Family Enterprise and Death

By Patti Larsen

The Cutest (Criminal) Town in America...?

Fiona Fleming expected green beer and Irish music for St. Patrick’s Day, not the murder of a local organized crime stoolie whose death puts her little town back into the crosshairs. But was he killed because of the O’Shea crime family or was his cause of death more personal—and therefore closer to home? With a Virginia State Police’s BCI detective breathing down her neck, Fee puts her investigative skills to the test against the Reading sheriff’s department, the head of the O’Shea crime family and her own father in order to find the truth.

Available now from Fleming Investigations Cozy Mysteries:
Patent Pending and Death
Inquiring Minds and Death
Finding Zen and Death
All In and Death
Out With the Old and Death
Tropical Destinations and Death

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patti Larsen
• Release date: Mar 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781989925577

Patti Larsen

About me, huh? Well, my official bio reads like this: Patti Larsen is a multiple award-winning author with a passion for the voices in her head. But that sounds so freaking formal, doesn’t it? I’m a storyteller who hears character's demands so loudly I have to write them down. I love the idea of sports even though sports hate me. I’ve dabbled in everything from improv theater to film making and writing TV shows, singing in an all girl band to running my own hair salon.But always, always, writing books calls me home.I’ve had my sights set on world literary domination for a while now. Which means getting my books out there, to you, my darling readers. It’s the coolest thing ever, this job of mine, being able to tell stories I love, only to see them all shiny and happy in your hands... thank you for reading.As for the rest of it, I’m short (permanent), slightly round (changeable) and blonde (for ever and ever). I love to talk one on one about the deepest topics and can’t seem to stop seeing the big picture. I happily live on Prince Edward Island, Canada, home to Anne of Green Gables and the most beautiful red beaches in the world, with my pug overlord and overlady, six lazy cats and Gypsy Vanner gelding, Fynn.

Book preview

Family Enterprise and Death

Fleming Investigations Cozy Mysteries: Book Seven

Smashwords Edition

© Patti Larsen 2022

Find out more about me at

http://www.pattilarsen.com/

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter One

It was getting easier and easier to run late at the office these days, not because I was overworked, but thanks to the company I kept, the job I loved and the satisfaction of knowing I finally had a handle on my future.

Even paperwork didn’t get me down, the steady tapping of the keys on my laptop a soothing sound, as much as the heavy snoring of the pug at my feet, Petunia as happy to nap in her giant bed next to my cherry desk as she was anywhere these days, as long as I was close by, and her tummy was reasonably full.

The soft counterpoint of my best friend Daisy’s voice didn’t disrupt. If anything, her sweet tone only accentuated my contentment, as did the chattering conversation carrying on at Dad’s desk at the back of the office. And while former deputy and now Fleming Investigations PI in training Kit Somersby’s soprano was a far cry from my father’s gravel baritone, I found I loved working with the two women so much it was almost a distraction when Dad finally showed up to putter around the office. The fact he preferred to use the cab of his truck as his alternative meant Kit adopted his bargain-basement metal and glass desk while Day took over Toby Miller’s old position front and center.

I sat back from the report I finished, saving the file in the proper folder for Daisy to finalize in the morning, the darkness of mid-March still falling before work was done despite the slowly lengthening days. I heard her hang up the phone at the exact moment I sighed in complete delight, Petunia snorting herself awake when my foot accidentally tapped the side of her bed.

That was Liz, Daisy said, rising from the reception desk and crossing to me, her normally bouncing honey-blond ringlets held back in a more professional ponytail, her penchant for suits instead of the pretty flowered dresses I’d grown accustomed to reminding me we’d both grown up a lot in the last few years still a surprise two months into her employment. She wrapped up the Ferris case and wanted you to know Gina won’t be pressing charges. A client of ours had been dealing with a stalker, the proof we’d gathered both here in Reading and in Montpelier enough to gain her a restraining order and police assistance in making sure her single-date-turned-obsessed-creepazoid was finally being held accountable for his actions. Though, as Daisy’s words sank in, I frowned.

We had Adam Butch dead to rights, I said. Why did Gina back off?

Daisy set the folder on my desk, shrugging her narrow shoulders, dimples nowhere in sight as she mirrored my expression. Apparently, he promised to move on. We’ll see if he follows through. At least we have what we need to ensure the police will take the threat seriously if he does decide to break the order this time. I loved that she’d folded herself so completely and confidently into our team, her first few days of you turned into we on my insistence. She was one of us, after all, and had thrown herself into training to be a PI with the single-focus I had. Whether she really loved it or was simply looking for something to keep herself distracted from her still-recent breakup with her Luxembourger fiancé, Emile Reis, was in her court to deal with. I was here for her one hundred percent, naturally, but I also knew she could handle it on her own.

Never been so proud.

The front door opened, Hilly Miller poking her nose in, the teenaged daughter of Petunia’s vet, Dr. Fred Miller (and beloved granddaughter of our very own retired receptionist, Toby) beaming as my pug scrambled toward her at not quite a run—she could manage a meander these days, at best—corkscrewed cinnamon bun tail wriggling in delight.

Hi, Fee, Hilly said, kneeling to deliver enthusiastic scratches and pats to the happy old dear. Sorry, I’m late. Still need me to take Petunia?

Yes, please. I joined her at the door, noting the scrubs under her puffy jacket’s collar, the season pass for White Mountain Ski Lodge dangling from the zipper. How are things at the clinic?

