A Manor of Murder Read online

  Home renovation, like romance, can cause its share of headaches. And in Louisiana’s Bayou country, the path of love can be strewn with murder . . .

  Between maintaining a home renovation business and patching up their personal lives, twin sister divorcees Sunny Taylor and Eve Vaughn are too busy to meddle in their aging mom’s romantic affairs. That is, until the strong-willed senior makes plans to marry her retirement community’s newest resident. Her cadre of buddies at Sugar Ledge Manor are worried that Mom’s beau is only after her money. But when the groom-to-be’s nephew, Edward, is found dead in the house he’d hired the sisters to remodel, the situation gets even stickier.

  Everyone knows Edward and the twins disagreed about the upcoming marriage. The crime hasn’t just thrown a wrench in their professional reputations—now the killer seems to be taking aim at Mom. That discovery, along with a second sudden death, sends Sunny and Eve sifting through motives thicker than a Louisiana gumbo…and trying to nail a murderer before all dreams of happiness come crashing down along with their family . . .

  Visit us at www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Books by June Shaw

  Twin Sisters Mysteries

  A Fatal Romance

  Dead on the Bayou

  A Manor of Murder

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  A Manor of Murder

  A Twin Sisters Mystery

  June Shaw

  LYRICAL PRESS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Copyright

  Lyrical Press books are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2018 by June Shaw

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  First Electronic Edition: March 2018

  eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0094-1

  eISBN-10: 1-5161-0094-8

  First Print Edition: Amarch 2018

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0097-2

  ISBN-10: 1-5161-0097-2

  Printed in the United States of America

  For Bob and all of my family—You are my reason for being.

  Acknowledgments

  My family and friends, I don’t know what I would do without you. Thank you for all of your encouragement and love.

  For years I saw through SOLA, my RWA writers group in New Orleans, that becoming an author of books people wanted to read was possible and increasingly probable. What a tremendous group of friends. Vicki McHenry, you are the best!

  I learned so much about writing mysteries from countless people in Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and the Guppies. It’s amazing how much other writers want to share with you and want you to succeed. Thank you.

  Thank you, God, for all of the blessings in my life, especially the people.

  Thanks to all the folks from South Louisiana. Y’all rock like no others, bless your hearts.

  Working with Lyrical Press has been truly amazing. Marci Clark does an excellent job editing my work. Managing Director Renee Rocco is wonderful and has people continue to work on books until they shine, so I guarantee you any errors that might still occur are all mine.

  To you, my readers, my words on the page would sit alone without you. I can’t thank you enough for allowing me to share my imagination with you. I really love to have you contact me and write reviews. Reviews truly help authors survive.

  Chapter 1

  Dread filled me as I raced into Sugar Ridge Manor ahead of my twin. I found our mother seated on a sofa in a grouping of her heavily perfumed cronies.

  “Mom, you aren’t really thinking of getting married?” I asked.

  “Well, hello to you, too.” She gave her head such a hard shake her hair resembled a thick cotton ball whipped by a storm. “No, Sunny, I am not thinking of getting married.”

  A whish of relief left my mouth.

  “I’m not thinking. I’m doing.”

  My sister, Eve, ran up beside me. “But you hardly know him.”

  Mom’s normally soft chin tightened. “Maybe you two don’t know him well, but I do.”

  “Mom!” I threw my hands up and leaned toward her, smelling her bath powder. “We just want to protect you. You introduced us to him, but it wasn’t that long ago. If everything is on the up-and-up between you two, why was our customer the one to tell us about this important plan of yours instead of you?”

  Stillness sat around us like newly hardened concrete. Her normally chatty buddies grew solemn. Only their eyes moved, shifting from us to our mother.

  Mom stared at the tan, vinyl floor. She lifted her head and faced the members of her Chat and Nap group on sofas and loveseats in their three-sided arrangement. “Ladies, I believe it’s time for lunch.”

  It was nowhere near the hour for the early lunch the cafeteria served, yet none of her friends questioned her. None looked at us. Those who could, pushed themselves up and strolled off behind her while others worked their way to their feet and used their walkers and canes, following her like gray-headed little duckies.

  Here I was, a tall, divorced, middle-aged woman who felt instantly transformed into a small child whose parent didn’t want her anymore while I watched my mother turn away and go. It was the first time ever that I’d been around her and hadn’t received a kiss or even a brief hug.

  She went scooting off as though she had been overwhelmed by the smell of a stinkbug or, even rarer down here in south Louisiana, a skunk. I looked at my identical twin whose wavy red hair fell over one of her clear blue eyes that stared at me. Were we the stinkbugs or worse?

  “We need to stop her,” Eve said.

  “Of course.”

