The Body in the Cattails: A Rose Creek Mystery, #1

By Catherine Dilts

The Rose Creek Reads Book Club flier promised readers the chance to discuss novels and make new friends. It didn't say anything about solving a real-life murder. When four women join the new book club hosted by a small-town bookshop, their first meeting ends in disaster. The career women are thrown into the middle of a murder investigation that tests their unique skills as a lawyer, a chemist, an IT expert, and a mathematician. If they can't solve the case, the local historic pottery factory may be shut down forever. Set in the northeastern Oklahoma Ozark foothills, a tangle of clues leads the book club to a mysterious code. At first, the new friends enjoy playing detectives, until the mystery hits dangerously close to home.

When four career women join a book club in northeastern Oklahoma, their first meeting ends in disaster when the bookshop cat discovers a body in the cattails. Determined to return Rose Creek to the peaceful town they all love, the new friends use their unique skills to play detective, until the mystery turns deadly serious.

Four career women join a small-town book club, and their first meeting ends in disaster when the bookshop cat discovers a body in the cattails. Determined to return Rose Creek to the peaceful place they all love, the new friends use their unique skills to play detectives—until the mystery turns deadly serious.

 

"Love cats? Love book clubs? Love smart women who join them? Author Catherine Dilts puts a unique spin on the cozy novel, when four savvy book club members combine said smarts to solve the case of The Body in the Cattails. An entertaining mystery from start to finish, I enjoyed the Oklahoma setting, great characters, and Catherine's indelible style."

—Donnell Ann Bell, bestselling author of Black Pearl: A Cold Case Suspense

 

"Four women reveal their unique mystery-solving skills woven together with their personal stories. Each offers special talents to solve the murder as they became closer as friends. A fun read that kept me guessing until the end."

—Beth Stevens

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Encircle Publications
• Release date: Nov 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9781645994589

Book preview

Chapter One

Mom, did you leave the door open? Parker was tall for eight, but thin as a reed. He looked vulnerable with his curly dark hair backlit by light seeping through the crack in the door. A door that had been closed.

Drew Brauner climbed the three stone steps onto the covered porch. She had left a lamp on in the living room, knowing they’d return after sunset. That explained the light. But she had definitely locked the front door. The big-city habit was hard to lose.

Parker pushed the heavy oak door. It swung inward on creaking hinges. Drew grabbed his arm.

I’m calling the police. We’ll wait in the car.

If she was in Boston, she could take refuge in a neighbor’s condo in a situation like this, although there had never been the need. In their secure building, intruders couldn’t make it past the front door. She had anticipated even less danger in sleepy Rose Creek.

As Drew and Parker trotted across the stepping stones to the driveway, she tried not to jump at every night noise. Crickets, the wind rustling through newly leafed out bushes, the hoot of an owl. Her new home was in town, but might as well have been in the Oklahoma countryside. The spacious yard of the hundred-year-old farmhouse was crammed with enough vegetation to hide a phalanx of kidnappers, burglars, and mass murderers.

Drew clicked her key fob. They took refuge in the car. Starting the engine and turning up the heat, Drew tried to dispel the creeping chill. Her shivers had little to do with the cool spring evening. She deflected Parker’s increasingly alarmed questions. He worried someone might have stolen his video game console, the one source of entertainment besides reading in his solitary existence. Even in Boston, he wasn’t a sociable little boy, having only a few acquaintances who shared his obsession with video games. In the month since they’d moved, he had yet to make any friends. Parker was nearly in tears by the time a police car pulled in behind them. Red and blue lights reflected off the faded white exterior of the old farmhouse.

Drew waited with Parker in her Audi, rolling down the window and resting her hands on the steering wheel. Another big-city habit, where drivers assured the police they were unarmed by taking a stance indicating empty hands.

You called for help? From under her police cap, a short blonde ponytail brushed the officer’s shoulders.

Yes. My son and I came home from the bookstore. Our front door was open, but I know I locked it when I left. We waited in the car until you got here.

Drew knew her East Coast accent instantly pegged her as an outsider, but the officer didn’t make the you’re not from around here comment she had received on her first trip to the grocery store. Instead, she got right to business, introducing herself, and asking whether anyone else was home.

Parker and I are the only occupants. Of a three-story, five-bedroom house. Drew hoped more explanation of the situation wasn’t required.

You wait here. Officer Sarah Chandler had a sturdy but feminine build. She took a step back from the car. I’ll check it out.

