The Murder Next Door Read online

  The Murder Next Door

  by Andrew Stanek

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  --Andrew Stanek

  More Felix Green Mysteries

  •Death By Nostalgia

  • Murder on Wheels

  •Death in Detail

  •Shell Game

  •Vanquished

  •Heartbreak

  •The Murder Next Door

  •Vanishing Act

  •Domino Effect

  •Payment in Full

  •Falling Problem

  •Murderer’s Dilemma

  •Killer’s Quartet

  •Great Circle

  •This Murder I Made

  Chapter 1

  “‘My dear friends, thank you so much for coming. I’ve asked you here...’ No, no, that’s not right.”

  Marshall Reed frowned to himself, bending low over his paper, which was already criss-crossed with inscrutable scribbles and incorrect corrections. He picked up the pen and struck out the last sentence entirely.

  “My dear friends,” he began again. “It’s such a pleasure to see you all again, but I haven’t asked you here for recreation...”

  But like a dog coming out of a pool, he shook his head ferociously as he spoke, his mane of brown-gray hair wagging every which way as he did so.

  Philip knocked tentatively at the open door to the study. Marshall looked up, surprised, saw Philip, and smiled.

  “Philip, my boy, come in. I was just trying to hone some of the finer points of this speech of mine.”

  “They aren’t finer points dad. You’ve been on the first sentence for an hour.” Philip shook his head as he guided his wheelchair into the room, moving the apparatus with powerful strokes from his hands. “I’ve just been talking to the gardener and I’ve explained that you want everything perfect for tonight.”

  “Good, good,” Marshall said off-handedly, crossing out the last sentence he’d written on the paper. “I have every reason to think that Titus, when he gets here, will immediately start looking at the huge rosebush and if there’s one petal out of place I’ll never hear the end of it. Not that I’d know an aubergine from an orange, but there you have it.”

  “Why do you call him Titus anyway, dad?” Philip asked, wheeling himself up to peer out the window at the front yard, where the lone gardener was hard at work on the rose bush.

  “Titus Andronicus, my boy. Just a little nickname from the olden days, nothing mysterious or sinister. He’s always had a fascination with the garden that I’ve never quite understood, but that’s life for you. Other people will forever be mysteries to you in certain ways.”

  “The gardener wants to know why you’re so eager to have everything perfect today,” Philip prompted, his eyes suddenly bright.

  Marshall made a dismissive noise. “Why should he need to know? He’s the gardener.”

  “But I couldn’t tell him, because I didn’t know either,” Philip continued, wheeling himself up next to his father. “What is this all about, Dad? You’ve been locked up in your study all day just looking at that first sentence. It’s not like you. Why is tonight so important?”

  Philip flinched as his father wagged his finger at him.

  “Hahaha, wouldn’t you like to know, my boy, but I’m afraid that you’ll have to wait like everyone else. You’ll know soon enough.”

  “You’re being very secretive about all this.”

  With a shake of his head, Marshall returned to his paper covered in scratchings and scribblings.

  “Secrets are my prerogative, Philip. As I said, some parts of other people will forever be a mystery to you. You’re lucky - this secret will only last until dinner tonight. Now, off with you. I’ve got to finish this toast.”

  Despite his continued curiosity, Philip obediently wheeled himself out of his father’s study. As the door closed, he heard his father’s voice saying, “My dearest friends, family, and colleagues...”

  Philip couldn’t help sighing deeply as he proceeded back into the hallway. He’d barely gotten halfway down the corridor when a tall young woman with brown hair quite a lot like his came whizzing past, nearly colliding with him.

  “Oh!” she squeaked, and quickly put out one hand to steady Philip. “I’m so sorry, Phil. I didn’t see you there. I’m just in such a hurry to - to do something.”

  “What are you up to, Stacy? You’re going out to see him, aren’t you?” Philip asked shrewdly, his eyes fixating on his sister, who flushed slightly.

  “You won’t tell dad, will you?” she asked. “He’d kill me if he knew.”

  “No, I won’t tell dad, but honestly, Stacy you’re going to have to tell him yourself eventually. If you’re serious, anyway.”

  “I don’t think that I’m serious at all,” Stacy said, her blush deepening to a reddish violet. “I’ve just got a bit of a crush. Besides, oh god, Philip, I couldn’t tell dad, not to save my life I couldn’t. What would he say if he knew that I might be falling in love with the gardener?”

  Philip crossed his arms and sighed. “I don’t think he’d be very pleased about it, I’ll be honest. He’d say that you’ve been watching too many bad romance shows... but given that he’s kept you locked up in this house all your life I don’t know what he’s really been expecting.”

  “Oh, he hasn’t kept me locked up,” Stacy said absently. “He just wanted to keep us together was all, particularly after mom died...”

  “I’m sure that was it,” Philip said with his arms still crossed. “So how are things going with this gardener of yours?”

  “His name is John,” Stacy said, reddening again. “Honestly, you’re starting to sound like Dad. And I don’t know that they’re going at all. I’ve just been talking to him whenever I get the chance. Do you think he knows I like him?” she asked, twirling her hair.