  Both of us loved our mother more than anyone could love any other person. Mom was adorable. She was medium-sized, but soft and cushiony with her age touching eighty. She took medication for her heart and had one hand with fingers knotted by rheumatoid arthritis, which she never complained about. And a problem with constipation. She had always been sweet and loving to us and Dad while he was alive. But now she had become rude? Dismissive? To her own daughters, her only surviving children?

  No sounds of pots clacking or dishes rattling came from the area of the cafeteria and no smells of cooking food drifted. It was one of those rare periods between mealtimes in the manor. Our mother was going to hide out from us, but she couldn’t stay hidden. Her buddies seemed to want to avoid us, too. Did all of them agree with what she was doing? If they had all the facts, I couldn’t imagine they would go alo
ng with our mother marrying. Just thinking about it made my stomach coil. I felt like there was a rattler squeezed inside me, preparing to strike.

  Deciding we needed help, Eve and I strode to the office. This was normally a pretty area—the whole place was—but today nothing about it felt attractive. This section was right off the wide foyer that was decorated with lush plants and cushioned seating and framed outdoor scenes on the walls. We’d known this place was a striking retirement home, one we couldn’t have chosen any better after Mom’s arthritis made living alone too difficult for her. We’d each invited her to live with us, but always independent, she refused and chose to take residence here. The sprawling building was modern and bright, filled with activities and lots of people to have fun and converse with. Only now one person had moved in that we didn’t believe our parent was ready to marry.

  A long counter blocked the entrance to the main staff members’ offices. The counter held a sign-in book with a flared-tip, white pen standing beside it in a holder. There were a couple of pamphlets describing the place, a clear vase holding colorful wildflowers with sprigs of bridal wreath, and a stack of papers with the meal plan for the week.

  We didn’t come to this area much, since we seldom signed in anymore, and visitors were supposed to do that each time they arrived. Now I penned my name and my twin’s. Placards above shut doors on the far wall to the rear told that those offices belonged to the administrator, assistant administrator, and nurse. It was possible to reach their offices by lifting a flap of wood at the end of the counter, but they preferred that people didn’t.

  I looked at my sister and then called out, “Hel-lo. Can anybody help us?”

  As I’d hoped, the administrator’s door opened, and she came out.

  “Oh, nobody’s up here?” Terri Hebert, a petite woman a decade younger than we were, wore a long skirt as usual. “She must have just stepped out. May I help you?”

  “Yes,” Eve said, her voice strained. “Something’s wrong with our mother.”

  I nodded. “That’s right.”

  Slim creases between Terri’s eyebrows erased as her eyes widened. “Do you want me to call the nurse?” She twisted toward that office door.

  “No,” I said. “It’s with her mind. It’s that new guy. She thinks she’s crazy about him.”

  Eve spread her hands. “Can you believe she even believes she’s going to marry him?”

  Terri’s upper body appeared to sway back a pinch. “I heard a rumor about that.” Her reaction suggested she was in total agreement with us against that event taking place.

  “What do we do?” I said.

  “Have you tried to reason with her?”

  Eve shifted closer. “Of course.”

  “What’s wrong with that man?” I asked, my voice growing shriller until Eve motioned with her hand that I should speak softer. “Maybe they could flirt a little like it seems they had been doing. But marriage. Why would he want to marry our mother?” The whole concept made me shiver. “He seemed all right when we met him, but that was briefly, and darn—marriage? What’s he really like? Tell us about his background.”

  She leaned forward, her face remaining tight with concern since we began bemoaning Mom’s plight, but now she shook her head. “You two know that all of the information we receive about our residents is private.”

  That privacy clause had made us feel secure when we helped Mom move in. But now it became an impediment, a wall to keep us from protecting our mother.

  Terri greeted a young woman in casual attire who walked up to the counter beside Eve. Normally we would greet people, too, even those we didn’t know—a custom most of us shared in south Louisiana—but at this moment, other things gripped our minds. The woman lifted the long pen from its holder, signed her name and the date and time and who she was coming to visit, and then moved on.

  Voice and footsteps came from a distance behind us. I leaned closer to Terri, keeping my voice low. “But something’s happened to Mom. He’s done something to her.” She lifted her eyebrows, and I added, “You know our mother has always been an enjoyable person.”

  “But he’s made her belligerent,” Eve said.

  The administrator stood straighter, her eyes appearing to look into the distance but see nothing. She was trying to sort all we said to her, I imagined. Behind us, sounds picked up, or maybe they had been there all along. Footsteps traveled across the vinyl floor. Light padding sounds came from rubber soles of the nurse and other staffers hurrying along to help residents who needed assistance. The click of a walking cane striking the floor told me the person using it was a man, a large one. I glanced to see if its user was the person my mother supposedly would marry, relief filling me when I saw it wasn’t. If I saw the man my mother seemed so interested in, I had no idea what I would do, but giving him the inquisition seemed most likely. My twin would probably do the same. Perhaps it was good that we didn’t find him. The enticing aroma of chicken and sausage gumbo touched the air and the back of my throat.