She moved up the stone steps with smooth confidence. Officer Chandler pushed the front door the rest of the way open, then pressed her back to the front of the house. Slowly, she leaned toward the door. After a moment, she entered the house in a crouch, her firearm in her right hand. Drew shivered, then rolled up her window.

I hope she shoots the burglar. Parker’s brown eyes shone with excitement.

Whoever opened our front door is long gone. Drew didn’t want to panic her son. Or herself. They might not even have gone inside.

Second-floor windows glowed as lights winked on upstairs. Parker fidgeted, chewing on his already chapped lower lip.

Let’s look at our books while we’re waiting, Drew said.

Parker didn’t need more of an invitation. He clicked on the overhead light, then clambered to his knees on his seat and reached for the canvas bag on the back floor. When he was six, Drew and Joel had instituted a system of rewards. For every hour of reading a book, Parker earned time on his game system. He had unexpectedly developed an unquenchable love of reading.

Here’s yours, Mom.

Parker handed Drew the used copy of the latest bestselling thriller she had purchased at Rose Creek Reads. Taking a leave of absence from her position in a Boston legal firm required penny-pinching. Especially when her great-uncle’s glowing descriptions of his small-town law practice had not lived up to his hype. She was going through the savings she had earmarked for this trip faster than expected.

Maybe a thriller wasn’t the best choice.

The cover of the novel promised a heart-thumping page-turner. Drew brushed shoulder-length black curls away from her face and glanced at the house. Real life was turning into a thriller. Officer Chandler’s shadow passed behind a third-floor window. Drew studied the flier the shop owner had tucked into the book instead.

The rose-colored paper was printed with a lacey font. Inaugural meeting of the Rose Creek Reads Book Club April 17! Tomorrow night. Besides appealing to enthusiastic readers, the flier promised that discussing novels would lead to new friendships.

She had friends. Half a continent away. No matter how short—or long—her stay in Oklahoma, she needed friends here. Great Uncle Tobias had required help after a hospital stay. Drew’s marriage had hit a bumpy patch. She jumped at an excuse to take a break from Joel. She told herself they just needed a breather.

A shadow loomed across the car, and a finger tapped on Drew’s window.

Eeek!

Holy cow, Mom. You about gave me a heart attack. It’s just Officer Chandler. Parker waved his hand toward the driver’s side window.

Yes, officer? Drew said to the pane of glass. She pressed her shaking finger to the button to roll the window down. Sorry. I didn’t see you coming.

I didn’t find anyone. There are no signs of forcible entry through any exterior doors or first-floor windows. Are you sure you locked your front door?

Clint? Where are you?

Callie Garcia walked sock-footed across the master bedroom. She’d left her mucky cowgirl boots in the mudroom downstairs. Even socks seemed insulting to the imported Italian porcelain tile.

Out here, Clint called.

What was so urgent— Oh.

She stepped through the open French doors onto the balcony. Fairy lights twinkled from the railing and under the canopy. Soft music played through hidden speakers. Candles illuminated the café table, where a bucket of ice held a bottle, and cloches covered two plates. A bouquet of lilacs took center stage on the linen tablecloth, perfuming the mild spring evening.

Happy anniversary. Clint wore a new cowboy shirt, tailored to his broad shoulders and trim waist. He filled two flutes with sparkling apple juice. A toast, in celebration of the Double C Ranch.

Clint spoke with a mild Spanish accent, the legacy of Cuban parents who had settled in America before he was born. Callie’s homely cowgirl drawl gave away her West Texas origins.

Hold on. Callie waved a hand down her torso. The worn jeans and baggy T-shirt were sweaty and soiled. I just came from the barn. I smell like a horse. This setup deserves a shower and a dress.

The food will get cold. Besides, you are beautiful no matter what you are wearing. Clint handed her the flute and picked up his own. To three years as owners of this magnificent ranch.

Callie tapped the crystal flute against Clint’s, then took a sip of the sweet, fizzy juice.

Three years since buyin’ our horse ranch, Callie said, and at moments I still can’t believe it’s real.

Clint frequently reminded her that she had earned it. Hard work certainly played a part, but Callie knew there was an element of right time, right place to their good fortune.

It’s a beautiful evening. Clint smiled and pulled a chair back from the table. Relax and enjoy.

Callie sat. He lifted the cloche at her setting. Savory steam from a steak, baked potato, and green beans rose in tendrils in the cool evening air. Callie’s mouth should have been watering, but she had no appetite.

