Haughty Eyes & Alibis: Church Lady Mysteries, #1

By VJ Dunn

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THE ODD COUPLE, THE GOLDEN GIRLS and MURDER, SHE WROTE MIX IT UP? MEET MADDIE AND MAGGIE!

Christian author VJ Dunn brings you two well-seasoned ladies who couldn't be any different if they'd come from opposing planets. The stories are full of fun, friendship, faith and just a smidge of fear!

When Wally Wonka—my best fur friend—found a body in the woods near our church, I thought it was a case of a tourist who'd partied too hard. After all, that happened a lot in our sleepy little town during tourist season, though they usually don't end up dead under a tree.

Or dead at all.

But when it becomes clear the woman had been murdered and it's obvious Jonathan Donovan, our local police detective, is utterly incompetent (I speak from authority, since I used to babysit the brat), Maggie and I decide to take matters in hand and do a little investigating of our own. After all, we've watched a lot of detective shows.

How hard could crime solving be?

While dingier than a bat in a bell tower on Sunday morning, Maggie proves her Southern charm and flirtatious ways are a boon for our sleuthing adventure. Coupled with my reasoning and observation skills, we make a pretty good team. As Maggie would say, "we're thicker than two peas in a pod."

Our confidence is shattered, though, when another woman turns up dead. The police don't think the deaths are related, but they didn't notice what I had... both women had a strange mark on the bottom of their foot.

Is it possible our sweet little seaside town might have welcomed a serial killer into its midst? The thought is terrifying, to say the least. But what was worse…

It looks like Maggie is next in line.


Join Maggie and Maddie as they stumble their way through their first investigation in Haughty Eyes & Alibis! Missteps, misdirection and misleading abound, but with Maddie's muleheaded stubbornness—and Maggie's southern charm—will the ladies find their investigative mojo and stop the killer?

• Language: English
• Publisher: VJ Dunn
• Release date: Jul 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201627485

Book preview

Chapter 1

There are six things the Lord hates,

seven that are detestable to Him:

haughty eyes,

a lying tongue,

hands that shed innocent blood,

a heart that devises wicked schemes,

feet that are quick to rush into evil,

a false witness who pours out lies

and a person who stirs up conflict in the community.

Proverbs 6:16-19

I

F THERE IS one thing that frosts my buns, it’s men who can’t hit the blooming toilet." That was met with silence because, frankly, I was alone.

Well, not entirely. My trusty old boy, Wally, was lying just outside the door, his long snout on his paws, watching me. He always watches me. Sometimes I think the dog questioned my sanity. But whether he thought I was crazy or not, at least I could always depend on him to be by my side. The ever-present faithful companion.

Honestly, I think mamas should teach their boys to just go outside to pee, I grumbled as I scrubbed the second toilet in the men’s room at my church. There were times when I regretted volunteering for Saturday cleaning duty. But someone had to do it, and when the pastor asked for volunteers, I wasn’t too surprised when my hand shot up.

Darned thing did that a lot.

They could hike their legs and water the trees and bushes like you do, Wally, I continued as I glanced at him. The overweight Golden Retriever wagged his tail, the only outward acknowledgment that I said his name.

Sure would make a janitor’s life easier. I switched rags, pulling out my yellow—and appropriately colored, I thought—microfiber cloth as I spritzed bleach cleaner on the floor, wiping at the stains on the gray vinyl flooring. I would mop the whole floor last, but the urine had a tendency to get into the cracks where the toilet met the floor, so it required more scrubbing.

Disgusting.

My knees creaked when I pushed myself to a stand a few moments later. I’m getting too old for this, I muttered as I headed over to the vanity to disinfect the twin sinks and clean the mirror. At least the mirror in the men’s room didn’t get as dirty as the one in the ladies’. I swore, some days I thought the women in our church used the sink to take a bath.

When I was done, Wally padded down the hall ahead of me. We’d been cleaning the church on Saturdays for so long my old guy knew what to expect next. I might gripe that I hated cleaning the restrooms, but the very worst job of all is the one I saved for last.

The sanctuary.

I truly hated cleaning the space. Not because it was particularly dirty or difficult to clean, but because it had to be completely spotless when I was finished. Pastor Winchester was a nice man and a generous, caring person, but he turned into a raving lunatic whenever there was a mote of dust on a pew, or a tiny speck of paper lying about on the plush royal blue carpeting.

