for a boss, Peewee said.

I need an aspirin and a Scotch whiskey, Roosevelt said. Ginny, help me out, please.

We can remember the important stuff Polly told us, Ginny said.

You may go home Polly, Roosevelt said. Just give the spare door key to Deputy Sheriff Stubblefield.

Leave on your smartphone and don’t be taking any sudden trips out of town, Peewee said.

Roosevelt glowered at Peewee. Those are my lines, Roosevelt said.

Sorry for the mix-up, Peewee said.

I’m cooperating with you, Polly replied. Considering me as a murder suspect is a waste of time, yours and mine.

Nevertheless, you’re my first person of interest, Roosevelt said.

Peewee cleared his throat and arched his eyebrows at Roosevelt.

"I meant to say you’re our first person of interest," Roosevelt said.

Peewee nodded his approval.

No good deed goes unpunished, Polly said. I had no hand in Mr. Q’s murder. Don’t be trying to blame it on me, or I’ll hire a sharp criminal attorney, and we’ll fight you like ninjas every step of the way.

Quite frankly, I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Roosevelt said.

If your claim of innocence is true, it will hold up over time, Ginny said.

Polly wasn’t thrilled over how they left matters with her. Ginny didn’t care if they didn’t observe the niceties. Murder was a messy business, especially when it came