I’m sorry, hon’. She looked up at Clint, willing her eyes not to tear up, and failing. I don’t have much of an appetite tonight. I was really hoping this time…

As though to keep her grounded, fate had deemed that the fairy-tale life with her handsome husband would have a few glitches. Or really, just one glitch. But it was a doozy.

Clint tugged Callie to her feet. He led her to the edge of the patio.

There is just a sliver of moon, but the sky is clear. A perfect night for a ride.

Clint was doing his best to cheer her up, but with an intensity that undercut his attempts at comfort. Callie had often expressed her belief that the prime luxury of owning a ranch was the freedom to saddle up at any time. Even a moonlight horse ride couldn’t lift her spirits after realizing yet another month had passed, and she still wasn’t pregnant.

Not tonight. Callie was in a funk and determined to wallow in self-pity for the rest of the evening, at the very least.

Do you remember your breakthrough moment? Clint asked.

No one will let me forget.

Callie had been stuck, her side project grinding to a halt over a particularly tricky problem. Clint and their Texas friends had dragged her to a baseball game. When a batter hit a game-winning home run, the baseball diamond and scrambling players revealed the solution to her, as clearly as a formula drawn on a dry-erase board. While everyone in the stadium was on their feet cheering, Callie crouched on the bleachers, refusing to leave until she had the solution written in indelible marker. She and Clint weren’t famous yet, and it had been difficult to explain to the ballpark management her scribbling wasn’t ordinary graffiti.

We would not be here now if you had not taken a break from work.

Workin’ here doesn’t seem like work. It’s more like a dream come true. Callie sighed. Sorry, hon’. How can I be blue when we have the perfect life?

Except for one thing. The most important thing.

Okay, she said. I’ll go to the new book club tomorrow. That’s taking a break.

They had lived in Oklahoma for three years, and Callie spent almost every minute on the ranch. She needed to make local friends. Girlfriends she could commiserate with.

We are young, Clint said. We have plenty of time.

Thanks, hon’. How can I stay sad when I’m married to such a wonderful guy?

The words were intended to set his mind at ease. She might dwell on the sting of loss a bit longer, but there was no reason to sour the evening for him.

Callie tugged on Clint’s shirt to pull him closer. She was nearly six feet tall, and her husband was six and a half. Their children, if they were eventually blessed with any, would certainly inherit their height. Would they also receive Clint’s dark hair, brown eyes, and olive skin tone, or her blonde hair and blue eyes? Their lips met. Callie made an effort to lose herself to the moment.

The moonlight and the warm spring air, scented with fragrant blooms spilling over marble planters, finally worked their magic on her. Another perk of living in the country was a balcony strategically situated to avoid prying eyes. She still called it a ranch, when in reality the place was an estate.

Right place, right time.

Callie plucked open the pearl snaps on Clint’s cowboy shirt one by one, reaching his tooled leather belt when he gasped.

Wait for me, cowboy, Callie spoke in a husky whisper.

Hush. Clint grasped her shoulders. Someone is out there.

Probably a boarder.

Folks who stabled their horses on the Double C Ranch occasionally stayed late. When Callie was in the early years of her high-pressure career as a computer programmer, she often had to squeeze in her horseback riding at odd hours.

A figure strolled across the ranch house’s spacious back lawn. There was some heft to the person she guessed was a man. She couldn’t see whether he carried a halter and lead rope, but in the dark, it was hard to tell.

No doubt somebody’s trackin’ down a wayward horse, Callie said.

Our backyard is not a pasture. That could be a reporter with a zoom lens.

A couple years after moving to Oklahoma, the paparazzi had finally lost interest in the girl genius who made a fortune on her security software. The press had been enchanted with the attractive young couple until new distractions stole their attention.

Callie had become relaxed, knowing the local folks didn’t give a hoot about her money as long as she and Clint weren’t snobs or phonies. But maybe the press was having a slow news cycle.

He might be cuttin’ across the yard to get to the back pastures, Callie said.

The boundaries to our home are clearly marked. Clint had a protective instinct that sometimes went into overdrive. He pulled away from Callie and snapped his shirt closed. There is no reason for anyone to roam around our ranch at night.

Chapter Two

Parker was relieved when he saw his game system was intact. He immediately began playing, despite Drew’s reminder that he had school in the morning. Still, it kept him distracted while Drew walked through the house with Officer Chandler.

