The Turtle Mound Murder Read online

  Praise for Mary Clay’s

  A DAFFODILS* Mystery

  *Divorced And Finally Free Of Deceitful, Insensitive, Licentious Scum (TM)

  “Witty and hilarious...”

  Midwest Book Review

  “... a crisp pace with plenty of humor ...”

  Romantic Times BookClub

  “The Ya Ya Sisterhood meets The First Wives Club. A cleverly done light mystery that’s a rare find ...”

  The Examiner (Beaumont, Texas)

  “The Turtle Mound Murder is light and accentuated with the familiar mannerisms of Southern women. ... A fun book.”

  Southern Halifax Magazine

  “Bike Week Blues is one of the funniest capers this reviewer has had the privilege of reading.”

  Harriet Klausner, #1 Reviewer, Amazon.com

  “Sometimes we just need something fun to read. The DAFFODILS Mysteries fit the bill.”

  The DeLand-Deltona Beacon

  * * *

  DAFFODILS Mysteries

  written as

  Mary Clay

  The Turtle Mound Murder

  Bike Week Blues

  Murder is the Pits

  New Age Fiction

  written by

  Linda Tuck-Jenkins aka Mary Clay

  Starpeople: The Sirian Redemption

  * * *

  A DAFFODILS* Mystery

  *Divorced And Finally Free Of Deceitful,

  Insensitive, Licentious Scum (TM)

  The Turtle Mound Murder

  Mary Clay

  An IF Mystery

  An Imprint of Inspirational Fiction

  New Smyrna Beach, Florida

  * * *

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by IF Mystery, an imprint of Inspirational Fiction

  P. O. Box 2509

  New Smyrna Beach, FL 32170-2509

  www.inspirationalfiction.com

  Cover Design: Peri Poloni, www.knockoutbooks.com

  This is a work of fiction. All places, names, characters and incidents are either invented or used fictitiously. The events described are purely imaginary.

  Smashwords Edition

  ePub ISBN 978-0-9710429-0-2

  Copyright © 2009 Linda Tuck-Jenkins

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  Roswell, Georgia

  “Damn, girl, you look like hell!”

  I slid into the booth next to the window at the Admiral’s Dinghy, a locals’ hangout in the restored district of Roswell. Penelope Sue Parker, my long-time friend and sorority sister, was already finishing a glass of wine. From the gleam in Penny Sue’s eye, it might have been her second.

  “Thanks, that makes me feel real good,” I said sarcastically.

  Penny Sue studied me, sipping wine, sunlight bouncing off the two-carat diamond on her right hand. “You look like you haven’t slept in a year. Heavens, you have dark circles under your eyes.” She raised her glass, signaling the waiter. “What’s wrong, honey? You still depressed?”

  “I’m going to change my name,” I said in a rush.

  “I don’t blame you. I’d get rid of that skunk Zack’s name as soon as possible. I’m surprised you haven’t done it sooner. As far as I’m concerned, you’ll always be Becky Martin.”

  “Leigh,” I corrected. The waiter arrived with two glasses of wine. I stared at the glass the waiter put in front of me. “What’s this, Penny Sue? You know I shouldn’t drink; I’ve been taking antidepressants off and on for months.”

  “Pooh, one little glass of wine won’t kill you. It’ll help you relax.” Penny Sue pouted, fingering the substantial emerald hanging from her neck. “What’s this stuff about Leigh?”

  “My middle name. I’m sick of being Becky. Good old Becky; sweet, cute Becky; dumb shit, blind Becky.”

  “You were just too trusting,” my friend assured me.

  Stupid, trusting, the label made no difference; Zachary Stratton had played me for a fool. As soon as the kids were off to college, my loving husband took up woodworking. Each night when I went to bed, he’d retire to his shop in the garage for a couple of hours. A partner in Atlanta’s most prestigious law firm, Zack claimed rubbing and sanding wood relieved the stress of his hectic day.

