Roses are Dead My Love

  Copyright by Penny Clover Petersen May 2015

  All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, magnetic, and photographic including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher. No patent liability is assumed with respect to the use of the information contained herein. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-940758-03-9

  Cover design by Rick Turylo

  Published by:

  Intrigue Publishing

  11505 Cherry Tree Crossing RD #148

  Cheltenham, MD 20623-9998

  To my parents

  Lionel and Regina Clover

  who loved a good mystery and a good laugh

  and

  To Rachel Anne and Matthew

  who make my life so bright

  April 17, 1953

  Griffith Stadium

  Washington, DC

  “Do you think he’ll sign it, Dad?”

  “You bet. We’ll just wait here. He should be along soon. Have you got your card and a pen ready?”

  “Yeah. I made sure the pen wasn’t leaky, too.”

  “Good boy. I think it’s going to be a great game.”

  The boy bounced up and down like it was Christmas Eve. Suddenly he looked up and there was his hero walking right toward him. His jaw dropped open and he couldn’t think of a thing to say. The man was almost to the gate when the boy’s father gave him a shove forward.

  The boy squeaked, “Sir.”

  The man turned toward him and smiled. “You got somethin’ for me to sign?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve got your card. And a pen.” He handed them to the player who smiled and signed his name on the card.

  “Sir, could you put the date on it, too? ‘Cause it’s my birthday today.”

  “Sure.” He added the date and said, “Happy birthday, kid. Gotta go to work now. Enjoy the game.”

  “Thank you, sir, I will. Could you hit one out for me, sir?”

  “I’ll sure try.” He smiled and walked into Griffith Stadium through the players’ entrance.

  The boy looked up at his dad and grinned, then shouted, “I got Mickey Mantle’s autograph!”

  A flash went off and a man with a camera who’d been standing near the gate said, “What’s your name, kid? I just might put you in tomorrow’s paper.”

  Chapter One

  Rose Forrest had just taken her mail out of her box and was leaving the post office when a man standing at the counter shouted, “Your job is to make sure I get all the mail that’s mine! I needed this letter yesterday. What kind of place are you running here?”

  The old lady behind the counter replied, “In your ear, buddy. You got a complaint, talk to the Post Master General.”

  “You can be sure I will!” He grabbed his letters, shoved past Rose, and steamed out the door. Rose caught it just before it slammed into her and snapped, “Thanks a lot!”

  She pushed the door open again, walked out and watched the slammer as he stomped across the street in a huff. She followed in the same direction, noticed something fall from his hand and called out, “Oh, you dropped something!”

  He didn’t turn around. She trotted after him and called again, “Yoo-hoo, you with the problem!”

  He didn’t even pause. He just straightened his back and walked on.

  Rose wrinkled her brow and murmured, “Freaking idiot!”

  She tried again, her voice dropping to her best Sly Stallone mumble. “Yo, Adrian. You want I should pick that up?”

  She stopped her trot, bent down and retrieved the Express Mail envelope she had seen slip from the pile he was carrying. “Hey, this might be important. You never know. You might have won Power Ball.”

  She stood and waved it in the air and yelled, “Finders keepers. Do you want this damned thing or not?”

  The man finally stopped walking and looked around. He turned to Rose and said, “What in God’s name are you yelling about? Are you speaking to me? I heard you calling someone named Adrian.”

  Finally seeing the envelope in her hand, he started walking toward her. “Is that mine? I haven’t got time for games. I was already running late and that damned Nazi in the post office has made me even later!”

  He was fortyish, tall and slim with well-cut graying hair and eyes the color of smoky quartz behind wire-rimmed glasses – kind of bookish and sexy.

  “Too bad he had to open his mouth,” thought Rose. “He’s quite the studly muffin.”

  She looked deep into the muffin’s eyes and said, “It was a Rocky reference.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yo, Adrian. You know, Sylvester Stallone. Rocky.”

  He just looked at her blankly.

  Rose shook her head and narrowed her eyes. “Oh, screw it, buddy. I’ve got things to do, too. You dropped something. Right there.”

  She tossed the envelope into a small puddle on the side of the road. “Have a nice day,” she chirped and strode off before he could answer.

  Rose crossed the little bridge that spanned abandoned railroad tracks and connected the halves of Old Towne and continued down Azalea Lane. She came to her beautiful Victorian house with the sign reading Champagne Taste centered above the porch. When she reached the door she glanced back to see the studly muffin watching her as he moved slowly down the street.

  She walked into the shop, threw the mail on the counter and went into her office. She opened the small refrigerator, got out the iced tea she had made earlier that morning and poured herself a glass, then added sugar and lemon to it. She took a sip and walked slowly back into the shop. She stood looking out the window, frowning.

  Her sister, Daisy, walked in through the sunroom door fanning herself and said, “It is really too hot for June.”

  Rose answered, “Hmmph.”

  “What’s with you?”

  “People. Men. Really, just one incredible jerk I ran into at the post office. He and Peggy were going at it about some letter he should’ve gotten yesterday.”

  “Who’s Peggy?”

  “The woman who works there. You know her. The old witch that’s been there forever.”