She followed the blonde police officer room by room, checking for missing items. They climbed the stairs to the second floor and Drew’s bedroom. An empty space on her dresser threw her into renewed panic.

My necklaces are gone. She sank onto the end of the bed and lowered her face into her hands, fighting a wave of nausea. No. This can’t be happening.

When Officer Chandler asked for clarification, Drew explained one necklace was high-quality costume jewelry, a gift from her sister, while the other had belonged to her great-grandmother.

It’s a family heirloom. I should have left it in Boston. My mother will be devastated.

Can you describe the jewelry? Officer Chandler asked.

The one from my sister you’d swear was a priceless diamond necklace, but it’s not. The other is real. Gold, with clusters of emeralds the size of my thumbnail.

Do you have any photos of the necklaces?

I’m sure I do, Drew said. I’ll have to look.

If you find one, email it to me. That could help with recovery. Officer Chandler pulled a business card out of one of the many pockets on her uniform and handed it to Drew. She scanned the room. Anything else missing?

She had been so focused on her great-grandmother’s necklace, Drew had forgotten about the stash of valuable heirloom jewelry nestled inches below, inside the dresser. She jumped up and wrenched a dresser drawer open.

Oh, thank God. Drew opened a case and showed Officer Chandler a string of antique pearls. The rest of my jewelry is safe.

The officer waved a hand at the dresser drawer and the dozen jewelry cases in different shapes and sizes.

You might consider getting a safe, Officer Chandler said.

My uncle has a safe in his office, Drew said. He’s the reason I brought the heirloom pieces to Rose Creek. To see if he knew more of the family history behind them. I’ll ask if I can lock what’s left in his safe.

Your uncle is from Rose Creek?

Great uncle, actually, Drew said. Tobias Falk? He has the law office downtown.

Sarah Chandler’s all-business expression melted into a smile. Sure. I know Tobias. The whole town’s happy he pulled through. Tobias gave us all a scare.

Drew quickly discovered her great-uncle was a bit of a town character. He had gone to Tulsa from Boston as a young lawyer, on a mission to defend a fellow Jew from a false murder charge. When he met Karin Rosenthal, they had settled in Rose Creek. Tobias had embraced the Wild West atmosphere of 1950s Oklahoma and made it his home.

I wondered who was renting his house, Officer Chandler continued. The previous tenants moved to Oklahoma City.

I’m only here temporarily. Drew had volunteered to come to her uncle’s aid when no one else in the family was able to drop everything for the trip. Uncle Tobias didn’t need as much help as I expected.

He strikes me as the independent type, Officer Chandler said. Are you planning to stay on?

No, I intend to return to Boston, Drew said. Although with only a month left, it might be less disruptive for my son if he finishes out the school year here. I haven’t decided.

But after being the victim of a crime, Drew thought maybe it was time to wrap things up and head home.

They finished the walk-through. Drew didn’t notice anything else missing, but that didn’t stop the sick feeling of remorse.

If only I’d left the jewelry in Boston. If only I’d locked it in Uncle Tobias’s safe. If only I hadn’t assumed a small Oklahoma town would be crime-free.

Back on the ground floor, Officer Chandler called the police station. Drew listened in shamelessly.

Looked like an amateur, so I doubt it’s related to the Tulsa ring. Pause. The thief grabbed a couple necklaces off the top of the victim’s dresser but didn’t bother opening any drawers. Missed a dozen or more pieces of jewelry. Pause. Double C Ranch? Okay, I’ll head over there right away. Chandler returned her cell phone to a uniform pocket and turned to Drew. This will be tough to pin down unless the thief tries to pawn one of the necklaces and that info gets back to us. That’s where a photo would come in handy. Officer Chandler opened the door. I wouldn’t hold out too much hope of recovering your jewelry.

That’s it?

Ma’am?

My little boy and I are here alone. Drew wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. What if the burglar comes back? If a thief got inside my house when we were gone…

Just make sure your doors and windows are locked. Officer Chandler paused in the doorway. You’ve got my card. Don’t hesitate to call me.

Weren’t small towns known as being places where no one needed to lock their doors?

She had abandoned the adrenalin-fueled pace of her former life, believing nursing her uncle back to health offered her a calm place to catch her breath. To reassess her choices. Her marriage. She and Joel had been separated a month, but right now it felt like a lifetime.

Drew wasn’t certain which was worse. The loss of a piece of irreplaceable jewelry, or the shattering of her illusion about small-town life.

