Munchies and Murder

By Leslie Langtry

From USA Today bestselling author Leslie Langtry comes Merry Wrath's most wild case yet!

Ex-CIA agent turned scout leader, Merry Wrath, faces her greatest challenge yet when her cranky new neighbor is convinced Merry’s cat is melting her mind from across the street. But when Merry tries to extend an olive branch in the form of Girl Scout cookies, she finds the neighbor murdered! Worse yet, the security footage puts her not-too-bright nemesis, Kevin Dooley, at the scene of the crime.
Murder wears a tin foil hat...

In spite of the fact that Kevin has been a problem since elementary school, Merry doesn’t want him to go to prison. But before she can begin to investigate, a large group of conspiracy theorists arrive and set up camp outside of town. Between the Hitler Faked the Moon Landing folks, cryptic cryptozoologists, and the Lizard People, Merry isn’t sure what to believe. And when it turns out the victim was also into conspiracy theories and was investigating a local thirty-year old child abduction, the case veers wildly off the rails.
The truth is out there...somewhere...maybe?

Who’s There, Iowa is turned upside down with a panicked aluminum foil shortage, a slew of Big Foot sightings, a goat named Olaf, a troop of little girls with questionable motives who are capitalizing on the chaos, and a whole lot of hamsters (like, a LOT of hamsters). Merry has to move fast to unravel this tangled web of lies to find the truth before the truth itself becomes another victim.

What critics are saying about Leslie Langtry's books:

"I laughed so hard I cried on multiple occasions! Girl Scouts, the CIA, and the Yakuza... what could possibly go wrong?"
~ Fresh Fiction

"Darkly funny and wildly over the top, this mystery answers the burning question, 'Do assassin skills and Girl Scout merit badges mix...?'"
~ RT BOOKreviews

"Mixing a deadly sense of humor and plenty of sexy sizzle, Leslie Langtry creates a brilliantly original, laughter-rich mix of contemporary romance and suspense."
~ Chicago Tribune

"Langtry gets the fun started from page one."
~ Publisher's Weekly

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gemma Halliday Publishing
• Release date: Jul 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005860691

Leslie Langtry

Leslie Langtry is the USA Today bestselling author of the Greatest Hits Mysteries, The Adulterer's Unofficial Guide to Family Vacations, and several books she hasn't finished yet, because she's very lazy. Leslie loves puppies and cake (but she will not share her cake with puppies) and lives with her family and assorted animals in the Midwest.

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MUNCHIES AND MURDER

a Merry Wrath Mystery

by

LESLIE LANGTRY

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Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2022 by Leslie Langtry

Cover design by Janet Holmes

Gemma Halliday Publishing

http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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CHAPTER ONE

"Philby…our cat…is brainwashing the neighbor?" I stared at my cell in case I hadn't heard my husband right.

Rex answered, Louise Lutkin called the police to complain that Philby is staring at her from our window, trying to melt her mind through hypnosis.

From across the street? I turned to look at the cat, whose tail swished beneath the curtains. My experience with hypnosis proves that false. You need to get much closer than that, and it helps if you have chloroform in case the hypnosis doesn't take. Should I tell her that?

No, Rex said a bit too quickly. "You should not tell her that due to your experience as a CIA spy, you know how to hypnotize someone. That would just make things worse."

I wasn't sure Philby could pull that off. Still, she did have an unnerving stare. It's possible she's been perfecting it on me. I did give her some bacon this morning, and I don't really know why.

So… I said slowly as I ran to the kitchen to make sure my fat feline Fuhrer couldn't hear me…just in case. What does Lutkin want me to do about it? If we close the curtains, Philby can still get past them. And if Philby knows she's driving the older woman nuts, she's going to make this her mission every day. I paused. How about you just tell her not to look at our house anymore?

Rex sighed. Ms. Lutkin doesn't think anything should restrict her view. Which includes our house, apparently.

Have I inadvertently slipped her some LSD? I accidentally said out loud.

You have LSD? Rex's voice went up an octave. As the town's detective, it wouldn't do to have his wife dosing the citizenry with a hallucinogenic.

