Anna Denning Mystery Series Box Set: Books 1–3 Read online

  “Good,” Liz said.

  Anna watched her dog for a moment, then balled her hands into fists and pressed them into the table top to keep herself from shouting. “If I ever find out which one of them did this to him.”

  “He’s fine, Anna. Dogs forget bad experiences a lot faster than their owners do.” Liz reached for the wine bottle in the middle of the table and refilled her glass. “More?”

  Anna slid her glass along the table toward Liz. “Quarter of a glass.” She knew Liz was right. Jackson was better off in the living room, on the couch near the warm wood stove, sleeping, not being pawed at every five minutes. He’d always picked up on her emotions, and she was swimming in them tonight.

  “Besides,” Liz continued, “Jackson’s a tough dog. He’s been through worse.”

  “That’s why it’s so unfair. He’s been physically abused, abandoned by two different owners, he ends up in a shelter for months—”

  “And then God made sure he found a home with you.” Liz leaned forward, elbow on the table, wine bottle in her hand. “The best home he could have. Jackson loved Sean, but he’s always been your dog, you know.”

  “He only had three months to know Sean.” Anna opened her mouth to say something else but took a gulp of wine instead. Liz didn’t know that Jackson had wandered the house for days after Sean died, searching for him, or that for two weeks he had run into the woods behind the house every time she opened the sliding glass door, sure Sean must be out there.

  And Liz didn’t know that for months after Sean died Anna’s thoughts had continued on their automatic route to him, no matter how she willed them to stop. For a fraction of a second her mind would turn to a task—fixing breakfast for him, washing his clothes—then hit an impenetrable wall. And inside, she would fall, and fall. After his wanderings ended, Jackson accepted this house of two and became content again. She had not, and she’d come to believe she never would.

  And now, she thought, they had taken from her the comfort of this house, Sean’s house, where Jackson ran happily in the snow, where Sean smiled over her shoulder when she played his mandolin. Anna felt a familiar catch in her throat. She clenched and unclenched her toes, pinching them together inside her shoes, fighting to keep control of her emotions. She was desperately sad—and desperately angry. She decided to focus on the anger. She’d ride it. It was her chariot.

  “This is kind of peppery,” Liz said, studying the wine in her glass.

  “It’s from New Mexico,” Anna said. “From one of those small wineries between Taos and Santa Fe.” And now to work, she thought. She needed to know everything she could about Darlene and Tom. Everything. Thank goodness she always copied her work to multiple flash drives. They’d have to steal both her computers and all her flash drives to put her out of work. “Down to business. I need information. Did you find out anything else?” She flipped open her laptop.

  “Just a sec.” Liz opened her purse on the chair next to her and pulled out folded sheets of paper. “These are printouts,” she said, slanting the pages so Anna could see them. “I’ve got Darlene’s exact rent, her home address.” She flipped the first page and tapped a forefinger on the second. “Tom Muncy’s background, at least the financial part of it. His middle name is Jeremy, by the way. That should help you find more on him when you perform your genealogy magic.”

  “How did you find all this?” Anna looked from the page to Liz. It occurred to her that Liz might have at least bent the law to uncover the information. “Could you get into trouble?”

  “Nah. It’s not private information. You usually have to fill out a form to access it, but that’s between me and my source.” Delight spread over her face. “I do love running ElkNews.com.”

  Anna studied the page. There was so much information about Tom on it that she felt a stitch of guilt as she read it. But he and Darlene had left her no choice. “Here’s the salary you told me about. Twenty thousand dollars a year on the town council.”

  “Notice he doesn’t list anyone but the city as his employer. But that house of his, how does he manage it?”

  “Let’s find out about that house.” Anna set her wine glass to the side, pulled the laptop in front of her, and typed in a web address. “This website shows current values on residential properties. All you have to do is type in an address.” She entered Tom’s address into the search field and waited.

  “Anything?” Liz craned her neck.