Clint handed the binoculars to Callie. She studied the man skulking around their lawn, still impossible to identify, but not carrying a halter and lead rope.

I don’t see a camera or zoom lens, either, Clint said. Whoever it is, he is up to no good.

Not a boarder. Not the paparazzi.

Clint headed downstairs. The huge house should have been measured in acres, not square feet. Callie followed as he unlocked the gun cabinet.

I’ll call the police, Callie said. You don’t need a gun.

By the time they reach the ranch, the intruder will be long gone. Clint loaded his double-barreled shotgun.

That’s what Callie hoped. That the intruder would leave before any confrontation happened. They had picked the remote ranch in Eastern Oklahoma because it seemed the ideal location to become forgotten. In the past year, she assumed interest in their life had faded. They could live like ordinary ranchers. Well, ranchers sitting on a fortune and living in luxury. But the citizens of Rose Creek didn’t judge a person for the social faux pas of being wealthy.

The intruder made her dream of security and privacy melt away.

Callie called 911, answering the dispatcher’s questions. She assured the gal they weren’t in immediate danger. She neglected to mention they were going after the intruder.

A deputy’s on the way. Callie followed Clint to the mudroom. She jammed her feet into cowgirl boots.

Stay here, Clint said.

Nothin’ doin’, mister. You are not riskin’ your neck without a witness.

Do you want a gun? Clint asked.

Naw, I’m going Information Age. She fitted a camera to the hatband of a cowgirl hat. I’ll record the whole deal.

The security cameras cover the entire yard, Clint said.

We, of all people, know the folly of dependin’ on electronics. She tapped the camera. I’ll be closer to this jerk than the house cameras.

They crept out the kitchen door, both forgetting about the motion sensor lights that illuminated every nook and cranny of the patio. The instant they stepped into the range of the light affixed over the door, they were bathed with spotlight intensity.

Clint expressed his displeasure with a few choice words in Spanish. They ducked under the vine-covered pergola.

Callie scanned the cottonwood trees at the far edge of the lawn. Her hatband camera would not capture what she saw through the binoculars with the same clarity. Still, it would record any action.

The fool is still there. She whispered a little louder than she meant to, but the intruder’s stupidity was maddening. Unless the person was armed. Then it was arrogance.

The man looked in their direction. His face was square, like the rest of his body. Blocky was the description that came to Callie’s mind. Not fat. Sturdy. Although part of the bulk could have been the long black trench coat that looked more like it belonged on the streets of New York than traipsing across their lawn.

Hey, you! Clint yelled. Hold it right there.

Callie had insisted on leaving a wide band of wild growth between their lawn and the adjoining pasture, to provide shelter for bees and songbirds. Not the wisest choice for security purposes, but she hadn’t imagined this scenario three years ago. The intruder ducked into the thick tangle of brush and cottonwoods.

Clint sprinted across the manicured lawn toward the trees. Right toward disaster. Callie hoped she wasn’t recording the last moments of her husband’s life.

Moonlight glinted on the shotgun’s twin barrels. Clint approached the thick vegetation in a crouch, then knelt behind a fallen tree branch. Callie dropped into a seating area surrounded by a low stone wall. She peeked over the wall and waited.

In the quiet, frogs ribbited in counterpoint to chirping crickets. When an owl swooped out of the trees, Callie nearly jumped out of her skin.

Snapping branches and rustling leaves meant someone was still creeping around. Clouds rolled across the night sky, blotting out the moonshine. In the dim light, Callie could see movement. Leaves parted near the ground. The intruder was crawling on his belly. Clint noticed it too. He aimed his shotgun.

A dark form emerged, waddling across the grass. Too small to be a human. Definitely too small.

Clint lowered his gun. Possum, he whispered loudly.

The gray creature was the size of a house cat, with a stringy rat tail. It had no fear of humans as it headed for the grape arbor.

Clint glanced at Callie, mouthed some words that might have been I’m going in, and entered the trees in the spot from which the possum had just emerged.

Callie watched the wall of leaves and branches. She couldn’t see Clint, but she heard snapping twigs.

A high-pitched, mechanical buzzing erupted from the trees, drowning out every night sound. Callie immediately thought of a chainsaw. She regretted ever watching stupid horror movies as she imagined Clint facing off with a crazed serial killer.

Callie rose from her hiding place and ran toward the cottonwoods. If some thug chopped him up with a chainsaw, she’d be all alone in the world. Maybe not having kids made her reckless, because it sure wasn’t bravery