  Wood, hell—it was silicon breasts!

  While I snored blissfully, Zack sneaked out to meet a strip club dancer he’d set up in a house a few blocks away. The scam worked for over a year until Ann, our younger, was picked up for DUI late one night. I rushed to the garage to tell Zack. The tools were cold, and his car was gone.

  A staunch believer in a person’s right to privacy, I’d never intruded on Zack’s domain. I made an exception that night. In a matter of minutes, I found a carton of wooden figurines identical to the ones he claimed to have made. In a sickening flash I realized the find’s implications and gagged, recalling the times I’d ooed and awed over the silly statues. Rage suppressed the tears and gave me the strength to carry the box to the center of the garage. When Zack returned home, I was waiting, feet propped up on Exhibit A.

  “I’m forty-six; Becky is a child’s name.” I took a drink of wine and glared. “Leigh, now there’s a woman’s name. Momma got it from Gone With the Wind. You know, Scarlett, Vivien Leigh. I deserve that name, don’t you think?”

  “Absolutely,” Penny Sue said, raising her glass in salute, “Leigh it is. What in the world brought this on?”

  “My therapist said it would help me release the past.”

  “Are you still seeing that squirrelly guy downtown?”

  “No, I gave him up months ago. He was too strange.”

  Penny Sue threw back her head and laughed. “Of course, dear, he’s a therapist. They’re all weird. You teach what you need to learn.” The New Age explanation for the purpose of life, the phrase was Penny Sue’s pat answer to everything. “Why did you drop Dr. Nerd?”

  I scanned the room to see who might be listening. “The jerk crossed the line when he suggested I attend a Sufi ceremony, saying a novel experience would help my depression. It was novel, all right. By the time I arrived, everyone was naked, lying in a pile. My therapist was on the bottom.”

  Penny Sue snorted with amusement. “Figures. I would have guessed as much. What about that other one? The attitude healer in Vinings? Did you ever try her?”

  “Yes, lord, another dead end.”

  “What happened? Ruthie said she was good.”

  I sat back and folded my arms. “That’s not saying much—Ruthie hasn’t been right since she drove off the bridge and cracked her head. I signed up for the Heal Your Mind, Heal Your Life workshop, figuring it would give me a chance to see the therapist in action, before going for a private session. Am I glad I did; that lady’s in dire need of analysis herself.

  “Waltzes in the first meeting and announces she’s a reincarnated priestess from ancient Egypt. Then, she starts in on visualizing the future we want.” I waved expansively. “Nothing wrong with that; except we can’t just imagine it, we’ve got to visualize her way. We have to cut out pictures from magazines and make paper dolls. She did it, too. All her pictures came from bridal magazines. Paper dolls? Bridal magazines? Does that tell you something? And I’m supposed to follow her advice? Yeah, right.”

  Penny Sue chuckled. “That explains why Ruthie liked her. Ruthie’s always had a fetish for wedding gowns. Remember how she wore one to the Old South Ball at Kappa Alpha each year?”

  “I’d forgotten about that. The gown wasn’t so bad, it was the veil—”
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  “With sunglasses! Wasn’t she a sight?”

  “How’s Ruthie doing anyway?” I asked.

  “The same. Lives with her father; works on charities and an occasional political campaign. She’s still into New Age stuff; you know, meditation and crystals. You should give her a call. She’s always going to meetings and séances. I’ve been a few times, it’s fun. Nothing else, it would get you out of the house.”

  I leaned forward. I could already feel the effects of the wine. “Maybe I will.” Getting out with people was what I needed; I knew I’d become almost reclusive, dreading the thought of running into old friends and having to re-tell the story of The Big Split. Yet, the loneliness fed the depression, which made me more reclusive, and on and on until there was nothing except a dark emptiness. A great, gaping void in the center of my chest; a black hole that could not be filled by therapy or pills. “Does Ruthie ever date?”

  Penny Sue said, “Heavens no, she’ll never remarry, at least as long as her father’s alive.”

