Deadly Drama, page 1
DEADLY DRAMA
Molly glanced to her right and saw that the auditorium was empty. Looking back at the stage, she was surprised to see the house that had been suspended from the ceiling was resting in the middle of the set. Maybe they’d ended with that scene during their last rehearsal.
Molly wasn’t thinking much of anything when she heard the hitch of a breath. Looking from the empty theater seating to the stage again, she heard another sharp intake of breath. She took quiet steps forward, brows scrunched at the sound of uneven breaths. Had she interrupted Magnolia crying? Molly hurried forward, moving around the open door of the hollow house.
A strange, strangled sound left Molly’s mouth and her hands flew to her face, slapping hard against her skin.
Judd, the custodian she’d met a few nights back, was leaning over Magnolia’s too-still body. Molly’s heart tried to beat out of her chest as she realized the house was sitting at a slight angle. Worse, she saw why. Magnolia’s feet were jutting out from bottom of the house, the rest of her body inside. It was a horrifying image of life imitating art, the house on top of the Wicked Witch of the West. Or, Britton Bay, in this case…
Books by Jody Holford
DEADLY NEWS
DEADLY VOWS
DEADLY RIDE
DEADLY DRAMA
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Table of Contents
Books by Jody Holford
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Deadly Drama
A Britton Bay Mystery
Jody Holford
LYRICAL UNDERGROUND
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
LYRICAL UNDERGROUND BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2020 by Jody Holford
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Lyrical Underground and Lyrical Underground logo Reg. US Pat. & TM Off.
First Electronic Edition: August 2020
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-1005-6 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-5161-1005-6 (ebook)
First Print Edition: August 2020
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-1006-3
ISBN-10: 1-5161-1006-4
Printed in the United States of America
“All the world’s a stage.”
—William Shakespeare
Chapter One
Flowers were not her forte. For that matter, neither was wielding a camera. Today was a day of breaking out of comfort zones. Molly Owens adjusted the setting on the Britton Bay Bulletin camera and moved closer to the fat, yellow and blue blooms. There was something satisfying about the click when she captured the shot. She wouldn’t look until later so she could hang onto the idea that maybe it was both artistic and functional.
Some of the tension from this morning had eased out of her shoulders just by taking a walk and getting out of the newspaper office, where she was editor in chief. But there was plenty left, hovering in the back of her mind and the base of her neck. Zooming out, Molly took a wide shot of the barrel and the flowers inside just as Calliope James opened the door to the Come N’ Get It Café.
Her happy smile was just one of Britton Bay’s treasures. “Hey, Miss Molly. What are you up to out here?”
Molly lowered the camera and turned to greet her friend. “Hey. Honing my photography skills using the Spring Flower Barrel challenge.” Another Britton Bay tradition she was witnessing for the first time.
Calli pulled the key from the door, flipped her sign so it read open and then leaned on the doorjamb. “I heard you had some commotion over at the Bulletin. Doesn’t sound like a pleasant morning, but sometimes these things are inevitable.” She drew out the last word by enunciating each of the five syllables.
Molly couldn’t hold back the smile even when the unpleasant memories from the morning filtered back in. “How on earth do you know that already? First, it only happened about a half hour ago and second, you just opened and haven’t even seen a customer.”
The owner, waitress, and town-knower-of-all-things pulled an elastic band from her wrist and began tugging her long red hair into a bun. “I have my ways, but this time it’s because Elizabeth called in to place a lunch order for later today. She mentioned it, saying you all could use some comfort food.”
The internet and social media combined were no match for small town gossip networks. If Calliope knew, the entire town would soon be updated on the status of their former social media coordinator and photographer. That status being: fired. Alan, who owned the paper, had agreed with Molly’s opinions that Clay wasn’t pulling his weight, brought the team as a whole down, and couldn’t be trusted to follow through on assignments.
Molly had been the one to inform Clay, when he’d shown up forty minutes late for their morning staff meeting, that his services—or lack thereof—would no longer be needed. Though she’d expected him to be mad, she was shocked by his surprise.
“He had it coming. Get that look off your face,” Calli said, stepping closer.
Molly shrugged. There were dozens of reasons to fire Clay. Molly had even written them down so she could see them on paper as backup. She wondered if finding Clay’s father dead so many months ago would always weigh on her like an anchor of guilt. It wasn’t her fault Vernon had died. Wasn’t her fault she’d been the one to find him. As Calli would say: “These things happened.” But Molly felt bad anyway.
