Deadline To Murder: A Steamy Small Town Murder Mystery (Mystery, She Wrote Book 4)

Chapter 1

Chicago, Illinois

The Mystery Writers’ Murder Club was meeting in her small loft apartment in the middle of Chicago. At first Lori had wondered what she was doing being included amongst these women. Jessica Murdoch was a multi-million-dollar bestselling author. Christie Crofton was the mystery writers’ version of J. K. Rowling. Fiona Fowler had once been a bestselling author who topped the charts, but had her life and career all but destroyed by her ex. And her? Lori was just starting her fifth novel. The first one had done fairly well, and each subsequent novel had done better. She often felt as though she was out of their league, but she cherished their friendships.

Once everyone had arrived and found something to snack on, Lori passed out the briefing folders, which contained everything in the police report and anything else she’d been able to find.

“So, I found an unsolved murder from a long time ago. A romance author who was known as Pandora Pritchard. That was her real name, and apparently she was fairly successful, especially for the time,” said Lori by way of introduction. “She was incredibly popular and helped found and push forward what people think of as the ‘modern romance novel.’”

Christie nodded. “I thought I recognized the name. Now that I think of it, I knew she had died, but I don’t know that I knew she was murdered.”

“I think I’ve had a couple of her novels in the store,” said Fiona, opening her brief. “I remember wondering why she had written so few books.”

“Exactly. They found poor Pandora slumped over her typewriter, the window next to her desk open. It seemed she had typed ‘The End’ on her last novel. A friend discovered her when she went to Pandora’s house. Apparently, they met each week to discuss books, Pandora’s writings and the like. When the friend found her, she alerted the neighbors, who in turn called the police.”

“Then what?” asked Jessica.

“Therein lies the mystery. The investigation just kind of fizzled out,” answered Lori.

Christie shook her head. “I don’t get it. Why wasn’t this solved?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. I think the cops weren’t equipped to deal with, much less solve, a murder. Small town in Maine, and it was before the MCU was founded. It doesn’t even look like they classified it as a murder,” said Lori.

Christie nodded. “I think Lori is right. I’m looking at the evidence log, and there’s a record of a bloodstained paperweight being found on the scene. But no mention of any forensics being done—not even fingerprints.”

“Forensics were really in their infancy at that time, and they were nothing compared to what we have now,” added Jessica, looking through the portfolio Lori had put together. “But there’s nothing. I mean nothing.”

“Why didn’t any of her family push them to investigate more thoroughly?” Fiona pushed her hair out of her face as she squinted at the page.

Lori handed Fiona the reading glasses that were perched on her head. “From what I can tell, there wasn’t really anyone to hold the cops accountable. I thought at first Pandora Pritchard might be a pen name—it certainly sounds like it—but it appears it wasn’t. There’s no record of the cops even following up on anything that might have been beyond her public persona.”

“This is interesting,” said Jessica. “Look at the crime scene photos. A spilled coffee mug beside her with what looks to be a coffee stain on the floor.”

“Does it say that they looked at any of that?” asked Christie.

“I can’t see that they did,” answered Fiona. “This is just sloppy work. It’s the kind of thing that makes Slade go nuts.”

“Yeah, but this is an old case,” said Jessica. “As Lori pointed out, this happened before the advent of MCU.”

Fiona nodded. “That would explain a lot. Even though it’s really no excuse.”

“When I look through these crime photos, I have to wonder what they were taking photographs of—there’s nothing to see, other than the spilled coffee. No footprints, no evidence of the place being swept for fingerprints… it’s immaculate. It’s like they wanted to document that. Weird.”

“How would you know from these pictures that it wasn’t dusted for fingerprints?” asked Lori.

Christie chuckled. “Obviously, you’ve never dealt with fingerprint dust; it gets everywhere.”

“There is mention of a witness—one Carole Lee Brewster,” said Jessica. “I wonder if she’s still alive?”

“She might be, what’s her date of birth?” asked Fiona. “I’ll look her up in the state records.”

Christie gave her the information. “Yep, here she is. And she’s still alive.”

“Does it say who she was to the victim?” asked Christie.

Lori nodded. “It says she was the victim’s friend.”

“Let’s go back and start at the beginning,” Jessica suggested.

Christie flipped through the file. “There’s really not much here at all. Why don’t we just call this Carole Lee up and ask if she’d be willing to talk to us? You never know; she might jump at the chance to solve her friend’s murder.”

“Unless she’s the one who did it,” quipped Lori, earning an eye roll from all her friends.

Jessica dialed the woman’s last listed number. “Hello? Is this Carole Lee Brewster?”

“Why yes, yes it is,” said a somewhat frail voice on the other end of the line.