  “I’ll say. The Muncy home is valued at $1,650,000. Let me check something else.” She typed again, hit enter, then angled the computer screen so Liz could see it. “This is a real estate site listing homes in the Elk Valley region that have sold for more than a million. It covers the past five years.” She scrolled down the page, searching. “The house isn’t listed, which probably means the Muncys have lived in that home at least five years. It couldn’t have been valued under a million just five years ago and be worth more than a million and a half today.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “How old do you think Tom is? Thirty-five? Late thirties?”

  “Thirty-seven.” Liz stood and took a couple steps to the kitchen counter, grabbing a bag of chips. “I checked on it.”

  “So how does someone, age thirty-two at the most, buy a house like that? Where’s his money coming from?”

  “From Susan?”

  “Could be. If it’s not her money, the Muncy family has money of its own or Tom’s got income from somewhere other than the town council.”

  “He could be involved in something illegal, you never know. He strikes me as devious. I don’t trust him.” Liz popped a chip into her mouth.

  “Thomas Jeremy Muncy.” Anna pulled the computer closer and typed in the address of a genealogy website. There couldn’t be many people with that name in the United States. Even using the initial alone, Thomas J. Muncy or Tom J. Muncy, would do the trick. “Thank goodness his name isn’t Smith. I don’t know what genealogists do with names like that. John Smith, born in New York City in 1920. Unless his parents were Grimelda and Festus.”

  “While you’re talking to yourself, I’m going to get my laptop from my car. Two computers can work faster than one.”

  When Liz returned with her laptop, her mouth was twisted into a crooked smile. “An officer would drive by a couple times, Schaeffer said. Sure. He’s out there now in his patrol car. He waved at me.”

  Anna looked toward the door, then back at her computer screen as it filled with Muncys. Thinking of Schaeffer out there comforted and saddened her all at once. It was the twenty-third of December and he should have been at home with his family. But his presence eased her mind. At least for tonight she was safe. “If he’s still out there in two minutes I’m going to take him a sandwich.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Thomas J. Muncy.”

  “Found him?”

  “This has to be him. There are three others with the name Thomas J. Muncy and one Thomas John Muncy, but they’re all too old. This one’s thirty-seven. His father’s name is Jeremy H. Muncy, his mother’s name is Nancy R. Simmons. He was born in Shaker Heights, Ohio.”

  “That’s money right there. Shaker Heights, I mean. It’s a wealthy suburb of Cleveland.”

  “Mmm.” Anna grabbed a handful of chips and put them on a napkin next to her laptop.

  “You stay with Tom, and I’ll do a search on Susan,” Liz said.

  “Here’s an obituary.” Anna stuffed a chip in her mouth and rubbed her hands on her jeans before continuing. “Jeremy H. Muncy owned the Erie Sand and Gravel Company in Cleveland. His company expanded to other towns. Cincinnati, Toledo, Columbus. He died of cancer six and a half years ago, and his wife was deceased at the time.”

  “So now we know how the councilman got his money.”

  “If he inherited it. It depends on Jeremy Muncy’s will.” Anna upended her glass and downed the rest of her wine. So Tom Muncy came from money, she thought. Had he inherited some or all of it? Did he own a portion of his
father’s company? He could be getting a monthly or yearly sum from the Jeremy Muncy estate. With half a dozen franchises, maybe more, that estate might be worth millions. If Tom Muncy was an only child, his portion would be enormous.

  “Isn’t it amazing what a little dig into someone’s genealogy tells you?” Liz said, her eyes sparkling with glee. “How many people in this town know how rich Muncy is and where his money comes from?”

  Anna had seen that look before. Liz was scrupulous in her contacts, publishing on ElkNews.com only what could be verified, but she’d struggled for so long to get her news site started, with so little support from others, that when she found an exclusive bit of news, she dug in like a pit bull and was tempted to bend her own rules.

  “I was just thinking that maybe this news about Muncy and his money should stay private,” Anna said. “Unless he’s involved in Susan’s death.”

  Liz made a face. “Yeah, I know. I was thinking the same thing. He hasn’t done anything wrong. That we know of. But I’m telling you”—she waved a finger at Anna—“if Tom is involved in some dirty business with this governor’s committee, or worse, killed his wife, he’s going down.”