This job isn’t worth the pay, I grumbled to Wally as he lowered himself to the floor just outside the sanctuary. The dog knew not to enter the area; I couldn’t begin to imagine what the pastor would do if he saw—Heaven forbid—dog hair, on the carpet.

As if we get paid.

I turned to see my best friend, Maggie, walk into the sanctuary. I swore the woman had some sort of sense for when I was about to start cleaning it. She knew how much I hated doing so, and she invariably came to help.

I gave her a grateful smile when she stepped up and grabbed a dust rag and can of spray wax from my cleaning tote. Done with the children’s building already? I asked.

That was another area that made me shudder, if only because the kids were messy creatures, despite the fact that the teachers always tried to clean up after them. For some reason, Maggie didn’t mind cleaning the children’s messes. That was the main reason I was thankful she’d agreed to join the cleaning crew that consisted of four people—me, myself and I, and Maggie.

It wasn’t too bad this week, Maggie said as she started wiping the already shiny wood of the last pew. I moved to the next row and did the same. Thankfully, our church was small and there were only twelve rows of long pews.

We might actually get out of here by lunchtime, I said. How about we head over to Kirby’s and get a crab cake sandwich?

My best friend for the past ten years paused to think about that. I could practically see the drool starting to pool in her mouth and I waited to see if it was going to drip down onto the pew seat. I wondered how the pastor would feel about mouth slime on the crushed velvet.

The thought made me snicker.

I suppose, Maggie finally answered with a shrug, like I didn’t just suggest her favorite food. Heck, those crab cake sandwiches at Kirby’s were everyone’s favorite food around here. In fact, I was pretty sure it was one of the biggest draws for getting all those tourists to our town every spring and summer.

Or we could go to Earl’s, she said as she ran her cloth down the arm of a pew. I do love their shrimp scampi. She shrugged again. It’s six, or one and a half dozen of the other.

I pursed my lips to keep from correcting her. Maggie was forever getting her metaphors, similes and idioms mixed up or just plain wrong. Being from the South, she also mixed up her southern expressions. I called them Maggie-isms, and most of the time they were downright funny.

We worked in silence for the rest of the time. When Maggie went down the hall to get the vacuum cleaner, I headed over to the fellowship hall to grab the trash bags. As always, I was really grateful that Terry—the sole member of our fellowship team—cleaned the place himself after we had potluck meals. Or, as was the case the past week, an ice cream social. Come summer, we’d have those at least twice a month, since it was one of the favorite events for our church.

I realized Terry had already taken out the kitchen trash when I looked into the big can. I smiled to myself; he was such a nice man. It really was a shame he was single. He would make a very nice husband...

I shook away those thoughts. I didn’t like to go down that road, because it led to too much pain. Too much bitterness.

Grabbing the bags of trash I pulled out of the restrooms, along with the bag Maggie collected from the children’s building, Wally and I headed out the back door and across the little parking lot. It wasn’t really a parking lot, I supposed, since it wasn’t paved. On the northeast coast, we got so much snow in the winter and rain the rest of the year that even with people driving all over the little lot during the week, the grass filled right back in just in time for Sunday morning service. I called it miracle grass.

Setting the bags down as Wally trotted off on some doggy adventure, I entered the combination on the lock on the trash bin’s lid. Raccoons were the bane of our town and we had to keep the bin locked tight to keep those trash pandas out. The lock was always a bit of a pain and I sighed when it finally popped open.

I smiled when I heard Wally woof, probably at a squirrel. The church sat on a hill pretty much in the middle of nowhere, and though there were woods nearby, I never had to worry about him running off. He might get it in his head to chase a rabbit now and again, but he never went far. For one, he was a very good dog. For another... well, he was overweight, and running wasn’t his forte.

But I knew he wasn’t going to live much longer if I didn’t get the extra weight off him. That dog most certainly had been given too many biscuits in his life. I laughed to myself as I glanced down at my belly. Truth be told, neither one of us could run very far. I figured it was a very good thing our little town was safe, with not much by way of crime. No running from bad guys in my future, thankfully.

Wally barked again and I glanced toward the area where he’d run off to, but I couldn’t see him. He wasn’t far, though, and again, I didn’t worry about him wandering off. Honestly, even if he weren’t so overweight, I doubted that dog would get too far from me. He was pretty faithful like that.

Not much of a guard dog, though, I laughed to myself. Wally loved everybody and would probably be more likely to knock a robber down in his exuberance for meeting someone new than anything else.

