Killed with a Kiss: A Tinsel Pine Cozy Mystery, #2

By Wendy Meadows

A Suspicious Newcomer. A Police Captain in Custody. A Small Town Murder.

 

Carol is a newcomer to the cozy town of Tinsel Pine, only interested in settling down, running her business, and reconnecting with her daughter. But the locals have gotten the impression that she is a brown-nosing hussy, given her recent relationship with the not-yet-divorced Police Captain Brogan.

 

As Captain Brogan heads to the courthouse to finalize his divorce, a horrendous crime occurs, leaving Brogan's ex-wife dead after being badly beaten.

 

Can Carol trust her instincts that her boyfriend of two months, and Police Captain of this small town, didn't commit this heinous crime?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Majestic Owl Publishing LLC
• Release date: Sep 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201013394

Wendy Meadows

USA Today bestselling author, Wendy Meadows, is a passionate Cozy Mystery Author whose meticulously crafted stories showcase witty women sleuths and engaging plots. Her primary influences include but are not limited to mystery genre greats Joanne Fluke, Ellery Adams, and James Patterson. To date, she has published dozens of books, which include her popular Sweetfern Harbor Series, Maple Hill Series, and Alaska Cozy Series, to name a few. In a previous life, Wendy worked as a Graphic Designer, earning her Graphic Design Certification at the prestigious New York based Sessions School of Design. With this valuable artistic background, she designs her own book covers. In fact, she began writing fiction soon after designing numerous book covers for other fiction authors. When she isn’t writing about female detectives and their tactful crime solving, you can find Wendy either tending to her hobby farm, playing video games, relaxing on her back porch, or coloring in her growing collection of adult coloring books. She also loves spending quality time with her husband, two sons, two cats, and one adorable Labradoodle. Together, they call “The Granite State” home sweet home. To find out more about Wendy Meadows both personally and creatively, feel free to visit her official website at www.wendymeadows.com

Book preview

chapter one

Police Chief Brogan Peterson stares down the courthouse like a man facing hard time. I’ve never seen his face so remote.

I massage his shoulders gently. It’s alright. You’ve got this, Brogan. It’s all over once the paperwork is signed.

Brogan shrugs off my hand after just a few gentle rotations and I let it fall. My boyfriend is like a grumpy grizzly at the best of times, and he's bound to be prickly today of all days. I'm doing my best not to take it personally. After all, if I were the one finalizing a divorce today, I doubt I'd be cheerful, either. Though I've been divorced before, it ended amicably, all things considered. Danny and I still sometimes give each other cards.

Not so with Brogan's wife, Sharona, who has been dragging this out for months, maximizing her soon-to-be ex-husband's misery by being difficult at every turn and refusing to set up a custody agreement for their dog Columbo. She's even gone so far as to show up at his and my door to prod us about the relationship we've recently started.

Sorry, he grumbles, catching the disappointment I fail to hide. You're right. I know you're right. I just...

It's hard, I say, rolling one shoulder in an easy shrug. I know. It was hard for me, and Danny and I both wanted it to end. So it has to be harder for you when...

I let the sentence hang, unable—or maybe just unwilling—to finish the thought. It's like a kick to the gut every time this topic comes up, and I know it's my own issues trying to take me by the hand and run wild. I'm fifty years old, and I know better than to feel hard-done-by. It's not my place. Brogan and Sharona were married for years. Brogan and I have only known each other since December, and we've only been officially dating for a few weeks now. Of course, he's still going to have feelings on the matter.

What those feelings are? Well, that's difficult for even me to parse out, and I'd been going for a therapy degree at Berkeley before circumstances had forced me to drop out. Part of me wants to shake him like a piggy bank until the truth comes rattling out, but there's no point. We agreed last month we'd toe boundary lines. So here I am, keeping my toes firmly on my side, just as agreed.

Brogan winces. Yeah. That.

My phone dutifully chimes, announcing there's a half hour before Brogan's case is on the docket. I nudge him purposefully in the ribs.

C'mon, you big lug, I say, threading my arm through his elbow. Time to go inside.

There's still time, he argues, keeping his feet firmly planted on the front step of the courthouse.

Brogan, there's still security to get through. And you know that Nellie just loves a man in uniform. She might want to frisk you.

Nellie Warbler is a seventy-year-old woman who should probably be retired. But baggage check and wand-waver at the courthouse is an easy job, and she's on a fixed income. No one has the heart to tell her she needs to rely on her sons for help, so instead, they opted to hire a younger man from town, Andrew Massey, to help her.

That finally earns me a smile. Alright. Let's go in. But if she gets handsy, I'm blaming you.

Don't worry, I say, smirking up at him. I'll defend your honor, Brogan.

He finally releases the breath he's been holding, but his humor is still a tremulous thing. It'll disappear like tissue beneath a downpour once he lays eyes on Sharona. Still, a victory is a victory, and I'll take what I can get today.

We mount the steps slowly, Brogan's reluctance palpable. I keep up a steady stream of positivity. Brogan needs it at the moment, and the practice won't go to waste. My daughter Mary has begun dating again, and it's one of Brogan's officers to boot. They seem serious. Maybe sometime in the next year or two, I'll be cooing over a grandchild. And until then, the world needs a positive spin. There's been enough murder and chaos in the town of Tinsel Pine, Connecticut to last everyone a lifetime. So if someone has to buck up and provide much-needed cheer, it might as well be me.