“Miss Brewster, my name is Jessica Murdoch and I write mysteries for a living—kind of like your old friend, Pandora Pritchard…”

“Dear Pandora…” Carole Lee started before someone grabbed the phone.

“I don’t know who you are or what you want, but my aunt has nothing to say to you. Don’t call this number again.”

The call ended before Jessica could get a word in edgewise.

“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you,” said Jessica with a grin, “but I suggest we adjourn to Maine. Granville isn’t far from Badger’s Drift.” Jessica’s home was in Badger’s Drift.

Fiona looked pointedly at Christie. “Only if you promise not to stick your foot in the door again.”

“Why are you harping on that? It wasn’t your foot, and it worked.”

Lori shook her head remembering the last time they had gone to confront someone. The guy had tried to slam the door in their faces. He’d failed. Christie had stopped him by positioning her foot in the doorjamb.

“What do you say, Lori?” asked Jessica. “You up for a weekend in Maine?”

Lori grinned. She couldn’t love these women more if they’d been born family. Instead, they were her found family, formed by choice and circumstance rather than blood and birth.

“I can be packed in ten minutes or less.”

Within the hour, the train was pulling out of Chicago with the Mystery Writers’ Murder Club aboard, headed for Badger’s Drift.

“It’s a good thing Thorn is out on a case,” said Jessica.

“He doesn’t fancy an invasion of his wife’s friends?” cackled Christie.

“Not when he thinks we’re about to stick our noses into trouble again,” admitted Jessica, “but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides, it’ll give Sudie more people to fuss over.”

They arrived in Badger’s Drift and descended on Jessica’s house and Sudie, Jessica’s housekeeper, like a plague of starving locusts. Lori might have felt bad, but Sudie seemed delighted to see and feed them all again.

The following morning, they drove to Granville and to the home of Carole Lee Brewster. Jessica knocked on the door and made sure Christie wasn’t where she could keep the door from being closed in their faces.

“Yes?” said the spry woman behind the storm door. Her voice had sounded far more frail on the phone than she looked in person.

“I’m Jessica Murdoch. I spoke with you briefly yester…”

“About Pandora? I must apologize for my nephew. He can be rather abrupt with people. Won’t you ladies come in? I looked you up on the Google. Are these your friends in the murder club?”

Jessica smiled. “They are. That’s Lori, this is Fiona, and that’s Christie. She’s a retired homicide cop from Baltimore, but it was Lori here who brought Pandora’s case to our attention.”

Carole Lee nodded. “I always wondered why the police didn’t seem very interested. They really only talked to me the one time.”

“You do understand that we have no legal authority and that you are under no obligation to speak with us,” said Fiona.

“I do, but it’s kind of you to make sure that I do. Might I offer you ladies some tea?”

Lori held up her Starbuck’s travel mug. “We came prepared.”

“Well, make yourselves comfortable,” Carole Lee said, indicating the furniture, which was old, out-of-date, and had plastic seat and back covers. She sat in the chair by the window and Lori and her friends sat on the matching couch and loveseat.

“Every Tuesday evening, Pandora and I met to discuss her writing,” said Carole Lee, her eyes glossing over with memory. “But that Tuesday when I went around to see her, she didn’t answer the door. I knew the doorbell was out of order. It was raining so hard, I figured she just didn’t hear me. I was surprised when I tried the door and found it unlocked. I let myself in and headed for her office. Sometimes when she was working, she’d get so caught up in her stories that she was oblivious to everything else. Just as I opened the door and headed for her office, I’m pretty sure I saw someone going out the window. But the policemen didn’t believe me. They thought seeing her dead had upset me so badly I wasn’t remembering things correctly. I know what I saw, but no one believed me. And then I saw poor Pandora. She was slumped over her typewriter, like she did sometimes when she was working too hard and fell asleep.”

“That must have been very upsetting,” said Christie. “Do you remember anything about the person you saw?”

Carole Lee looked at Christie with astonishment. “You believe me?”

“Yes ma’am, I do. I found in my former life as a homicide detective that other cops often want to dismiss those who have good information for a variety of reasons. I can’t tell you how many times I was able to apprehend the killer when I listened to those who had first-hand information. Forensics is great, and is what you need for the court case, but you need to listen to the witnesses before you do anything else.”

“It’s been so long,” said Carole Lee, “and I only caught a glimpse of whoever it was. Even then I couldn’t be sure. All I could think was, who would want to hurt Pandora?”

“Good question,” Lori said. “Did she have any children who stood to inherit? Or a nasty ex-husband?”

Before Carole Lee could answer, Lori saw a man somewhere between her age and Carole Lee’s come bustling up the walkway.

He burst into the house and demanded, “Who are you and what do you want with my aunt?”