  “He’s probably gotten a pretty good idea, given how frequently you’ve been sneaking out to see him,” Philip answered. “Do you really mean that you haven’t told him anything?”

  His sister shook her head. “I mean, what if he didn’t like me? I’d just die, and I’d feel so silly, and if he told Dad, I don’t know what he’d do.”

  Philip sighed and scratched his head. “Well, I dunno, Stace. Do whatever you think is best, but if I were you I wouldn’t go out there just now. Dad’s in his study and he can see the grounds pretty well from where he is. All he’d have to do would be to look up and see you two together.”

  Stacy made a little squeak and put her hands to her mouth.

  “That would be terrible. I’d better not go, then. But why is dad in his study?”

  “I don’t know. He’s preparing some kind of speech or toast or something for this dinner he’s holding tonight, but he’s being very tight-lipped about the whole thing. I have no idea why he’s doing it and he won’t even give me a hint about it. The only thing I know is that Titus is going to be here, since Dad wanted me to harass your friend John into double-pruning the giant rose bush. Come to think of it, we’ve been seeing a lot of Titus lately, and he isn’t married. Maybe Dad is hoping that you’ll fall for him.” He gave Stacy a sly smile.

  “For him?” Stacy repeated blankly. “He’s about thirty years older than me.”

  “I was only joking Stacy. Titus might be just about unlovable. Frankly, I have no idea what’s going through Dad’s mind, but I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.”

  Stacy could only nod in agreement. “I hope so. I don’t know what he’s got planned for tonight but he’s bought me a new dress for the occasion, so whatever it is must be very important.”

  “A new dress? The
President must be coming to visit,” Philip quipped.

  “Don’t tease me, Philip,” Stacy shot back. “Well, I don’t know what to do if I can’t go out. Maybe if I just took a walk around the garden and John and I happened to bump into each other...” she started back down the hallway. Philip looked after her and shook his head, then continued wheeling himself towards the dining room. However, he was again interrupted before he could reach the end, as a blonde woman staggered into the hallway from one of the side doors. She bumped into Philip’s wheelchair and nearly toppled over, stumbling and flailing her arms wildly. Automatically, Philip grabbed her forearm to steady her. The woman slowly regained her balance, though she continued to readjust her position awkwardly, rocking precariously on the tips of her high-heeled shoes.

  “Hello, Georgia,” Philip said by way of greeting, a note of severity creeping into his voice. “Doing well today?”

  The question was rhetorical. Now that she was standing still, Philip could see that Georgia was in a state of advanced disarray. She was tall and blonde but her hair was blatantly undone, sticking up and poking out at awkward angles, and a thick layer of poorly applied makeup was obscuring her otherwise attractive features. Though she was wearing a stylish red dress, it was ruffled, wrinkled, and stained in many places, and she had a distinctive smell of booze about her.

  “Oh, hello Philip,” she said. “Well, yes, I’ve been doing fine. I just didn’t see you there and I nearly had a bit of a fall. Tell me, is your father around anywhere? I wanted to have a word with him.”

  “He’s here, but he’s busy,” Philip said suspiciously. “What did you want to talk to him about?”

  “Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Philip,” she said haughtily. “I just wanted to have a word with him. I’m allowed to do that, aren’t I? Speak with my own husband?”

  “As I said, he’s very busy, Georgia. He’s trying to write a toast for tonight. You wouldn’t happen to know what tonight is about, would you? Dad’s been working very hard on the toast and I can’t figure out why.”

  “No, no, I’m afraid I have no idea,” his step-mother said with a little hiccup. “I’m just afraid I -” she stumbled again, and Philip caught her for the second time.

  “Have you been drinking, Georgia?”

  “Drinking? No, don’t be ridiculous, I’m totally sober. I don’t drink anymore.” Even as she said it, Philip noticed her words were slightly slurred.

  “How much did you have?” he asked crossly.

  “Oh, I didn’t - I mean I might have just a little - by accident, you understand - I thought it was the sherry - I mean, I thought the sherry was the - the - soda water.”

  “You might want to get your story a little straighter than that before you talk to Dad,” Philip muttered, grabbing her forearm. “In fact, I think you probably ought to have a little rest before dinner tonight. I have no idea what’s going on but it’s clearly important to Dad, so you might want to sober up first.”

  “Sober up? Ridiculous.” She giggled hysterically. “I’m not drunk. I’m just a little out of sorts, is all, I needed one or two as a pick-me-up, I mean, it was an accident. I thought the sherry was the soda...”

  “Yes, yes,” Philip said patiently. “Let’s find you somewhere to lie down.”

  It was not easy, steering a protesting Georgia from a wheel-chair, but Philip had past experience to guide him. He ushered her down the hall and into the sitting room, where he gently directed her onto the couch. Though she complained every step of the way, the moment Georgia’s head hit the sofa, her eyes closed and she fell backwards, emitting a loud snore. Philip took one look at her and shook his head.

  “Why dad ever married you, I’ll never know,” he muttered, then turned around and wheeled himself back into the main hall, and out into the garden.