Once the lid was opened, I tossed the bags in and then retrieved the milk crate I kept behind the bin. Opening it was one thing, but when the lid was up, it was too high for me to reach to close it. We vertically challenged people had to be resourceful.

I dragged the crate out, positioned it and then climbed on top, pushing to my toes before finally reaching the lid. It was with no small amount of anger that I slammed the darned thing down.

And that was when I saw Wally at the edge of the woods, wagging his tail at something. I moaned; it was probably some injured animal. That dog would never hurt anything himself, and would, in fact, stand guard over anything needing help. But the thought of having to deal with a sick or hurt creature right now... a heavy sigh escaped me as I stepped off the crate and headed over to the woods.

I was huffing by the time I got there. That was far more exercise than I’d planned on getting today, even though it was a relatively short distance. Relatively is a relative term when you’re old and fat, I thought to myself, while mentally patting myself on the back at my cleverness.

Too bad Maggie wasn’t savvy enough to get my humor. It would be nice to have an audience who would laugh at my jokes, even if it were just one person. But my best friend was, shall we say, a bit dense.

What do you have, Wally? I asked as I approached, my steps hesitant. I really hated to see animals in pain, and I hoped that wasn’t the case now. Maybe it was just a baby bird that fell out of its nest or something. Of course, I had no idea how in the world I’d get it back into the nest. My milk crate certainly wasn’t that tall.

The dog’s tail continued its rapid wagging, and he didn’t even look up as I approached. My heart pounded slightly—most likely from the walk—and a worry started niggling in the back of my head that I might just have a heart attack. Hopefully, Maggie would come looking for me.

Of course she will, I murmured to myself. I’m her ride.

I stepped closer and peered into the dark woods. There was something behind the bush, but I couldn’t tell what it was.

What is it? I asked the dog, like he was going to answer me. While he was a very clever canine, unless the Lord Almighty Himself taught that dog English, I wasn’t going to get an answer.

A sigh left me when I realized the only opening in the thick brush seemed to be an animal path, an arch that extended just a few feet up from the ground. It was up to me to get down and crawl through the damp, moldy-smelling peat to see what had gotten my boy’s attention.

Now I’m going to need a full-blown bath, I grumbled to myself as I lowered to the ground and started crawling. It better not be a skunk in there, I warned as I glanced back over my shoulder at the panting dog. Because if it is and I get sprayed, this is the last time you’re coming to church with me on Saturday.

It was an empty threat; Wally knew that if I could take him somewhere, I did. His tongue lolled out of his mouth as he grinned back at me. I was pretty sure that was the dog version of laughing.

The ground was even wetter in the thick of the trees, and most especially under the bush. I winced at the feel of the mud squishing between my fingers. If there was one thing I couldn’t stand, it was to have my hands dirty.

And men’s’ bathrooms, I thought. I couldn’t stand those, either.

I gingerly parted the short limbs of the bush after first making sure it wasn’t poison ivy or oak. The last thing I needed was to show up to church with Calamine all over my face and arms. Why, I’d be the laughingstock of the whole congregation.

It’s okay, baby, I said soothingly, cooing to whatever it was that I was going to find. I was still praying it wasn’t a skunk. Or a badger. I also would have hated to show up to church with half my face missing.

Are you hurt? I baby-talked, feeling a bit foolish for doing so. Wally moved closer and I could feel his hot breath on my arm.

I parted the bushes a little more, wincing as the twigs dug into my palms. It was just too dark to see, and I thought about going back for a flashlight, or even my cellphone which was in my car, but that would mean double the trips and I was already tired enough.

As I continued cooing nonsensical things to the unknown creature, I pushed back more of the bush, until a branch snapped off and I saw what had garnered Wally’s attention. I gasped.

Oh my.

Chapter 2

T

RISHA CARLISLE, Jonny said into a handheld recorder. Female, age thirty-two, from Aurora, Illinois, he continued as he read her license. Husband, Alan Carlisle, reported the victim missing at twenty-two hundred hours the night prior to the body’s discovery."

I watched the young detective as he started pacing, looking at a notebook. Last seen at Crown Hill Bar and Grille, twenty-one fifteen hours. Bartender, Dean Jackson, stated victim had been with two unnamed females who left the premises approximately fifteen minutes before victim. Victim appeared intoxicated and Mr. Jackson refused to further serve her. Victim left willingly after a small confrontation.

I realized then that he must have been investigating the woman’s disappearance already.