  “Hmm. I never knew her name! Old Witch fits so nicely. She scares me.”

  “Me, too. Anyway, he really lit into her. Of course, she gave as good as she got, sweet old soul that she is. Then as I was leaving, he practically slammed the door in my face.”

  Rose picked up the mail and started sorting through it.

  “Even so, since I’m an incredibly nice person, I tried to bring his attention to a letter he dropped as he was goose-stepping across the bridge. You’d have thought I was trying to sell him insurance.” Rose slammed her glass down, spilling tea on the counter.

  “Now see what he’s made me do.” She grabbed a dust cloth and wiped up the tea. “What a jackass! He was really unpleasant. And it’s a damned shame because he is very good looking.”

  “Oh, yes? What does he look like?”

  “Tall. Well taller than I am. Grayish hair, nice brown eyes. Glasses. Reminds me of a prof I had in college.”

  “Sounds like our new neighbor. The guy who bought the Book Renew. Did you play nice and give him the let
ter?”

  “More or less. It got a tad wet.”

  Champagne Taste was located in Old Towne, the heart of the historic district of Bostwick, Maryland, a bedroom community just ten miles from the White House. Old Towne was a thriving village of antiques dealers and small boutiques housed in old homes and buildings, many dating back to the Victorian era.

  The inheritance came at a time when Daisy and Rose both needed a change. They moved into the top two stories of the house and converted them into a cozy apartment.

  The first floor became an upscale gift boutique. It was their dream come true and things were going well. The shop was making money. They were their own bosses. They liked their neighbors. And, best of all, they hadn’t found a dead body in over six months.

  Daisy started dusting the crystal display. She handed Rose a dry cloth and said, “Here, you can start on the pewter. How did his letter get wet?”

  “It jumped out of my hand and landed in a puddle. What do we know about this guy? Anything?”

  “Some, but I got it from Mary Newhart, so I don’t know if it’s true or not.”

  Mary Newhart owned Newhart’s Antiques right across the street from Champagne Taste. She was a nice, nosy woman who could be relied on to tell all whether or not it was exactly true.

  “She told me his name is Peter Fleming. He’s forty-two, and a college professor. She thinks he’s at George Washington University. Apparently, the book shop will be just a part-time thing. He’s divorced, no kids, no pets. Lives in Washington, DC just off Dupont Circle, drives a ’73 Mercedes, and goes to church on Christmas and Easter. Wears Ralph Lauren boxers.”

  “Does he?”

  “How should I know? I made that part up. Even Mary would have a hard time bringing underwear into a conversation with a total stranger. But she did tell me that he paid cash for the Book Renew. That’s interesting.”

  “A Mercedes coupe!”

  “A convertible. The little 450 SL. Silver.”

  “Even better. I think I’d look really good in a vintage convertible.”

  “You said he’s a major jerk.”

  “He’s probably having a bad day. From the little I overheard, Peggy put his mail in someone else’s box. I guess I’d be a little miffed, too. And, he has nice eyes.”

  “And a nice car.”

  Rose smiled and said, “Yes, indeedy!”

  Daisy looked at her watch and said, “Hurry up with the pewter. It’s almost time to open. Oh, Mother called and said she’ll be here at noon so we can all go to lunch. She wants to take the dogs with us.”

  “Why? Much as I love the little critters, Malcolm and Percy aren’t really poster puppies for the well behaved dog,” said Rose.

  Their mother, Angela Forrest, had gotten Malcolm for the girls last fall. The little black fur ball was supposed to be a watch dog. But like his brother Percy, Angela’s own little mutt, the family trait ran more to a fondness for humping everything in sight, than watching the house.

  “Where is our little bundle of hormones, anyway?”

  Daisy answered, “I sent him outside while I was cleaning. He was being a pain in the butt. I think he wanted to go to the post office with you.”

  Rose gasped. “Outside? It’s too hot today. It’s not even ten o’clock and it’s already ninety-two degrees. Nobody should be out in this weather.”

  “He’s fine. He’s got a gallon of cold water and that igloo of his stays nice and cool. I opened the air vents and he seemed happy enough.”

  Rose walked to the sunroom door in the back of the shop. “Well. I’m letting him in. I’ll put him upstairs if he gets too naughty.”

  Rose went into the back garden and walked over to the doggie igloo nestled under an old, black walnut tree. Malcolm poked his nose out and looked at her.

  “Being a good boy? You can come out if you want, you know.” Malcolm wriggled out and stretched his front paws. Rose scratched his head and gave him a treat.

  “Grandmother is bringing Percy over to play in a little while. You can come into the shop if you get too hot. Okay?”

  Malcolm just looked at her and did a little doggy nod, then wriggled back into the igloo.

  Rose said, “I know. It’s too damned hot for anything, even good-natured humping.” She was walking back to the sunroom when a pretty orange tabby cat came out the pet door at the far end of the porch.

  “Go back inside, you nut. It’s hot out here.” But Roscoe ignored her and ambled over to the water bowl. He lapped the water for a minute and then stretched out in the shaded grass next to the igloo. “All right. I guess you know what you want. I know I want air conditioning.”