“I expected mad. I didn’t expect him to be shocked. I mean, we’ve been telling him for months that he needed to do more. Or just do his actual job. But he couldn’t believe I was ‘doing this to him.’” The camera moved against Molly’s stomach when she let go of it to make air quotes.
“Honey, there are all types of people. But mostly, there’s just two. Those who take responsibility for their actions and those who blame others.”
Calli put an arm around Molly’s shoulders and she leaned into her friend’s warm half embrace. Calli was only a few years older than her, but she was exactly what Molly’s mom would call an “old soul.” She had a mother-hen-slash-best-friend vibe that drew everyone in. Just one of the many reasons the Come N’ Get It was the most popular food spot in town.
“I know. That’s a good way to look at it. What are these flowers called?” Molly pulled out her phone so she could take a couple of notes.
Calliope wandered over to the barrel and plucked a rather droopy looking petal off.
“These here are called cinquefoils. They’re from the rose family.”
Molly looked again, smiling at the heart-shaped blossoms on each flower. She’d planted them in the shape of a heart that took up most of the barrel.
“I’m pretty sure Katherine has something like this growing at the bed and breakfast,” Molly said, referring to her landlord and boyfriend’s mom. She’d need to pay more attention to her surroundings, something she was usually very good at.
Calli nodded. “She does. That woman has an emerald green thumb. How’s things going with Sam?”
Molly couldn’t hide her smile at the mention of her now-live-in-boyfriend who happened to be Katherine’s son. “Wonderful. Speaking of, are you still good with the plan for her birthday?”
Sam’s mom was turning sixty, and since she was one of Molly’s favorite people and a beloved citizen of Britton Bay, they were planning a surprise party.
“Absolutely. I can’t wait. You and Sam get her out of the bed and breakfast and we’ll all take care of the rest,” Calli said, yanking a couple of weeds from the barrel.
Molly leaned in to see if the flowers had a scent. “These really are gorgeous. I love the heart shape,” Molly said. No one needed to be an expert to have an opinion on what was pretty.
“That’s what I love, too. I enter to be part of the community. I never win because I keep my design simple,” Calli said.
Calli’s husband, Dean, came to the door of the restaurant. “You gonna talk all day or come in and get ready for the breakfast rush? Hey, Molly. How you doing?”
Molly smiled up at the tall, dark haired man. He was sporting a few days’ growth. He wore a shirt that said: No, really, Come N’ Get It.
“I’m good, Dean. I was just asking Calli about the flowers and taking some pictures.”
Calli swatted his stomach even as she pressed up against his side. “Ignore him. He’s only had one cup of coffee and he was up late last night helping to finish the construction of the set for the play.”
Britton Bay might have been a quiet town but it surprised Molly how busy it was. They liked their festivals and events and activities. Their motto ought to have been The more the merrier.
“That’s coming up soon, isn’t it? I haven’t been over to the center to check out the progress but I might later today,” Molly said, thinking of photo opportunities. Jill was supposed to do a feature with the director, but the woman had put her off several times already.
“Good luck. Keep your head down when you go or you’re likely to get it snapped off,” Dean said. An atypical scowl creased his normally passive face.
Molly frowned, her brows arching up. “Not going so great? I’ve yet to meet the infamous Magnolia Sweet.” She’d heard plenty about her though. From several sources.
“Let’s just say she runs a tight, unfriendly ship,” Calli said, checking her Fitbit.
“She doesn’t smooth some feathers, she’s likely to have a mutiny on her hands,” Dean said, shaking his head. “She’s an awful woman.”
Molly was surprised by the venom in Dean’s voice. He was as easygoing as Calliope was friendly. This woman must have really gotten under his skin. “I told Sarah I’d help with painting the set during rehearsals tonight. Maybe I should just stay backstage.”
Two people wandered up the street—an older man and woman holding hands and laughing with each other.
“Look at this service, honey,” the man said, his moustache twitching. “They hold the door right open for you.”
“I told you this place was friendly,” the woman answered.
Dean’s features relaxed and he stepped inside. Molly moved back as Calli laughed, waving them in. “If you’re looking for friendly people and delicious food, you are definitely in the right place. See you later, Molly. Duty calls.”