Put down that it might be a vampire that killed her, Maggie said as she looked over the man’s shoulder at his notes. He spun around and glared at my friend, then fiddled with the recorder until he erased what she just said.

It wasn’t a vampire, I snapped. Don’t be ridiculous.

You saw her neck, Maggie insisted. All those bruises could have been due to bite marks.

I rolled my eyes. I did that a lot around Maggie and I was sure that one day my eyes were going to get stuck and then I’d be staring at ceilings and sky for the rest of my life.

There aren’t any such things as vampires, I argued as my head pounded. It had started from the trauma of finding a dead body and only got worse with Maggie acting like a ninny. As usual.

The woman spent more time watching horror movies than she did anything else. It was no wonder a vampire attack was the first thing on her mind.

Just let Jonny do his job, I told her as I rubbed my temples. I shifted, trying to get comfortable, but the fallen log I was sitting on wasn’t offering anything by way of that.

"It’s Detective Jonathan Donovan," he corrected me with a sneer.

That tone was far too haughty for my liking, and I dropped my hands so I could push to a stand. I ignored Maggie when she said, Oooooh! like she knew Jonny was going to get in trouble.

Don’t get sassy with me, young man, I growled as I approached, pointing a finger at him. I changed your diapers!

Jonny’s mouth dropped open, an incredulous look on his face. You did not! he whined. "I was seven when you first started babysitting me!"

I crossed my arms over my chest. And your point? I nodded toward him. You always were a slow learner. I don’t think you were fully potty trained until you were at least twelve.

That earned me a scowl. That’s not true, he said. In fact— he stopped himself and shook his head. I don’t have time for this. I have a job to do. Do you mind? he said with enough sarcasm that I narrowed my eyes at him, but I turned and marched back to my hard seat.

Your father is a much better police officer, I muttered under my breath, knowing he couldn’t hear me. And your grandfather was even better. Plus, it didn’t hurt that Robert Donovan was also very handsome. Jack, his son and Jonny’s father, took after Robert.

Jonny took after his mule-faced mother, Bernadette. God rest her soul.

Moments later, Maggie plopped down beside me with no grace at all and the log rolled backward under us. I gasped as I leaned forward to try to right us, but Maggie wiggled the wrong way, tipping us backwards. We ended up flat on our backs, staring up at the green canopy of the trees overhead.

Wally came over and sniffed us, then gave my face a slobbery lick before trotting off, probably hoping to find another dead body.

I sighed heavily enough to part the leaves above us.

Now I’m going to have to wash my hair, Maggie whined as she picked at the leaves stuck in her dark gray curls. I turned to give her a look. Her eyebrows rose.

What?

Shaking my head, I unhooked my legs from the log and rolled to my side, moaning as the movement caused my whole body to ache.

I swear, I feel every single minute of my age right about now, I groaned as I pushed myself to a sitting position. Behind me, Maggie must have felt the same, because I heard her moan as well.

We both walked on our knees to the log, then used it to push ourselves to a stand. I wasn’t sure what was making more noise—the crackling leaves and sticks beneath us, or our joints.

My bet was on the latter.

I didn’t want to take the chance on a rolling log and Maggie’s big butt again, so I moved to lean against a tree while I waited for Jonny to get done with his investigation. I had my doubts about his abilities, though. As a child, that boy couldn’t find his favorite toy when he held it with both hands, so I just couldn’t see how he could possibly solve a crime.

Maggie came over and mimicked my pose on the opposite side of the tree. I forced my eyes to stay put, but they really did want to roll.

He sure is a handsome young man, my friend said a bit wistfully. I shot a disgusted glance in her direction. For one thing, Jonny most certainly was not handsome. Not like the other males in his family anyway. But it wasn’t worth arguing with the woman over. She thought every man was good-looking and was an unrepentant flirt. I never could understand why she’d never married, especially considering how man-crazy she’d always been.

And young enough to be your grandson, I pointed out. Maggie gave a shocked gasp and reached around the tree to pinch my side.

Ouch! I exclaimed as I rubbed the spot. She gave me an unapologetic look.

Be nice, she huffed.

"I am being nice, I argued. I’m just pointing out facts. Jonny there is thirty and his parents are in their early fifties. That means at seventy—" she stopped me from announcing her age to the squirrels and other wildlife by slapping her hand over my mouth. Maggie hated to be reminded of her age. In her mind, she was still a teenager. Truthfully, her emotional maturity was about twelve, so it wasn’t too far of a stretch.