  “Remind me to never get on your bad side.” Anna turned her attention back to her laptop.

  “All I’m finding on Susan so far is articles on her death and her obituary,” Liz said. “They published her obit in at least a dozen papers, all in Colorado.”

  “Thomas J. Muncy married Susan M. Valeri in Boulder almost sixteen years ago.”

  “How did you find that?”

  “I searched Tom’s name and added ‘Susan’ and ‘married.’ It looks like Susan grew up in Boulder. That could mean the Valeri family comes from money, too.”

  “They married young,” Liz said, pouring more wine into her glass.

  Anna stood and pushed back her chair. “I’m going to see if Schaeffer is still there.”

  “More food?”

  “Get the lasagna from the refrigerator,” Anna said as she headed for the door. She looked first through the peephole. Nothing. Unless Schaeffer’s patrol SUV was out of view. She opened the door, stood on the doorstep, and searched the street. Snowflakes drifted in front of her face. She stared into the darkness, unable to tell how hard it was snowing away from the lighted steps.

  As Anna looked, she saw a light in the street, coming from the west, then heard the soft whoosh of car tires on snow. The light grew, became two distinct beams, and a small, dark-colored car appeared on the opposite side of the street, driving slowly toward her house. It stopped fifty feet down the road, the motor still running.

  Someone rolled a back window halfway down and stuck a gloved hand out, waving it before pulling it back in. Anna strained to see who was in the back seat, but all was black. There had to be at least two people in the car, the driver and the back-seat passenger, but she could see neither of them.

  She took a step back into the house and turned her face from the door. “Liz, quick, grab my camera from the side table in the living room. It’s in the drawer.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Anna waved at Liz to hurry, looked back at the car, then motioned for Liz to stay out of sight, behind the opened door. It was possible that whoever was out there didn’t realize it was Liz’s car in the driveway, she thought. If she appeared more vulnerable, they might slip up and show themselves. “And get my high-beam flashlight under the sink,” she said. “Make sure Jackson stays put.” She stretched out her hand behind the door, took the camera from Liz, then held it behind her back.

  “Anna, what’s happening?” Liz began fumbling through the cabinet under the sink.

  “I think it’s the What Ye Will gang again. They’re in a car, driving toward the house.”

  A moan arose from the direction of the car and became a long, continuous wail. It was a woman’s voice.

  “What on earth?” Anna heard Liz say.

  Anna kept watch on the car, refusing to avert her eyes or move her feet. She heard Liz approach and stuck her hand around the door again, motioning her away.

  The wail ended. A pause, and it began again, only this time it was broken with words Anna couldn’t make out. A foreign language? But it sounded like gibberish, nonsense. And then she made out one word: Hecate. That one she knew. The Mycenaean goddess of death and magic, the queen of all witches. Hecate . . . Hecate. The voice repeated the name, softly breathing the H as if doing so was the greatest of pleasures.

  “Anna?”

  “Shh.”

  The car inched closer to the house and its headlights went out. Anna felt a chill deep within her, something more than the cold air. She took hold of the door’s edge with her right hand and slid her left hand down the wall on the door’s other side until she felt the light switch. She pushed it down and the light over the front steps went out. She wasn’t going to stand there on full display for them, on the brightly lit stage of her own front door.

  The name Hecate faded, and soon Anna heard a pattern emerging, one word around which the rhythm of the other words circled and danced. It sounded like crumb. A man was saying crumb. The nonsense words returned, then crumb, crumb, crumb. It was more of a pulsation than a word, the drummer at the bow of a boat, beating a cadence for the crew. The pounding of a sword on a Viking shield. Crumb, crumb, crumb.

  Anna tried to think what the word might mean, to pull a memory from her past. Nothing came to her. Then it hit her that it wasn’t even a word. It was a sound. It was intimidation. A more sophisticated version of Darlene in the parking lot outside the police station. Let’s scare the fool who doesn’t believe in the craft. And they were doing it outside her home, at night. Of course at night, she thought. The cowards.

