Only the Good Die Young: The Country Club Murders, #1.5

By Julie Mulhern

Frances Walford's daughter, Ellison Russell, has developed the truly deplorable habit of finding bodies. And Frances can't help but scold her about it.

 

But when Ellison goes to Europe, Frances finds a corpse of her own.

 

Can she help catch a killer and keep her involvement a secret?

 

This is a short novella told from Frances's point of view. Chronologically it falls between The Deep End and Guaranteed to Bleed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julie Mulhern
• Release date: Sep 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223276890

Julie Mulhern

ulie Mulhern is the USA Today bestselling author of The Country Club Murders and the Poppy Fields Adventures.  She is a Kansas City native who grew up on a steady diet of Agatha Christie. She spends her spare time whipping up gourmet meals for her family, working out at the gym and finding new ways to keep her house spotlessly clean--and she's got an active imagination. Truth is--she's an expert at calling for take-out, she grumbles about walking the dog and the dust bunnies under the bed have grown into dust lions. Action, adventure, mystery, and humor are the things Julie loves when she's reading. She loves them even more when she's writing! Sign up for Julie's newsletter at juliemulhernauthor.com.

Book preview

Chapter One

July, 1974

Kansas City. Missouri

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My daughter finds bodies. It’s a deplorable habit—almost worse than spitting tobacco or picking one’s nose in public (or at all).

If I’ve asked her once, I’ve asked her a hundred times—Ellison, please stop.

Does she listen?

No, she does not.

Then she forces a smile, as if I’m the one who’s being difficult.

If it were her daughter finding corpses, I bet she’d sing a different tune.

They’re on vacation now—Ellison and my granddaughter—in Europe. Knowing Ellison as I do, I’m sure she’s bought out half the boutiques in Paris and ordered enough shoes to keep an Italian cobbler busy till Christmas. She’s spoiling Grace rotten.

Not that I blame her. They needed a vacation. They grabbed their passports and jumped on a plane. And I’m glad they’re gone because, for all the times I scolded Ellison about finding bodies, I found one, too.

The day seemed ordinary. It started in the usual way—a Continental breakfast in the sunroom, a peck on my cheek from my husband before he left for work, a few calls, then the club. I breezed into the clubhouse, nodded good morning to the receptionist, and made my way toward the card room.

Frances.

I recognized the voice, and my spine stiffened. Muriel Jarrett. Our mothers had disliked each other. Muriel and I carried on their tradition. Ellison and Muriel’s daughter, Prudence, had taken the antipathy to a new level. They despised each other.

Of course, Prudence (an amoral tramp) did carry on with my son-in-law, so Ellison’s feeling were entirely justified.

I forced a chilly smile and turned. Muriel.

I hear your daughter is gallivanting across Europe.

Gallivanting? I wouldn’t abide censure from the mother of an adulteress. Ellison and Grace took the summer to travel. A change of scenery can be a balm to the soul. And after Henry’s infidelity…What is Prudence up to this summer? I knew the answer. Nothing.

Prudence lived off the proceeds of a modest trust. She didn’t work. She didn’t have children. And no man in his right mind would take on that horse-toothed harpy. (Ellison’s description, not mine—but Ellison was spot on).

Muriel studied the floorboards and her gnarled hand tightened around her cane. Prudence is taking it easy.

How nice. And you? Travel plans? I asked only to be polite. Muriel had spent every August in Estes Park since the beginning of time.

The cottage in Colorado to escape the heat. You?

The cottage in Harbor Point. Just like she went to Colorado, we went to Michigan. But our cottage was a six-bedroom house with a wrap-around deck, and the lake was our front yard. Her cottage was an actual cottage.

Will Marjorie and her family join you?

Marjorie was my oldest daughter. She’d married a man from Ohio then moved to Akron. For two weeks in July. Muriel hadn’t stopped me to discuss vacations. What did she want? I glanced at my watch.

Muriel adjusted her glasses. Have you spoken with Caro? Carolyn Langley was friends with each of us.

Not this week. Her mother-in-law is giving her fits. John Langley’s aging mother wanted to stay in her own home, and John and Caro had bent over backward to make that happen. Well, Caro bent over backward. John made pronouncements. Do this. Do that. Make the problem go away.

The old bat needs to be in a nursing home.

I agreed. Not that I’d ever admit to agreeing with Muriel. Caro hired round-the-clock nurses. At least she’d tried. Evelyn Langley was accustomed to a cook and a housekeeper and a laundry maid and a man to see to her garden. An employee who didn’t polish silver or run a sweeper over the rug was an anathema. Evelyn fired nurses as soon as Caro could hire them. In desperation, she’d hired a service. Last I heard, it wasn’t going well.

Poor Caro. I’d call her when I got home. Perhaps she and John could come over for cocktails.

Evelyn will run through John’s inheritance.

Were things tight? I bit back the question. I didn’t discuss my friends’ finances. Especially not with Muriel. I lifted my chin and looked down my nose. I wouldn’t know about that.

Especially not with Muriel.

Muriel blushed an unbecoming shade of red, and her lip curled, revealing long teeth (Prudence came by her horse-toothed harpy moniker thanks to her mother).

I glanced at my watch a second time. If you’ll excuse me, I’m due at the bridge table. I turned and walked down the hallway laid with