  While Philip, like his father, didn’t know anything about gardens or roses, he could appreciate nature as beautiful nonetheless. Their front yard was home to two huge oak trees, unnatural for the climate but carefully cultivated over the years, now tall and strong. A bluish songbird chirped happily from a nearby branch, as the sun smiled brightly down on the waves of grass across the lawn. Philip quickly spotted his quarry and wheeled himself over to the hedge, where a tall, tan, and quite handsome young man in a straw hat was trimming the rose bushes.

  “Hello, Phil,” John said vaguely as he pruned. “So, what did the old man tell you? Any news about why he wants this bush done?”

  “He told me Titus is coming to dinner tonight.”

  John scowled, shook his head, lifted his hat and mopped his brow.

  “That guy, Titus or whatever his name is, always finds something to criticize about these rose bushes. There are people like that in the world, who just can always find something wrong with everything. Personally, I think it’s a miracle that we have enough patience to grow roses at all. They’re such a pain. But they’re beautiful when they finally get here,” he added, gesturing to one particularly vivid red rose.

  “They’re coming in nicely,” Philip agreed, looking at the red rose.

  “Yeah, they’re coming in pretty well. We’ve been lucky this year. We had all that rain a few months ago, followed by a pretty good spell of sunshine. Everything’s happening at all the right times. Not that it matters to your father or Titus. They just want them grown.” He clipped another unruly leaf. “Another thing is we haven’t had as many bees this year.”

  “Is that good?”

  “No, actually, it’s probably bad from the growing perspective, but I don’t like bees.” John frowned. “That might be weird coming from a gardener, but I really hate the damn things. Maybe I’ve just been stung one too many times.”

  Philip nodded and patted him on the shoulder. “Well, good work with the rose bush.”

  “Thanks, though I don’t expect I’ll be hearing that again today. Are you on your way back inside?”

  “Yes. Maybe I’ll take another crack at Dad later. He wouldn’t tell me what he’s up to. Everyone’s been very strange today, actually. Dad, Stacy, Georgia. It seems like everyone has a secret in this house, and none of them wants to talk to me.”

  “That’s human nature, I guess,” the gardener muttered as he culled an errant branch.

  Philip paused. “You know something, John? Dad said exactly the same thing.”

  “Yeah, well, your dad and I are both bright guys, aren’t we? Speaking of secrets, your sister’s been milling around the garden. I get the feeling that there’s something she wants to say to me, but at least as yet she hasn’t gotten closer than about twenty yards.”

  “Funny that,” Philip said, turning so that John couldn’t see him grin. “Anyway, good luck with the roses. Don’t let Titus get you down.”

  “I’ll try not to,” John called back.

  With another big grin on his face, Philip wheeled himself back to the house. Georgia was still snoring loudly on the couch, but she was no longer alone in the room. A dark-haired woman in an apron stood a few feet away, hurriedly polishing the decorative glassware in an open-air display case.

  “Oh!” she said with surprise, fumbling her cloth and the glass she was holding as she caught sight of Philip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there, Philip. You scared me.” Then she put a hand to her mouth and turned an apprehensive look on the sleeping Georgia.

  “It’s alright, Ester. She won’t wake up,” Philip said confidently. “If we tossed her on stage at a rock concert I doubt she’s stir a muscle.”

  “Georgia’s been in a foul mood all day,” Ester commented, finishing with the glass and moving on to the next one. “She’s been yelling at me.”

  Philip frowned. “Well, she shouldn’t do that. What’s she been yelling at you about?”

  “I don’t know. This and that. Not that she’s the only one. Your father told me that he wants everything in the house sparkling for this party tonight. What’s that about?”

  “So you don’t know either? I’m afraid that I d
on’t have the faintest idea, Ester. All I know is that he’s been obsessing over it. He’s locked himself in his study and is refusing to come out until he’s written the Gettysburg Address.”

  Ester giggled slightly and replaced one of the glasses. “I don’t even know why I have to do this,” she said, plucking out another glass. “It’s not as though anyone ever uses any of these, and you can’t see the dust from over there. It’s a job, I guess. You don’t know how lucky you are, Philip. You’ll never have to work if you don’t want to. Working would be really hard for you too, given your - you know?”

  “My legs?” he asked, giving her a quizzical look. “That just means I can’t do manual labor.”

  “No, it’s not just that, Philip. You’ve been sheltered too long, in here all your life, and you don’t know what it’s like in the rest of the world. People would look down on you for not being able to walk, or they would if your father weren’t so rich and powerful. You’d have a very hard time with everything, and even if you could walk, you still wouldn’t like working.” She sighed and looked at the glass she was polishing. “I hate working,” she added. “It’s awful. I wish more than anything else in the whole world that I could come into a lot of money and not have to do this anymore - oh, sorry, not that I mean to say that I don’t like working for you and your family, Philip.”

  “That’s alright,” Philip said with a sigh. “I know it’s an unpleasant thing to do. That’s why we hire someone else to do it instead of doing it ourselves.”

  Ester smiled gently at him. “You really do know how to see things for what they are, Philip. It’s one of the reasons I like you so much.”