  Rose gave the cat a tickle and turned to go back in when her neighbor came around the side of the house next door dragging a garden hose. She stopped at a large rhododendron that had clearly seen better days and turned the nozzle on.

  Rose called, “Mrs. Hudson, how are you today? You shouldn’t be out here. It’s too hot.”

  “I just popped out to water my plants and then I’m right back in to the air conditioning. But I can’t let them dry up, especially this one. It had a hard winter and I’d like to save it. I planted it when we moved in, nearly fifty years ago.”

  “You’ll save it. You’ve got the gardener’s touch. Did I see your niece on the porch the other day?”

  “Yes. Abby’s here for the summer. The family is worried about me being here alone and she has the summer off. She teaches, you know. So she was elected to babysit.”

  “I’m sure she loves the time with you. You two should come for dinner soon. I haven’t really had a chance to get to know her.”

  “That would be nice. I’m afraid Abby might be a little bit bored. There isn’t a great deal for her to do other than look after me.”

  “Well, let me talk to Daisy and we’ll set something up. Now get your watering done and get back inside.”

  “Mrs. Hudson’s niece is staying for the summer.” Rose opened the safe, took out the cash box, and put it in the register. “I thought we could have them over for dinner one night.”

  “That would be nice. Do you know anything about her? Abigail, right? I don’t even know her last name.”

  “Wentworth. I’ve only met her a few times. She stayed with Mrs. H. the last few summers for a couple of weeks in June. I thought you had met her too.”

  Daisy said, “I must have been on vacation.”

  “Well, she’s nice enough. A little goofy, but who isn’t? She didn’t say much about herself, but she seems fond of Mrs. H.”

  “Maybe we should make it a party.”

  “A small party would be nice. We could cook-out.” Rose took a large gulp of her iced tea she’d left on the counter and fanned herself with the newspaper. “And eat in.”

  A few minutes later a key turned in the door and their assistant, Tonya Albert, walked in and said, “My, it’s hot out there!”

  Daisy asked, “I know it. How do you manage to look so good in this heat?”

  Tonya looked cool and elegant in the butter colored blouse and slacks that set off her beautiful coffee-with-cream complexion and dark eyes.

  Tonya laughed. “Do I? Thanks. I have no idea. I thought I’d melt just walking in from the car.”

  Daisy smiled as she watched Tonya turn the door sign to OPEN, pick up a cloth and quickly wipe smudges off the glass, and then de-clutter the counter. She and Rose had certainly been lucky to find her.

  Tonya said, “I just saw a man in The Book Renew. Is that the new owner? Have you met him?”

  Rose looked up from the bills she was sorting and said, “Sort of. He slammed a door in my face and I dropped his Express Mail in a puddle. He has very lovely eyes.”

  Tonya laughed. “Sounds about right. Mom says he’s single and paid cash for the place.”

  Daisy rolled her eyes and said, “Mary’s grapevine hard at work. I thought I might go over there and say hi this afternoon. You want to come with me, Rose?”

  “Maybe. I’ll see h
ow I feel.”

  They were waiting for Angela Forrest when Tom Willis walked in. Daisy smiled and said, “Tonya, your policeman is here. How are you, Tom? How’s crime?”

  Tom Willis was a Bostwick city policeman whom they got to know quite well late last year when Old Towne was center ring in a lunatic’s circus. He and Tonya had fallen in love over Thanksgiving dinner and had been an item ever since.

  “Very slow. Not much more going on other than kids being rowdy.”

  “Great! I like a quiet, little town. Oh, look, Mother just pulled up. Well, we’re off to lunch. You can have Tonya all to yourself.”

  Angela with Percy in tow threw open the shop door and cried, “Come out here. Quick. You’ll miss him.”

  “What?” They followed her out and stood on the steps watching Angela look up and down the street.

  “Oh, rats, he’s gone,” said Angela as she turned to go back into the shop.

  “Who’s gone?” asked Daisy following.

  “The man jogging along with his doo-watty hanging out! Can you believe it? What a hoot!”

  Tom Willis bounded out the door and started down the street.

  “Really? A streaker? Mother, are you sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure. I know a doodle when I see one. I was married for quite a long time, you know. But I don’t think he was actually streaking. His privates just seemed to have escaped his pants. And he wasn’t going very fast. Just, you know, bob-bob-bobbing along. Why did Tom run out of here so quickly?”

  Tonya started laughing. “Apparently, this guy has been busy exposing himself all over town for the last few weeks and the police can’t catch him. I guess it’s not really funny. He could be dangerous, but so far all he’s been doing is jogging along with his boys hanging out and disappearing before anyone can grab him.”

  Tom came back and said, “If I get my hands on that guy, he’ll be sorry. I’m sorry you had to see that, Ms. Forrest.”

  “Call me Angela. Not to worry, Tom. I think it’s kind of funny. I mean, I only caught a short glimpse, but he didn’t seem to have that much to be proud of!”

  Rose laughed and said, “Okay, the excitement seems to be over and I’m hungry. Are we ready for lunch? And Mother, I think we’ll leave the doggies here. They’ll be happier and so will I.”