Of course not! I lied.

I totally did. Kept it disguised in a cod liver oil bottle at my old house. Why did I have it? Because it might prove useful someday, like when I wanted someone to see things that weren't there. Maybe I could use it on Philby to make her think our window was bricked up. Nah. I wouldn't want to spoil her fun for a buzzkill like Louise Lutkin.

You should go over and talk to her, Rex suggested. Maybe take her some sort of welcome to the neighborhood gift or something.

Like what? I looked around the kitchen. I didn't have anything gift worthy to give, although I was now kind of tempted to give her an angry, obese cat who resembled Hitler.

Not my area of expertise, I'm afraid, Rex admitted. Talk to Kelly and see what she thinks. There was a crash in the background. Gotta go, babe. Kevin just got his hand stuck in the vending machine…again. And with that he hung up.

After Louise Lutkin moved into our neighborhood a month ago, the police began to receive complaints, where Lutkin demanded that something be done about my obnoxious troop.

While she lived next door to my old house—where we held the meetings—we hadn't even met outside. July is pretty steamy in Who's There, Iowa, and it had been so hot that we'd been indoors. With the AC unit outside humming and the windows closed, there's no way Louise could've heard anything. We even met the girls when they arrived and waited outside with them as they were picked up.

Another hostile complaint came in when we met two weeks after that. And now, my cat was staring at her. In my experience, people like this only get worse if you don't nip it in the bud before things escalate.

When I was embedded with Carlos the Armadillo in Colombia, one of his mid-level guys, Six-Finger Pedro, believed that a low-ranking flunky named Nick the Nostril was teasing him behind his back. The accusations became more frequent, despite the fact that Nick was away the whole time visiting his grandmother in Dildo, Newfoundland.

Because Carlos wouldn't do anything about it, Pedro got worse and worse until he drove everyone nuts and we had to shoot him. Well…I didn't shoot him, but if I had I would've hit the target instead of shooting his sixth finger off and reducing him to five fingers on one hand. It turned out okay though because now Pedro happily lives with Nick's grandmother, where he provides a third hand accompaniment to her keyboard skills for the Dildo Organ Festival each year in June.

At least she's not complaining about the troop anymore, Kelly said when I called her minutes later.

It's only been three weeks, and she's gone from attacking the troop, to accusing my cat of diabolical hypnosis. Now Rex thinks I should go over with a peace offering.

Kelly agreed. I'll go with you. You'll just make her mad.

That didn't seem fair, but I didn't argue because I was eager for her to go along so I wouldn't have to deal with her by myself. Kelly came over an hour later with a tray of Girl Scout cookies as an olive branch. A yummy, chocolatey olive branch.

Someone once said that diplomacy is the art of saying good doggie until you can get your hands on a rock. Kelly had to talk me out of taking a weapon, but the rock thing is sound advice—especially in Chechnya, where it's preferable to actual diplomacy.

Let me do the talking, Kelly said as we stood outside the woman's house. I'm better at this than you.

How can you say that? I asked. I once negotiated peace in the Middle East. Granted, that only lasted about five minutes before the fistfight started, and people still say it set good relations between Pakistan and Oman back fifty years, but still!

Kelly looked at me blankly—a look that I recognized as her trying to tell me what I'd just said proved her point.

Fine. I took the tray of cookies from her. I'll be the cookie bearer. But if she attacks, you're delaying my response time.

Kelly tried hard not to roll her eyes. We just have to win her over. Be nice. Be friendly. Be empathetic…to get to the root of the problem.

Which is not our girls, because there's no way they had an opportunity to annoy her.

Kelly's right eyebrow went up. We don't know that. We have Betty.

That was a fair point. Betty was the world's most awesome and most dangerous fifth grader.

And—I held up one finger—my cat is not hypnotizing anyone, except maybe me.

After steeling ourselves, we approached the front door. The screen was closed, but the main door was open. We could hear what sounded like the TV on. I rang the bell, which was one of those fancy, spy doorbells where you could see and talk to the person at your front door. These would've been useful when I was in the CIA. It would've been nice not to terrify the pizza delivery kid by answering my door fully armed in case a Russian terrorist or Chechen strongman was stopping by.