  Ruthie’s father was J.T. Edwards, a retired railroad executive who lived in a restored mansion in Buckhead. I blinked back tears. “Probably just as well.”

  “What’s got you so down?”

  I blotted my eyes with the back of my hand. “Zack moved out last week while I was visiting my folks.”

  “That’s terrific news! Y’all living under the same roof while you fought over the property settlement was sick. I told Daddy so.” Penny Sue’s daddy was Judge Warren Parker, founder of Zachary’s firm. “Daddy likes you and feels bad about the situation, but Zack’s a valuable asset to the firm, because of his connections with the telephone people. They love him.”

  “Naturally,” I said. “He takes them to strip joints whenever they come to town. That’s how Zack met Ms. Thong.”

  “Who?”

  “His little lap dancer. I found a picture of her in a silver thong bikini at the bottom of Zack’s sock drawer.”

  Penny Sue shrugged. “Daddy promised to have a word with Zack, advise him to give you a fair shake. You know, fifty-fifty.”

  My cheeks flamed. “It worked,” I said, trying hard to control my anger. “Mr. Fairness took half of everything in the house. Half of the pictures on the walls, half of each set of china, and half of the furniture, right down to one of Zack, Jr.’s twin beds.”

  “Half the Wedgwood?” Penny Sue asked. I nodded. “No wonder you’re depressed.”

  “The Wedgwood’s the least of my worries, he could have had it all. It was the spite that gets me. We’re supposed to sign off on the property settlement tomorrow. I can’t imagine what else he’s got up his sleeve. A person who’d take half the sheets—I mean all the top sheets, no bottoms—is capable of anything.”

  “No doubt.” Penny Sue drained her glass and clicked it down. “Girl, you need a vacation.”

  “Vacation? After tomorrow I may not be able to afford lunch. Besides, I have to sell the house.”

  “Hire a realtor; you need a change of scenery. New Smyrna Beach is beautiful in the Fall and Daddy hardly ever uses his condo anymore. Remember what a good time we had there in college? Come on, Beck—er, Leigh—it’ll be relaxing, do you a world of good.”

  “I’ll see how the settlement goes,” I replied.

  Thankfully, the waiter arrived to take our order, shutting Penny Sue down. I chose the Caesar salad, while she ordered quiche with a Dinghy Dong for dessert.

  “A Dinghy Dong? Isn’t that the extra large chocolate eclair?”

  Penny Sue cut me a look. “So?”

  “Comfort food? What’s wrong, did you breakup with the Atlanta Falcon?”

  Penny Sue raked a hand through her meticulously streaked hair. “Honey, I’m dating a Falcon and a Brave, now. But, a Dinghy Dong’s something else; I always have room for one of them.”

  * * *

  From Parker, Hanson, and Swindal’s twenty-third floor conference room in downtown Atlanta, the people on the street looked like ants foraging for crumbs. I could sympathize, I had a bad feeling that’s what I’d be doing at the end of the day.

  I should never have quit my job, I thought ruefully. Until the fateful night when I found out about Zack, I’d been a part-time bookkeeper for a local car dealership. Money wasn’t the issue, though I enjoyed having funds of my own. The job gave me a sense of purpose, something to think about other than bridge and local gossip. But I couldn’t concentrate and started making mistakes after I discovered Zack’s other life. Afraid I might do serious damage, like fouling up an IRS report, I decided to quit.

  Although most of my sorority sisters were pampered Southern belles, my family was a hundred percent middle class. I was one of only two sorority pledges who had not “come out” at a debutante ball. That never bothered me, or them, for that matter. By my senior year I was president of the sorority and a regular at all the posh, hotsy-totsy balls.

  Which was how I got hooked up with Zachary. A six-foot-one handsome blond from a poor, farming family, Zack was in his last year of law school when we met. He’d dated Penny Sue first, but was dumped for her first husband, Andy Walters, the amiable, if dumb, captain of the football team.

