African Violet Club Mystery Collection 2 Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Double Pink Murder Elise M. Stone 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

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Ghost White Murder Elise M. Stone 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

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Holly Green Murder Elise M. Stone 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

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Thank You!

  About the Author

  AFRICAN VIOLET CLUB MYSTERY COLLECTION BOOKS 4-6

  Elise M. Stone

  This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents in this novel are either the products of the imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or people, either living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Double Pink Murder

  Copyright © 2017 Elise M. Stone

  Ghost White Murder

  Copyright © 2018 Elise M. Stone

  Holly Green Murder

  Copyright © 2018 Elise M. Stone

  Quotations from Shakespeare’s works are taken from http://www.opensourceshakespeare.org/

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise—without permission in writing from the copyright owner, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Published by Civano Press

  Tucson, AZ

  Double Pink Murder

  Elise M. Stone

  CHAPTER ONE

  “SOMEONE CLOSE TO you is going to die.”

  Lilliana Wentworth shivered—not entirely from the chilly temperature of the air conditioning in the large meeting room at the Posada de Vaqueros, the Inn of the Cowboys, as a circle of silence opened up around two women seated at a nearby table. Even her friend Nancy, a gregarious champagne blonde who had been nattering on about the various mediums, spirit healers, and tarot readers at the psychic fair, eventually noticed the distraction. Nancy’s voice trailed off as she realized no one else was speaking.

  A psychic fair wasn’t the kind of event Lilliana usually attended, but when Nancy had seen the advertisement in the Rainbow Ranch Gazette, she’d badgered Lilliana until she finally agreed to go. After all, the hotel was an easy walk from the retirement home where both of them lived, and it was something different to do on a Saturday afternoon than the usual gossip and sitting around the pool. And, of course, tending her African violets.

  Lilliana didn’t really believe in psychics. She’d spent too many years as a no-nonsense reference librarian immersed in the world of facts to believe in such foolishness. She knew the difference between fact and fiction.

  And her attendance had nothing to do with her whirlwind romance with Christopher MacAlistair, the handsome and talented gentleman who had appeared last month and swept her off her feet. In the past couple of weeks, her feet had seemed to find the ground again, and she had been wondering if her involvement with Christopher had been such a wise idea. After all, how much did she really know about him?

  Originally from Scotland, he’d arrived in Rainbow Ranch with a former championship barrel racer. With his Scottish burr, trim physique, and electric blue eyes, he’d had most of the women in town swooning over him, Lilliana included. No one had been more surprised than she was when he’d swooned back, despite her bony physique, gray hair, and too-large mouth.

  Could one of the mystics really give her any guidance? She had her doubts. But she’d come along anyway, a tiny part of her hoping she might find the answer here.

  The morbid prophecy was the last t
hing she’d expected at an event which usually promised wishes come true and happily-ever-afters. Apparently it was also the last thing the woman who’d been its recipient expected as well. She rose from her chair, her face ashen, and ran from the room.

  The psychic, a pudgy blonde woman who by the looks of her was old enough to reside at the retirement community, half rose in her seat, her mouth open, a hand reaching out as if to draw her client back. Before she could say anything, a slightly thinner version of the fortuneteller rushed to her side.

  “Susan, what have you done?” the thinner woman asked. While Susan’s hair framed her face in tight curls, the new arrival, in addition to being of a less generous weight, wore her hair in gentle waves. Both, oddly for the event, were dressed in pink, the thin one in a pantsuit, the heavier one in a flowing dress.

  “Glynda,” the one in the dress said. “You have to call me Glynda here, Glennis.”

  “I don’t care what you’re called, you can’t be telling people their friends or relatives are going to die. No one wants to hear bad news.”

  “But it’s what the cards say.” Glynda pointed at the tarot cards laid out on the table in front of her.

  Lilliana stepped closer, the better to see what Glynda was pointing at. While Lilliana didn’t know much about tarot cards, the message of one called Death seemed fairly clear to her.