My name is Merry Wrath, and up until about six years ago, I was a field agent in the CIA who'd worked undercover mostly in Colombia, Okinawa, Russia, and Chechnya. Sadly, the vice president at the time had issues with my senator father and accidentally outted me while I was in a dive bar in Chechnya. My name, then Finnoughla Czrygy, was posted seconds before my photo on the bar TV. I barely made it out alive. So, after a generous apology settlement from the CIA, I returned to my hometown of Who's There, Iowa, changed my name to Merry Wrath—a combo of my middle name Merrygold and my mother's maiden name, Wrath—and founded a scout troop with my best friend Kelly.

Actually, my name is now Merry Ferguson, since I'd married Rex, the town's detective. However, people—the girls in my troop in particular—continued to call me Merry or Mrs. Wrath.

Ms. Lutkin didn't answer. I pressed the button and heard the doorbell ring in the house, but again, no one came to the door. My spydy senses began to tingle. Something was wrong.

She's old. I should go in. I handed Kelly the tray. Maybe she's had a bad fall or a heart attack or something.

Kelly shook her head slightly. Why do you say that with a hint of glee in your voice?

I feigned dismay. I did not! It would be a tragedy if this mean old grump was hurt!

Then, with a badly hidden grin, I pulled open the screen door, calling out for the woman as I went in.

Ms. Lutkin? I called out as Kelly joined me in the living room. Wow, I gasped. I think we just stepped back in time to the 1970s.

I'd been in this house once or twice when the previous owners lived here, and it had been a fairly modern living room back then. But Louise Lutkin obviously valued a different aesthetic.

She changed the hardwood floors to orange shag carpet? I stared at the floor. Who does that?

The woman had also put in paneling that screamed late–Brady Bunch, and the furniture had seen better days in the Nixon administration.

Everything's covered in plastic, I said. Which is the hallmark of a serial killer.

Kelly's eyes searched the room. My grandmother had plastic on the furniture.

Yes, and she could've been a serial killer, I responded. Your grandmother was the meanest woman in town for six decades. And we don't know that your grandfather died of natural causes. Or the husband who came after him…or after him…

My best friend held up her hands, Okay, I've gotten the point. Grandma was awful and possibly a murderer, but that doesn't mean everyone else who has plastic on the sofa is.

It would explain why she's harassing little girls and harmless cats, I grumbled before calling out for the old woman again.

No answer. I found the remote and turned the TV off.

We walked past macrame wall art, a display of pet rocks and mood rings, and a wicker coffee table. We found her in the dining room. Louise Lutkin was lying on her back, eyes staring angrily at the ceiling, and I could swear the way her fingers were arranged that she was flipping us off.

Kelly, a former emergency room nurse, knelt down and checked her pulse. She shook her head. That's when we noticed the ligature marks around her neck. Ms. Lutkin had been strangled.

The worst was yet to come as we walked into the kitchen and found Kevin Dooley sitting at a table, eating an entire strawberry and rhubarb pie.

Oh. Hey, he said as he looked up. I was just eating.

Officer Kevin Dooley, town mouth-breather and former classmate of ours—where he was famous for his vacant, hooded eyes and a penchant for eating paste—was just sitting there. With a body in the next room.

You found her? I asked.

You called the police? Kelly added.

Nope was all he said. Just came over for pie.

Kevin. I looked toward the dining room. Louise Lutkin has been murdered. Didn't you find the body?

He looked surprised in the way an expressionless iguana may looked surprised. Huh. That's weird.

Kelly took out her cell and called the police station.

You just came over for pie and didn't notice the woman who made the pie was dead in the dining room? I wondered.

He looked at me for a moment. Guess so.

Kelly was talking to Rex in the background.

Which door did you come in through? I asked.

The fork froze halfway to his mouth as he paused to think. Back door.

What time? I pressed.

Kevin looked at his watch before saying, A while ago.