  “I need to get to work,” the administrator said. “I’m not promising anything, but I’ll find out what I can.”

  We thanked her. With Mom nowhere in sight, we left the building.

  Eve stopped right outside. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “I feel the same way. Has a man Mom hardly knows taken control of her mind? Who is he? Who has she become?”

  “What can we do to stop him?”

  We stood behind my truck, a sultry wind pushing against us, making our wavy hair twist like bright red flags. This retirement home normally brought peace to us and most others we’d heard from who came here. But now I felt like our mother had stepped into the largest anthill filled with thousands of stinging red ants, and we needed to rush her away.

  “Let’s go see the person who told us about the whole thing.” I flung myself onto the driver’s seat, and Eve slipped into the other side.

  With our small town, it didn’t take long to get anywhere. We crossed the algae-scented bayou that was green today, passed a couple of sugar cane fields with thin white egrets foraging along them and a decaying plantation home, and reached the two-story house we had been remodeling. The traditional style sported fluted columns in front and old-Chicago brick and was lovely. Edward Cancienne had hired us to make quite a few changes before he was going to move in. Many of the dramatic homes here in the bayou country of south Louisiana were large, plantation-style with sprawling lawns teeming with massive moss-laden oaks—a comfortable feel most of their homeowners wanted to keep.

  Not so with Edward, a single attorney in his mid-thirties. He wanted his place more contemporary. Eve and I made suggestions but mainly used his ideas to update the place we had been working on for months. We seldom saw or heard from him. He left messages on our Twin Sisters Remodeling and Repair number or on occasion, a note stuck to the fridge.

  We were in luck and found his luxury car in his driveway. But another nice car also sat out there.

  “Let’s hope the other person leaves soon,” Eve said, and I agreed.

  After I parked, we stepped to the front door and rang the bell instead of getting the key from under the second potted asparagus fern to the right of the doormat, where we and all the subs normally retrieved it.

  The voices of two males lifted once the chimes inside rang. Eve and I gave each other questioning looks, since the men seemed to be shouting at each other. Stomping feet neared. A middle-aged man with a dark beard and hard stare faced us. “Yes?”

  My instinct to step back was quelled by the homeowner coming into view. “Come in, Eve or Sunny, whoever you are.” His voice was rough and rougher still when he spoke to the person with him. “Carl, get out of the way.”

  His rude company turned and stamped farther into the house. Similar in age and with a healthy build like Edward’s, he was as well dressed. Possibly another lawyer friend—or e
nemy. We followed Edward into the kitchen, where we’d had difficulties with the existing brick floor. We had remedied the situation by filling in the brick and using a gray stain and glossy finish to disguise any problems. The new small black geometric print on one wall accentuated the seamless white kitchen.

  I’d hoped Carl would leave when we entered so we could get to speak with Edward about our mother wanting to marry; he had been the person to tell us about it, and we had rushed out to Mom immediately afterward. But farther inside, I could see Carl pacing the great room. He stomped from the brick fireplace to the stairwell with the newly installed custom iron stair rail and back again.

  Chest heaving, Edward glanced back at him and then at us. “What do you need?”

  To know more about our mother’s interest in marriage and the man she’d supposedly marry. You mentioned it to us in the first place, I wanted to blurt. But my gaze shifted from one man to the other. Things pertinent in Edward’s mind right now had nothing to do with our parent. Carl didn’t appear to be leaving soon.

  “We’d like to check on the game room.” Eve came up with an excuse faster than I could. “The new floors were supposed to be put down in there yesterday.”

  “It’s good. The room’s good, now go.”

  I felt he hadn’t even looked into his game room and wasn’t concerned with it now. We moved away from the front door he shut behind us. No curtains hung on any of the newly designed windows, and if we peeked back in, we probably would have seen the pair about to resume their argument.

  “Not much learned there,” I said as we got into my truck.

  “Nothing that concerns us. And we can’t go back to the retirement home today, or Mom might tell us off.”

  What a horrible thought. I let out a sigh. “Let’s go back tomorrow.”

  “Agreed. So we need to figure out how we can keep her from making a horrible mistake. Take me home. I’ll try to come up with ideas.”

  I brought Eve to her place where she would change clothes. She’d go and workout at her favorite gym to clear her mind and try to get answers and then go home and into her art room to paint. Her paintings weren’t good enough to show anywhere, but while creating the colorful hearts and flowers, excellent ideas often came to her.