She beamed at me, no bigger than Kit but without the bouncy Somersby’s sarcastic confidence. Great, she said. I’ll have all the hours I need by the end of summer to apply for vet college next fall. Hilly took Petunia’s harness and lead from me, wrangling the fat pug who sat on her butt, back legs sticking out between her front paws while she panted her happiness at the teenager. I’ll drop her by in the morning on my way to the clinic. Have fun tonight!

I waved as they left, still surprised as I always was at how sending Petunia off with others made me so sad. Made worse when the traitor never even glanced back, a good sign, of course, that she was happy with Hilly. Since the venerable pug had passed her tenth birthday recently, my worry about her only increased. And while that might not have been old for others of her breed, my darling Petunia had been through several health crises over the years, some of which (all right, most) had been because of me and my nosiness. Which meant I babied her. Including and not exclusive to making sure she was never alone.

Dog mom guilt, thy name was Fiona Freaking Fleming.

But, when I turned back and caught Daisy’s smiling face, her hands now full of sparkly green things that had her visibly gleeful while she rushed toward me to wrap the flimsy but impressively emerald scarf around my neck, I knew accepting the invite to go out for St. Patrick’s Day was the right move. Sure, we’d totally reconnected since our uncomfortable friendship challenge that ended abruptly in January in the warm Caribbean water, but I continued to make efforts to reinforce our bestie status just in case, because not only was Daisy worth it, I knew now more than ever how much she meant to me.

Perfect! She set a glittering headband on my hair. Matches your eyes, lucky. She turned to offer a ridiculous bowler hat to Kit who shook her head, cropped black hair shining in the overhead lights, the petite in person but giant in personality addition to Fleming Investigations holding up both hands with a wry grin.

You two have fun, she said, already slipping on her coat. I have other plans.

See you tomorrow, I said.

If you make it to the office, Kit laughed. Watch the green beer, you two! You’re not getting any younger. I mock scowled at her on her way out, the brat hyena laughing at her pathetic attempt at a joke that landed harder than it should have because I was only thirty (cough cough) plus a number that didn’t matter, thank you.

Don’t listen to her, Daisy said, cheerful as ever as she swung a green feather boa around her own neck. Tonight is going to be so much fun.

The fact my godfather, Malcolm Murray, was hosting this particular party at his Irish pub, The Orange, meant Daisy was likely right. Except, as I turned to shut down my computer while attempting to match her enthusiasm, I found I would have preferred to just go home over the prospect of spending the evening fending off drunken patrons while tolerating the noisy renditions of traditional Irish music.

Maybe I was getting old. Or, more likely I admitted to myself as I donned my coat and followed Daisy out into the crisp evening, the smell of snow in the air warning the pending storm we’d been expecting all day wasn’t going anywhere, it had little to do with being a party pooper and much more with the fact I hadn’t seen my gorgeous husband in days.

My bestie hooked her arm through mine, head high, chattering away while I nodded and grunted and did my best to fill in the gaps she left behind without letting her know my stomach had settled into a cold knot of sadness I couldn’t shake. While Crew’s work out of Reading meant great things for our bottom line as a company, I could count on two hands the number of nights he’d spent at home since my return from Delamonte Island in January. Yes, I understood how much he loved what he did because I felt the same way. Still, as I tromped down the street with Daisy, following a small trail of others who made their way over the icy sidewalks toward The Orange under the big moon just visible past the giant bank of clouds portending snowageddon, this wasn’t the newlywed (yes, more than twelve months out, but still) lifestyle I’d signed up for when we’d said I do a little over a year ago.

Boohoo, poor Fee, right? I had everything I wanted—a beautiful house, a loving husband who worked hard and cared about me more than anything. Awesome parents who loved one another, a pug child to snuggle at night, a best friend with a heart of gold and teammates who were the best in the business even before they joined Fleming Investigations.

And.

Sigh.

Mom met us on the corner, Lucy Fleming’s deep green wool coat standing out under the streetlight, her hair still the dark auburn of my own, her lovely face reminding me I had great genes and nothing to worry about for at least two more decades, though her smile and wave was another reminder of my missing husband. We’d talked more than enough about being work widows, Mom’s focus on her bed and breakfast, The Iris, not to mention her catering business keeping her occupied sufficiently as my job did for me. It helped, knowing I wasn’t alone, but Mom’s now decades of acceptance of Dad’s choice to put work first didn’t sit as well with me as I’d thought it would.

Not like I didn’t know better or anything. So, why then did Crew’s absence trouble me this much?

Oh, Fee! Daisy turned to me, beaming her million-watt smile, triggering a grin in return despite my mood. We’re just the luckiest girls in the world, aren’t we? Wait, had she been reading my mind?

Faced with that kind of optimism after all she’d been through, Emile and the Hawthornes (may the Universe do something permanent to Scarlett and Sloan) and my own terrible attitude? How could I hold onto my negativity when Daisy had every right to be hurt and sad and simply wasn’t?

Pull yourself together, Fleming.

Poor mes set firmly aside, I hugged Daisy’s arm against me and gave in to her happiness, determined to enjoy myself no matter what. We are, I said, believing it, accepting it, embracing it as we stopped to hug Mom and bring her along for the rest of the walk.

I really had it all. What more could I possibly ask for?

Oh, Fee. You had to go there, didn’t you? Seriously.

After all this time. I’d never learn.

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Chapter Two

The party was in full swing by the time we walked through the wood and glass door of The Orange, the parking lot packed with cars, the street outside clogged with vehicles to the point I knew the Reading Sheriff’s Department would be out with their collective ticket books primed and ready to hand out fines. Warm air flavored with hops, a mix of perfume and cologne and many breaded things fried in oil until crispy filled the bar’s interior with a welcoming familiarity despite the dim lighting and décor in desperate need