I scowled at her as I jerked my head away from her hand, then wiggled my jaw, wincing when it popped. It’s a good thing I don’t have dentures, I snapped, or else I’d be swallowing the darned things right now. Was that really necessary?

She had the good grace to look chastised. Sorry, she muttered, though she crossed her arms over her chest and huffed. You don’t need to always bring up my age. It isn’t polite, she sniffed.

I couldn’t stop my eyes that time. Our age, I corrected her. It’s not insulting if I’m in the same boat.

She didn’t respond, looking away from me to stare at Jonny again. He was still pacing and talking into his recorder thing.

Suspects at this time are the husband and the last known person seen with the victim, a— he looked at his notebook, —Tony Devore, owner of Devore Hardware.

My eyebrows shot up at that. I wondered if Janet knew her husband had been with a strange woman the night before. Most likely not, or else Janet would have stormed down to the bar and dragged him out by his ear. She had a temper, that one.

Do you think Janet knows Tony was with that lady? Maggie asked, mirroring my thoughts.

I doubt she knew, I said. If she had, we’d probably be looking at Tony’s body right now.

Maggie nodded, her eyes wide as she looked back at where the woman’s body was covered by a gray blanket. Trisha, Jonny had said her name was. A tourist.

Every spring, our little seaside town of Crown Hill, population two thousand twenty-three, exploded into more than double that as the tourism season got underway. And with that explosion came crime that we didn’t have to worry about the rest of the year—purse snatchings, pickpocketing, brawls. Drunk and disorderly was the norm. But until now, I had never heard of a murder taking place in all the decades I’d lived in Crown Hill.

Jonny continued to pace as he glanced at his notes and spoke into his recorder. I chuckled when I noticed Wally had taken to pacing with the man, matching his steps and turning when he did. I narrowed my eyes at Jonny when he shooed the dog off. Wally ignored him and kept at it.

Shortly after, another group of people arrived—Dickie Thompson, the chief of police; a young gentleman I didn’t recognize who set about taking pictures of the area where the body was found; and Victor Rudolf, the town’s coroner.

Victor was a very strange bird.

Of course, I had guilty feelings over my unkind thoughts, but in the case of Victor, they were certainly true. The man reminded me of Bela Lugosi of black and white vampire movie fame. Maggie, with her penchant for horror movies, inevitably would get me to watch them with her. It was a wonder she didn’t suspect Victor of being involved in the woman’s murder.

Do you think it was Victor? Maggie whispered. I turned to stare at her with wide eyes, wondering if the woman was becoming a mind-reader.

I gave her a look that made her wince. Seriously? I hissed, even though my thoughts of the man hadn’t been much better. You really think the coroner killed that woman? I said, motioning toward the man.

Victor had a bored look on his face, which might have been suspicious in itself, as if he’d been expecting the call about the woman’s body. But then I supposed the look was normal for his profession. Dealing with another dead body couldn’t have been very exciting for him. Still, I stared at Victor when he moved to lean against a tree, watching the photographer. He reminded me of a vulture hovering over some roadkill, just waiting for his chance to swoop down and devour.

Since Jonny had quit his pacing to confer with his boss, Wally trotted over to investigate the newcomers. He stopped to sniff at the body again.

As I watched my dog, I noticed that the woman’s feet had been uncovered, probably when the photographer moved the blanket to take pictures of her face. Something caught my eye that I hadn’t noticed before and I pushed off the tree and headed over to investigate.

Jonny and Dickie were talking off to the side and didn’t notice as I approached. But the photographer did. He straightened from where he’d been crouched, taking photos of the area where I’d found the body. I tried to see the scene through his eyes, or through his lens.

I had to admit it was strange the way the woman’s body was positioned—propped against a tree, ankles crossed, hands clasped in her lap. She was sitting on a checkered tablecloth, like she’d been at a picnic. There was a wicker basket next to her body, though I had a feeling it was empty. Admittedly, I’d wanted to look inside, but I knew better than to mess with a crime scene, though I did give the woman a slight shake when I’d first found her.

When I’d pushed through the bushes and seen Trisha’s body, I’d honestly thought she was just asleep.

What are you doing? the photographer hissed at me, like he had some sort of authority.

I glanced at him, biting my tongue to keep from telling him off like I wanted to. First Jonny’s sass, now this young man. I swear, parents didn’t teach