  “There are many ways to read the cards,” Glennis said.

  “But then there’s the Five of Wands,” Glynda objected. “That means tension and conflict. It clearly points to death.”

  Glennis shook her head. “We’ll talk about this when we get home. Just try not to do any more readings where someone dies today.” Before Glynda could respond, Glennis marched away. She took a position behind a nearby table displaying crystal stones and pieces of jewelry.

  “Well, that was odd,” Lilliana said to Nancy, who wore one of her brightly colored sweaters despite the August heat of Arizona outside. The scent of mothballs coming from it suggested she’d taken the sweater out of storage recently. “I don’t think I’ll be having a tarot reading done.”

  “Oh, but she seems so knowledgable.” Nancy looked eagerly toward the tarot reader.

  Lilliana, afraid of what fortune might be in store for Nancy, tried to divert her. “Let’s take a walk around the room and see what other options there are first. You can always come back to Glynda.”

  “Glynda?”

  “That’s the tarot reader’s name,” Lilliana said. She glanced at an adjoining table. While the “psychic” seated there also used a deck of cards, the sign in front of her promised angel readings. That sounded a lot safer than the tarot reader. “Why don’t we try the woman next to her?”

  Nancy peered at the cards in front of the middle-aged woman Lilliana had suggested. The overhead fluorescents glinted off the lenses of her glasses as she looked up and smiled at them. With her short brown hair and a light tan jacket over a flowered blouse, she reminded Lilliana of an elementary school teacher.

  “Would you like a reading?”

  Nancy glanced at Lilliana for reassurance, who nodded encouragement, but in the end Nancy said, “I don’t think so. We’re supposed to look around first, right?”

  “Yes, that might be best.” Knowing Nancy didn’t have a whole lot of money, Lilliana asked, “How much does a reading cost?”

  “Thirty dollars,” the angel card reader replied, then noticing the dismay on Nancy’s face, said, “I can take credit cards.” She waved her cell phone, which had an odd protrusion sticking out of the top, at them.

  “I don’t think so.” Nancy turned and continued down the row of tables.

  There were three rows of tables, all covered in the same black tablecloths that hung to just above the red tile floor. Matching metal chairs with padded seats and backs were lined up on both sides. The psychics, most of whom had personalized their stations with a colored mat of some sort and eye-catching postcards or brochures, sat on one side, leaving the chairs opposite them for their customers.

  Lilliana reconsidered the idea of consulting one of the exhibitors about her love life. Thirty dollars seemed a bit much for some fleeting fun. Or what she assumed would be fun, as long as she didn’t patronize Glynda, the death-dealing tarot reader. She had thought spending ten or maybe even fifteen dollars to get some insight into her relationship with Christopher might be worth the expense. But thirty?

  The two women strolled down the length of the aisle, pausing briefly at Glennis’s table of crystals, most of which were supposed to have healing powers. Others were supposed to balance your chakra, whatever that was. There was a pretty necklace Lilliana was attracted to, but she decided to wait and see if there was anything else she wanted to purchase before spending the amount she’d budgeted for the event.

  Neither of them were interested in the pet psychic, not having a dog or cat “on the other side,” and they also passed on the massage therapist. Seated behind the last table in the row was an Indian woman, Navajo if the sand paintings she displayed were any indication, with a sign that proclaimed Jane Begay could contact her spirit guides to communicate with departed loved ones.

  “Do you think you could contact Eugene?” Nancy asked her.

  Although her black hair was streaked with gray, the Navajo’s eyes sparkled like onyx, betraying a young soul, as she considered Nancy’s request. “He was your husband?”

  Not a terribly good indication of her psychic abilities, thought Lilliana, ever the skeptic. Half the medium’s business must be from widows looking to contact a deceased husband.

  Nancy nodded.

  “Why don’t you have a seat and we’ll see if we can reach him,” Jane Begay said.

