by: Candace Havens
Series: Ainsley McGregor
Genre: Cozy Mystery
Release Date: January 21, 2020
Publisher: Tule Publishing
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The closer she gets to the truth, the more she finds herself drowning in trouble
It’s an exciting time in Sweet River, Texas, and the whole town is talking. Maybe, a little too much. Former English professor Ainsley McGregor has gambled everything on her new business: Bless Your Art, an artisan market where local artists sell their wares and teach classes.
The bright, white space is filled to the brim with colorful art, yarn, jewelry, pet treats, antiques and even a few medieval weapons. Oh, and there are wine tastings. Everything is better with wine. Ainsley is surprised by how well things are going–right up until the moment her Great Dane finds a dead body. With her friend accused of the murder, it’s up to Ainsley to find the real killer.
As the suspect list grows longer, Ainsley has her work cut out for her. The task is made more difficult by the fact her brother, the sheriff, doesn’t seem to want her help. If she doesn’t wrap up the case soon, she might be the next wine, um, one to die.
After some early morning calls from Maria, Mrs. Whedon, and a few others with booths at the shop confirming their attendance for the grand opening, I got ready and headed into town. I had been awake most of the night running through potential murder suspects in my head, trying to put together a short list of people for Greg to interview. Anyone and everyone who had ever given me the creeps or the willies.
Needless to say, sleep had not been my friend.
To make room for the customers, I parked in the back, where there were a few spaces for those who owned stores on Main Street. The opening wasn’t scheduled for another hour, but as George and I made our way to the front of the store, a long line of people waited to get in.
“Oh. Wow,” I said to George. “I guess it’s a good thing we’re here.”
I turned everything on and made sure the computers that we used as registers were ready to roll.
A half hour later, there was a knock on the back door. I’d sent a text asking those manning their booths today to come in from the rear.
Michael was there with a dolly full of wine cases and a package of small paper cups. “Did you see that crowd out front? I told you there was no reason to worry.” He smiled, and I opened the door wider so he could get in.
“You were right about the curiosity, I guess. And, Michael, I know he wasn’t very nice to you, but I’m sorry that guy you were talking to is dead.”
He shook his head. “It’s awful, really. Rick was not a great person, but no one deserves to be murdered like that. And I’m even sorrier you had to find him. I mean, he’d just moved here. He couldn’t have known that many people. He could get a person riled up, don’t get me wrong. But murder? Just doesn’t make sense. I don’t even remember the last time we had something like that happen in Sweet River.”
“Maria told me last night that it had been almost forty years. I have a feeling every time I go out to the park with George, I’m going to remember.”
And I’d also be searching for clues as to what happened.
“It’s a sad business,” Michael said.
As he backed into the building with the dolly, he paused to stare out at the park. The police tape was just visible up on the hill. My shoulders shook, and dread crawled down my spine.
“Well, come on, boy,” said Mrs. Whedon, who had walked up. “We need to get in to man our stations, and you’re blocking the way.”
Michael seemed to check himself and then smiled down at the old woman. “Morning, Mrs. Whedon.”
“Morning. Busy day ahead. Don’t you have things you should be doing?” She turned that wicked stare on me.
“Yes, ma’am. Since you guys are here, I’ll just leave the back door unlocked.”
At nine fifty-eight, I announced over the PA system that I was opening the doors. There was a mad dash as people streamed in. While many of them went for the various booths, four women headed straight for the checkout counter. I propped the door open and went to see what they wanted.
They were piling casserole dishes on the counter.
“How are you, dear? Such a terrible thing you suffered yesterday. We wanted to bring you some food, so you didn’t have to think about cooking,” an older woman with curly white hair said. “If we’d known earlier last night, we would have brought it out to the house.”
“Um. Thank you. This is…” Weird. I could see why they might take food to the murdered man’s family, but I’d just found him. I didn’t deserve their kindness.
“So traumatic,” the white-haired woman said. “I’m Helen Irby, and these lovely ladies are all a part of the Widow Circle. We always try to help families out during times of trouble.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I said. “Really.”
“So, what can you tell us about the victim? Someone said his head was bashed in. Did you know he and his wife had just moved to town? We’re headed to her house next.” Helen shot the words at me like bullets from a gun. I had to take a moment to think about what she’d said.
No. I didn’t know any of that. I’d assumed, since he was a part of some bigger company trying to buy Michael’s place, that he was from out of town. Obviously, if I was going to search for answers on my own to help Greg and the investigation, I needed to know a lot more about Rick, his family and his business.
“I feel so sorry for his family,” she said. From the way he treated Shannon and Michael, he couldn’t have been a terribly nice man.
“I’m Erma,” said the tiny woman next to Helen. “I heard that they already have a suspect in the murder and that there could be an arrest today. My nephew Kevin works as one of the assistant deputies while he goes to college. I’m so proud of that boy. Anyhoo, he was telling me that it’s pretty open and shut. They’re just waiting for some fingerprints or something.”
I shivered again. Funny. I’d called my brother this morning and he hadn’t told me a darn thing, just that it was an active investigation and he couldn’t discuss it.
Seemed these women had more information than Greg was sharing. Probably a good idea for me to question them after they met with the widow. I might be able to pick up additional information.