I gave up and went to the dining room. I heard sirens in the distance. It only takes five minutes to get from one side of town to the other. Rex was on his way.

Lutkin looked angry. I only had seconds to check things out before the police arrived. I looked at her wrist. She was wearing an old-timey watch, and the glass was broken. The watch had stopped at fifteen minutes before Kelly and I'd walked in. If she'd been in a struggle with her assailant, when she fell, the watch broke, giving us her time of death.

If that was true, then we just missed the murder.

Oh no. That could mean only one thing.

Kevin Dooley murdered Ms. Lutkin. And even worse…

Kelly and I were witnesses.

CHAPTER TWO

There were a lot of things Kevin Dooley was capable of—eating other people's food without their permission, smearing Cheeto dust on a crime scene, losing his gun at the city park playground (twice). But was murder one of those things? He did once shoot his father while he was trying to kill me. I guess it's possible that if you can take out your dad, you can take out anyone. But murder a stranger in cold blood and stick around to eat her pie? My mind scrambled for an answer as I waited for Rex to appear.

I didn't have to wait long. My husband came through the door with Dr. Soo Jin Body, medical examiner, on his heels.

Hi Merry! Hi Kelly! Soo Jin gave a little wave before setting down her bag and taking a long look at Louise Lutkin's remains.

Soo Jin was brilliant, beautiful, and the nicest person I knew. But what made her my favorite person was that she never once said anything about me, once again, being the first person on the scene of a murder.

Rex on the other hand…

You didn't have to kill her. He sighed.

I rolled my eyes. I didn't kill her, and you know that. But I have some bad news for you. It looks like Kevin did. I pulled him into the kitchen, where Dooley was taking the last bite of pie.

He gave us a lazy, hound-dog look before pushing back from the table. Pie's gone. D'you think there's anything to drink?

Kevin moseyed to the fridge before Rex stopped him. Officer Dooley, what are you doing here?

As if he suddenly remembered that he was, in fact, a policeman and was, in fact, talking to his boss, Kevin turned to us and shrugged.

My husband stood there, staring at his officer. The silence was deafening, and for some reason, I felt the need to say It's okay.

Both men gave me a curious look, and I realized that things weren't okay and I shouldn't have said they were. What else could I say? Accuse him outright of murder? Yeah, sure, the odds didn't appear to be in his favor, but it felt wrong to make that accusation in front of his boss.

Rex looked at me. What's going on?

Kelly and I came over here, like you told us to, I pointed out. And found Ms. Lutkin dead in the dining room and Kevin eating pie in the kitchen.

My unflappable husband, who rarely was surprised, just looked at me as if I'd just set fire to his badge while he was wearing it.

I don't understand, he said slowly.

Guess I'd better get back to work, Kevin said as he headed for the front door.

We followed and watched as he walked around Kelly, Soo Jin, and the body on the floor and made his way to the entryway.

Officer Dooley! Rex snapped.

I was so shocked to hear him use an angry voice that I froze. Rex didn't shout at people. I couldn't remember a time when he'd raised his voice. And he always defended Kevin when I criticized him. Perhaps committing murder for strawberry-rhubarb pie was a step too far?

While I was stunned, Kevin was not fazed as he loped back over to us. What's up?

Stay here, Rex warned. Merry and Kelly, could I see you outside?

Kevin looked down. Oh, hi Soo Jin.

The medical examiner was engrossed in her work and didn't reply.

Kevin's eyes opened wide, which looked like it did if you suddenly shaved all the hair off around a sheepdog's eyes. Is that a body? What's that doing there?

Kelly and I followed Rex out to the front stoop.

What happened? was all he could manage.

We came here to talk to Ms. Lutkin. We brought cookies, I said.

The front door was open, Kelly added. We rang the bell a couple of times, and then, worried that something might have happened, to her, we came in.

I pointed at my best friend. Yes, that's right. And you remember that Kelly was a nurse, so if something happened, which it obviously did, she could handle it, except she couldn't because Lutkin was dead.

"We found the body, and I called you while Merry went into