Dean and Calli waved to her and Molly snapped another shot of the flowers for good luck. There had to be a couple of good ones. She continued down the sidewalk, waving to shop owners through windows as she snapped pictures of vibrant and varied barrels. The Spring Flower Barrel challenge encouraged all local proprietors to welcome spring with unique and colorful creations. So far this morning, Molly had seen flowers arranged in the shapes of hearts, a map of Britton Bay, houses, people, flowers, and the pier. The creativity blew her away.
Traveling around the world for her father’s job in the Army had allowed Molly to see dozens of places around the globe. Between that and her own desire to pick up and move when the urge struck, she’d been something of a nomad. Until Britton Bay. This town, the people—one very good looking and sweet mechanic, in particular—and the community itself, had hooked her hard. For the first time in forever, she felt like she’d found a home.
Heading back to the Britton Bay Bulletin, she felt much calmer than she had when she’d left.
“There you are,” Elizabeth, one of their feature writers, said. She was a lovely woman. Despite having no children of her own, she was the best friend of the owner’s wife and quite motherly in everything she did. Molly adored her.
“Did you miss me?” Molly pulled the camera off of her neck and rolled her shoulders.
“Just worried you’d let Clay get under your skin,” Elizabeth said, patting Molly’s arm.
“I’m fine,” Molly assured her, walking over to the layout table. It was mostly true. By the end of the day, she’d have shaken Clay’s mood off completely. In the long run, they’d all have a more peaceful work environment without the troubled young man.
The Bulletin was another piece of Molly feeling tied to Britton Bay. She’d found the job posting online at a time in her life when she’d been looking for some direction. There’d been more than a few hiccups in the beginning, with Vernon’s death and Molly’s guilt-complex pushing her to solve the mystery of his murder. At first, she hadn’t been entirely sure she was going to stay. Finding a dead body had a way of making a girl question whether or not she was in the right place. But the town had pulled together more than once in the face of tragedy and Molly felt connected all the way through to her bones. She’d never had what some would call roots, and this hundred-year-old perfectly square building had played a large role in giving her some.
“How you doing, Molly?” Jill asked, coming out of the back where there was a small kitchen, bathroom, and storage area. She held a large mug in both hands. It was the same pretty blue as the blonde woman’s eyes, and matched her cheery nature.
“I’m fine. Honestly. I think I got some decent shots of the barrels,” Molly answered, eager to shift the conversation to work.
In addition to Elizabeth, Jill, and Molly, the newspaper staff included Alan, the owner, and his niece Hannah, a high school senior who worked part time for them. Clay hadn’t pulled his weight, but he had still done some things, which meant they were now strapped for bodies.
“Good. I’ll download the pictures and take a look,” Jill said.
Alan came out of his office, which was nestled in the corner of the main area that looked out onto Main Street. His salt and pepper hair looked like he’d run his hands through it several times already this morning. He’d lost the suit jacket and his tie, and had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. His family had owned the newspaper since its inception and when Molly arrived, she’d been the man’s last-ditch effort at salvaging his legacy. Fortunately for all of them, the paper was doing better than ever. But it wouldn’t stay that way if they all ran themselves ragged.
“I’ve put in calls to a few people who’ve applied here in the past but I think I need to draft up something formal and get it online. We just can’t keep up the pace we’ve been setting,” he said, settling onto one of the stools around the layout table.
The main work area was a combination of desks, gray partitions, and a large layout table. They often gathered around it or in front of the whiteboard Molly had installed. Though the building was old, the huge storefront window brought in light and the smiles of passersby.
“I can reach out to my journalism professors and see if they can recommend anyone,” Jill said, taking a seat beside Alan.
“That’d be great,” Alan said.
Elizabeth joined them at the table, opening her day planner. Like Molly, Jill, and Hannah, she helped with the paper’s online presence, but she preferred pen and paper to the calendar on her phone.
“I’ll get a job posting up this evening,” Molly said, uncapping a whiteboard marker.
She wrote down the stories they were currently working on, putting “Spring Play” at the top and following that with Barrel Challenge and Shop of the Month—a new feature they’d added to boost local businesses.
She glanced over her shoulder, looking at the others.
“Hannah is working on interviewing several graduates. If we start spotlighting them next week, we should be able to include the top ten in the graduating class,” Alan said.
Molly wrote it on the board along with Elizabeth’s reminder of the features she was doing on the addition being added to the high school, the acting mayor’s plans for the community, and the upcoming election in which, if he ran, he was expected to win.
