Armoires and Arsenic by Cassie Page Read Free Book Online

reports of a murder in Billionaires’ Hollow, Wall Street’s nickname for the town favored as a retreat for the world’s wealthiest. Some called it Newport West, but that was stretching it. The boutiques on Darling Boulevard rivaled Beverly Hills’ finest, but thanks to the Alaska current running down the Pacific west coast, the nearest beach required down jackets and fur-lined boots suitable for the arctic.
    Olivia picked up the extension phone. The janitorial company had to cancel their appointment to clean the shop prior to the sale. Something about staff catching a virus. Within fifteen minutes, three of the personal assistants for her best clients called to cancel orders. Best clients meaning the ones who only bought knickknacks and inexpensive occasional pieces. But, somehow, the chairs and tables that had been perfect finds last week would no longer work. Each assistant gave a version of, “So sorry, Olivia. I’m sure you understand.”
    Oh she understood, all right. The few people who had taken a chance on the newcomer regretted their decisions now that they were doing business with a possible murderer. That brought up another issue. Was Sabrina Chase going to proceed with her charity auction on the heels of losing her business partner? And, if yes, did she still want a donation from Olivia? She dialed her number, but it went into voice mail, so she left a message. Mentally crossing off that task, she turned her attention to her tenant.
     
    Mrs. Harmon would be up by now and Olivia needed to find out if she had heard her knocking about last night or this morning. She locked the French doors into the showroom, a habit to keep customers from wandering into her office, and put a “Back in 10” sign on the front door. But now she could see through the pane windows that CNN and FOX News trucks were setting up their Star Wars equipment across the street. Where had they come from? Were they Johnny come latelys who had gotten stuck in traffic on the narrow mountain road from Highway 101 while the local outlets were nailing down the story, or was something new about to break?
    As soon as she opened the door to walk around to the side, two reporters raced up and jammed microphones in her face.
    “Is Brooks here, Olivia? Can we have a picture of you two together?”
    Olivia slammed the door, locked it from the inside and ran back to her office. Even here in Darling Valley everything was about Brooks. She expected the paparazzi to follow them on their dates in LA when she was his current eye candy. By herself, though, even as a murder suspect, by comparison she was as interesting as a chain link fence. They only saw her as an opportunity to get a shot of Brooks, find out something sleazy about him and do an exclusive. By herself she was as interesting as a chain link fence. But if they could tie the sensational Brooks Baker, boy wonder, to a murder case, that could make careers. She looked down at her hands. They were shaking. Would she ever get that man out of her life?
    She took the inside stairs down to the tiny sliver of basement left after the Cooks had carved out Mrs. Harmon’s apartment. Mrs. Harmon’s living room door opened onto the driveway, giving her a private entrance and easy access to the garage, another contingency Olivia had to swallow. It was a one-car garage with no room on her property to add a space for her truck. However, Mrs. Harmon’s kitchen door opened onto the laundry area they both shared, plus a few shelves holding flashlights, Olivia’s household supplies and a toolbox. At the end of the narrow corridor, there was a door that led up a few steps to the outside that Mrs. Harmon could use to get to the trash and her corner of the garden out of sight of customers in the Garden Center. Olivia complained about that perk to the Cooks.  “I have no private space in my own garden.” They suggested she give up her Garden Center, part of her livelihood.
    As yet, the press didn’t seem aware of