  The car moved forward and Anna’s hand tightened on the door frame. Through her fear, she felt a growing resentment.

  “This is creeping me out,” Liz said. “Can you see anyone in the car? Should I call Schaeffer?”

  “No, don’t call.” The car continued to pull forward. The only sound coming from inside it was the word crumb, repeated and repeated.

  “What if they have a gun?”

  “They wouldn’t be chanting if they had a gun.” There were only two voices coming from the car, Anna was sure of it. One male, one female.

  “Where are they?”

  “Closer.”

  “Anna.”

  “When I tell you, come to the top step and shine the light on the car across the street. It will be directly across from my driveway. Try to shine it through a window, and be careful, it’s dark.”

  Anna slid her finger along the top of the camera until she came to the on-off button and pushed it. The lens whirred into place. I’m not afraid of you, Darlene, she thought. I know what you are.

  “Ready,” Liz said.

  “Now!”

  Anna stepped quickly outside, leaving room for Liz to come through the door on her right. She worked to focus the camera in the dark as Liz rushed to her side, switched on the flashlight, and raised it.

  The high-beam illuminated first the front seat and then the back as Liz swung it. Too late. The back-seat passenger swiftly raised an arm and turned from the camera. Anna snapped a photo then dashed down the walk.

  “Be careful!” Liz cried.

  Anna stopped to take another shot then raced toward the car, Liz on her heels, the flashlight in Liz’s hands bouncing a beam from the ground to the pines and back onto the car.

  Anna heard a screech of a laugh, gaiety laced with madness, and the car took off, sliding sideways in the snow before speeding down the street.

  She ran into the street and took a last photo of the rear plate. She knew it was useless. The night was pitch black and the car too far away. But she’d shown them she would no longer stand by helplessly as they played vicious games and continued to invade the privacy of her home. And she’d shown them she wasn’t alone tonight. She looked over at Liz, who was staring after the car, the heavy flashlight dangling at her side.
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  “We tried,” Anna said.

  “Yeah.” Liz held up a foot. “Thankfully I’m not wearing heels or I’d be face-down about now.”

  Anna felt a familiar push at the back of her legs and turned to see Jackson at her feet. “There you are, boy!”

  “He wasn’t about to stay on the couch with you running out the door like a woman on fire,” Liz said as she trudged up the lawn to the door. “He’s his old self, isn’t he? Just look at him.”

  It seemed that any lingering ill effects Jackson might have felt were gone. He cut several circles in the snow before running up to the door and following Anna inside.

  “Have you got anything sweet?” Liz asked as she walked back to the table. “Cookies, fudge? I’m craving sweets and we need to stoke the boilers.”

  “Cookies in the bear cookie jar, help yourself.” Anna gave Jackson a quick hug, sat down at the table, and flipped open the LCD screen at the back of her camera. She ran through the photos she’d taken, looking for anything her eyes missed but the camera captured.

  “Find anything?” Liz asked.

  “Not really.”

  “Should we call Schaeffer?”

  “I refuse to call him out here again. Especially for some car driving by with people chanting inside.” She looked up to see Liz, her hand lodged in the ceramic bear, grappling for cookies. “Anyway, there’s nothing he can do now.”

  “There must be something in the photos,” Liz said, piling sugar and peanut butter cookies onto a plate. “A clue of some kind.”

  “You can see the outline of the car in the first shot, but the back seat is a dark blur. The whole photo is blurry and grainy, and there’s nothing that looks even remotely like a face. The second and third shots are even worse.” She set the camera on the table. “Cripes. Bring me some cookies too.”

  It crossed Anna’s mind that the car’s driver and passenger had no idea if the photos she’d taken were any good. They might suspect she’d captured something useful on her camera and return to find out. Brushing the thought away, she pulled the memory card from her camera, slid it into the card bay on her laptop, and downloaded the three photos. She clicked on the first thumbnail and the full-size image popped onto her screen.