  I see now what a shameless social climber Zack was. I suppose he figured that if he couldn’t have Penny Sue, I was an acceptable second, since I traveled in all the same circles. Second indeed. Considering Zack’s lackluster grades and dirt farming roots, Parker, Hanson, and Swindal would never have given him a glance if it hadn’t been for my friendship with Penny Sue.

  Which was an ironic twist—I set Zack up in the firm that was about to squash me like an ant. I turned my back to the window angrily. Well, this was one bug that wasn’t going to roll over and die.

  I sat at the end of the conference table and fished a thick file of documents from my briefcase. Where was my attorney? Max Bennett promised to come early. He knew I didn’t want to face Zack alone, especially on his own turf. How could Max be so insensitive? Easy, he’s male and a lawyer, I answered my own question.

  I had really wanted a female attorney, but decided a woman would be powerless against Zack’s firm and the Atlanta good-ol’-boy network. Bradford Davis was handling Zack’s case, a PH&S senior partner whose great-great-grandfather was a Confederate General who defended Atlanta in the War of Northern Aggression. I figured I needed a legal heavyweight of my own. I chose Max because his ancestors on his mother’s side went back to Colonial times, and he’d handled several high profile divorces with good results. In any event, he’d seemed nice enough the few times we’d chatted at charity events and cocktail parties.

  Appearances can sure be deceiving. However the day turned out, I would be happy to be rid of Max Bennett. I’d had a bellyful of his red, sweaty face; off-color jokes and patronizing remarks—not to mention the fact that he hadn’t done one thing right.

  The process had dragged on for nearly two years because Max couldn’t or wouldn’t stand up to Bradford Davis. The present meeting had been postponed four times at Bradford’s request, once to accommodate a state bar golf tournament. In fact, Max was so openly solicitous of Bradford, I’d wondered if the two had something going on the side. I voiced the theory to Penny Sue, figuring she might have some insight since her second husband had turned out to be bisexual.

  “Who can tell?” Penny Sue said. “Even straight men act like a pack of dogs, sniffing each other and posturing. All that butt slapping and carrying on, it’s in their genes, goes back to ancient Greece where they played sports in the nude.”

  The idea of Max and Bradford romping around buck-naked was too much. I laughed out loud at the very moment Max, Bradford and Zack arrived. Clearly thinking I was snickering at them, each instinctively checked his fly. Even they noticed that synchronicity, which made me laugh even harder.

  Scowling, Bradford and Zack took seats at the head of the table in front of an ornately framed painting of Judge Parker. Max sat next to me at the opposite end. He nodded coldly as way of greeting.

  “I
believe we can dispose of this matter quickly,” Max said, passing a three page document to me. “Mr. Stratton provided a list of your joint assets and their market value. He wants to be fair and proposes to divide your belongings right down the middle. Since a quick sale could depress the value of your property, Mr. Stratton has offered to buy-out your share by making monthly installments over a five year period. In that way, he can dispose of the property in an orderly fashion.”

  I flipped to the last page of the document. The total was $1.1 million, including $550,000 for the house. “This can’t be everything.”

  Max cleared his throat. “Uh, no, it does not include household furnishings, which have already been divided, or personal items such as your cars.”

  The total was far too low. My rough calculation put our assets at well over two million. I scanned the list. All the values were ridiculously low, and a number of investments were missing altogether. Zack was trying to cheat me, just as I’d feared. “These estimates are wrong,” I said loudly, staring defiantly at Zack.

  Bradford smirked. “You must remember, Becky dear, that the markets have been off the last few years.”

  “Leigh,” I corrected.

  “As you wish, Leigh,” Bradford replied, putting particular emphasis on my name as if it had a bad taste. Zack snorted with amusement. “Names aside,” Bradford continued pompously, “the property was evaluated by Walker & Hill, the most reputable independent appraiser in Atlanta. Surely, you cannot find fault with that.”