  Nancy was already sliding into the seat opposite the Navajo woman.

  “Just a minute,” Lilliana said. “How much do you charge?”

  “Thirty dollars if the spirit guides lead him to speak with us.” She must have seen the look on Lilliana’s face. “Nothing if he does not communicate.”

  Thirty dollars seemed to be the going rate at the psychic fair. But at least Jane Begay appeared to guarantee her results. The woman smoothed her hands over the textile, roughly the size of a saddle blanket, that covered her table. Black and white graphics stood out against the red background of the weaving. A horse in white was positioned near each corner.

  “These horses came to the Navajo when Coronado traveled north from Mexico.” She tapped the index finger of her right hand on the horse closest to her. “Ahiga is a brave warrior, but he is sometimes too quick to anger and fights with others when he need not.” She indicated the horse at the opposite corner. “Si’kis would rather help than harm. He is a loyal friend to both animals and men.”

  Jane Begay focused her gaze on Nancy. “Which horse is most like Eugene?”

  “I’m not sure,” Nancy said. “What about the other two horses?”

  Jane smiled. “Those are mares. Unless your husband was a Two Spirit, I would not recommend choosing one of them.”

  Nancy blushed, getting the innuendo of the term if not the literal meaning. “No, no. Eugene only had one spirit.” She studied the two male horses which, as far as Lilliana could discern, were identical. But Nancy seemed to see some difference, because she pointed to Si’kis. “That one.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  NOW THAT NANCY was settled, Lilliana slowly scanned the room. The two friends had stopped at almost every table. None of the psychics had appealed to Lilliana. But it seemed rude to stand behind Nancy and listen in on what was supposed to be a private reading.

  In a dim corner, a flash of light sparkled off letters in red glitter, drawing her eyes to the sign taped to the front of another table. The letters spelled out Omar, Professional Astrologer.

  Lilliana thought there might be some hope there. While every other psychic seemed to be a housewife looking for some extra grocery money, Omar wore a suit and tie, looking like the professional he claimed to be. His brown hair receded from both temples a
nd matched the goatee and mustache he sported. His eyes caught hers and he smiled at her. Flustered, Lilliana looked away.

  Perhaps she’d make a trip to the restroom first. She didn’t want to have to cut her reading short because she had to use the facilities in the middle of it. Not that she was committed to having one done or anything. Not yet. She whirled and hurried toward the exit, telling herself she was being sensible, not apprehensive.

  The Saltillo tile continued from the meeting room to the lobby, becoming more worn and pitted as it approached the front door. Geometric patterns of turquoise, red, and white, reminiscent of the designs in the sand paintings, decorated the beige walls. A little artistic liberty, since the Navajo lived far to the north of Rainbow Ranch, which was closer to the southern border with Mexico. Lilliana glanced left and right, then spotted the sign for the restrooms under a stairway leading to the upper floors.

  A few minutes later, Lilliana stood in front of the mirror over the sinks drying her hands. Several strands of her long, gray hair had escaped the band at the back of her neck, and she took a minute to remove it, brush her hair, and gather it up again neatly in the band. She knew she was stalling.

  Exiting the restroom, she noticed a set of glass doors at the opposite end of the lobby from the entrance. I wonder what’s back there? With the thought, she turned toward them and strode the twenty feet to see.

  Second only to water, green plants drew Arizonans as surely as a magnet attracted iron. The desert and surrounding mountains most often presented unrelenting textures in brown, except during monsoon season when everything came to life. Here, outside the doors, an oasis of green grass and lush flowering plants nestled in a courtyard between the wings of the hotel. Despite the heat of summer, Lilliana opened the door and went outside.

  A pebbled path meandered through the grassy area, circling little gardens of scarlet penstemons and yellow desert marigolds. Joy bubbled up inside her at the sight, causing her to forget about her dilemma, until the sound of sobbing pulled her spirits down again.