We'll get a takeout order from the diner and swing by the store to get that IPA when we're through. You can feed some to Colombo.

Brogan holds the door open and quirks a brow at me, an almost grudgingly amused smile clearing away some of the bleakness from earlier.

You don't like beer, he points out.

We'll also get wine.

And you said you were trying to stick to a diet.

Celebratory calories don't count, I say, waving the protest away. Carbs of joy, Brogan.

He laughs, just once, before stepping in after me.

Elderly Mrs. Warbler steps forward, extending her wand toward Brogan, who deposits his keys, wallet, and bag onto the track to be scanned. It's a little strange to see the waifish woman in a uniform when Brogan isn't. Normally, he's outfitted in the crisp blue of Tinsel Pine PD when not at home. But today is a personal day, and formal attire is expected in front of a judge.

Not armed and dangerous, chief? Nellie says with a grin that's a little more toothy than necessary. I hadn't been kidding when I told him she liked him. Shame. I like a man in uniform.

So I'm told, he says with a laugh, shooting a glance over his shoulder at me. But I'm here in a personal capacity, not a professional one, Nellie. Mind letting me past?

Nellie pretends to consider that while she waves the wand down his sides. Andrew Massey is watching the exchange with a touch of exasperation. He's got the funnies bunched in one hand, trying to hide them out of sight so he can sneak peeks while also doing his job of watching Mrs. Warbler. He flicks a glance from Brogan down to his watch and back again with a scowl.

I suppose, Nellie finally drawls. But you come back to see me again, you hear? I think I might have to do a pat-down on your way out.

Brogan flashes her a winning smile at last, the exchange either so ludicrous it's knocked him from his funk, or just flattering enough that he's gained a mite of self-confidence.

Will do, Mrs. Warbler. Will do.

chapter two

Tinsel Pine's town hall and the courthouses within are as quaint and pretty as the rest of the town. With coffered ceilings, a great deal of polished wooden surfaces, a curved staircase, and new age art hung on the walls, it manages to straddle the line between modern and antiquated without feeling tacky.

Leaving Mrs. Warbler and impatient Mr. Massey behind us, we wander the halls. Brogan does have a point. There's time to kill, and it's probably best he be punctual, not obscenely early. I can't imagine how hideously awkward it would be for Brogan to sit next to his ex for a full half hour before they can officially be separated for good; not to mention he's brought the other woman to the courthouse to observe the proceedings.

You are not the other woman, I remind myself sternly. He's separated. She's at fault. You have nothing to feel guilty about.

But I am, and I do. To be entirely fair to myself, I had no idea he was still technically married until his wife showed up at his door to serve him papers for this final proceeding. I, like most people, assumed he was divorced. It makes me feel somewhat better that most people reacted with the same shock I felt. It was something Brogan should have told me, and we'll be having words about it. Later. When this ordeal is through.

Things had been going smoothly up to that point, too. But it seems as if life can't help but throw me curveballs since I've arrived in Tinsel Pine. What should be sleepy retirement has morphed into mayhem more often than not. Since arriving, I've found two bodies, started my own business, and jumped into a relationship with a prickly bear of a man. After working out the kinks in our relationship, it had looked like it might actually be smooth sailing.

Until now.

We're going to be okay, I say. I'm not sure if I'm assuring him or myself of that fact. This day will turn out alright, you'll see.

Brogan grunts doubtfully. "Don't see how. I sort of got screwed in the custody agreement. She gets him most of the week. I thought the justice system only leaned toward women in human cases."

I feel badly for him. I think adopting the enormous and energetic mastiff that had been orphaned during our last case has made him miss his Labrador more, not less.

It'll be alright, I repeat, for lack of anything better to say. We'll go out to eat. I'll wear something ridiculously overpriced and slinky, and maybe at the end of the night...

I trail off suggestively, letting him fill in the blank. The truth is, I'm a bit nervous. I've had only one long-term partner in my life. A few flings here and there, over the years, but they were as transient as my lifestyle. Light and fun, but ultimately inconsequential. But I'm not young and flirty anymore. I'm recently fifty and looking for something serious. And it's been a seriously long time since I've done...anything of substance with a man.

Brogan's eyes dip to the gaps between the buttons of my V-neck blouse. I don't have much formal wear, and this one's gotten a little small since the holiday's indulgence. I've filled out in all the wrong places. Brogan doesn't seem to notice, though. His eyes burn into me, hot and a little needy. It's been even longer since I've gotten that look. It makes me a little quivery.

Brogan seizes the small of my back with one hand at the same time the other cups my cheek. Then he's kissing me, warm lips sliding over mine in a lip-lock that's far from chaste. I'm almost embarrassed for the others in the courthouse, but I'm too elated by the gesture to pull away. I'll question my morals later when he's in the courthouse hashing out the details with his ex-wife.

Dinner, he murmurs against my mouth. Wear the black dress.

Yes, sir, I say, shivering again.

He pulls away