“You better get these casseroles in the fridge,” said Helen. “We have some shopping to do, ladies, and then we’ll visit the new widow. Oh, and let us know when your book club meets. We all want to join,” she said.
I handed her the flyer with all of the upcoming classes and events listed. “And come find me when you’re on your way out to visit the widow. This is my town now, too, and I want to pay my respects and send a basket of goodies.”
Helen winked and the ladies disappeared down an aisle.
My brain hurt. There was no other way to explain it. I asked Maria to help me put the casseroles in the fridge and put together a basket of prepackaged food for the new widow.
Bless Your Art was so crowded that we didn’t have time to think most of the day. There’d been a few hiccups but nothing that wasn’t easily fixed.
Six hours later, the sales on our first day had far exceeded anything I could have imagined.
The number made no sense.
We’d made our first month’s forecast in profits, in one day.
One. Day.
Of course, that probably had to do with the fact that everyone in Sweet River wanted to ask me about what I’d seen and share their theories. When I wasn’t able to tell them anything, they went off to shop.
To get out of telling the story a thousand times, we explained that the police had asked me not to say anything. Which meant everyone knew the whole story an hour later and I hadn’t said a word.
That’s the way small towns worked.
This town was full of gossips, and I was certain every single one of them had been in the store.
We were about to close when three police cars with sirens blaring and lights flashing pulled up in front of the store.
“What’s going on?” I asked Samantha, who had arrived after school to help at the register. She’d been a godsend today. Turned out the cheerleading book nerd was also good at math and science. She could tally as fast as the computer scanners we used. And she was just so darn cheerful, I’m sure it helped balance out my silence. While I’d functioned on some level and even managed to smile a few times, I felt like I was in some kind of Twilight Zone episode where my world had shifted on its axis.
I worried I might never feel like myself again.
“Did someone maybe trip an alarm?” Samantha asked. “You’ve got so much security in this place, it’s possible.”
My brother came through the door.
“Hey, we were about to close up. What’s going on?” I asked.
“I need you to lock the front door and not let anyone else in. Are there any customers still here?”
“No. We just checked out the last of them.”
The detective I’d talked to yesterday came through the door. She nodded toward me. “I sent Dickens around the back, just in case he tries to run,” she said.
My brother frowned. “I don’t think he’ll do that. He’s a good man.”
“Who murdered someone.”
“Allegedly murdered. I told you, those fingerprints have a very good reason for being on the bottle,” Greg said.
“Who?” I asked. Someone in my store was accused of murder? It didn’t make sense. The checkout area was raised so I could see over the whole place. I glanced around to see who was left. Everyone was focused on my brother and the detective.
Then the detective headed to Michael’s booth. He watched her walk toward him, and when she started reading his rights, he shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“You have the right to remain silent,” the detective continued. And then when she finished reading his rights, she asked him to put his hands behind his back and cuffed him.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Greg said.
“By the book,” the detective said. “You want it all by the book. He’s a friend of yours—you know we have to do it this way.”
“Greg, come on. You can’t believe I would do something like this,” Michael said, his voice clogged with emotion. It was almost as if he were about to cry. But there was no denying the look on his face—he was shocked. He couldn’t believe what they were accusing him of, and there was no way he was that good of an actor. “This isn’t real. I—Ainsley, call Shannon. I can’t believe this.”
Needless to say, sleep had not been my friend.
To make room for the customers, I parked in the back, where there were a few spaces for those who owned stores on Main Street. The opening wasn’t scheduled for another hour, but as George and I made our way to the front of the store, a long line of people waited to get in.
“Oh. Wow,” I said to George. “I guess it’s a good thing we’re here.”
I turned everything on and made sure the computers that we used as registers were ready to roll.
A half hour later, there was a knock on the back door. I’d sent a text asking those manning their booths today to come in from the rear.
Michael was there with a dolly full of wine cases and a package of small paper cups. “Did you see that crowd out front? I told you there was no reason to worry.” He smiled, and I opened the door wider so he could get in.
“You were right about the curiosity, I guess. And, Michael, I know he wasn’t very nice to you, but I’m sorry that guy you were talking to is dead.”
He shook his head. “It’s awful, really. Rick was not a great person, but no one deserves to be murdered like that. And I’m even sorrier you had to find him. I mean, he’d just moved here. He couldn’t have known that many people. He could get a person riled up, don’t get me wrong. But murder? Just doesn’t make sense. I don’t even remember the last time we had something like that happen in Sweet River.”
“Maria told me last night that it had been almost forty years. I have a feeling every time I go out to the park with George, I’m going to remember.”
And I’d also be searching for clues as to what happened.
“It’s a sad business,” Michael said.
As he backed into the building with the dolly, he paused to stare out at the park. The police tape was just visible up on the hill. My shoulders shook, and dread crawled down my spine.
“Well, come on, boy,” said Mrs. Whedon, who had walked up. “We need to get in to man our stations, and you’re blocking the way.”
Michael seemed to check himself and then smiled down at the old woman. “Morning, Mrs. Whedon.”
“Morning. Busy day ahead. Don’t you have things you should be doing?” She turned that wicked stare on me.
“Yes, ma’am. Since you guys are here, I’ll just leave the back door unlocked.”
At nine fifty-eight, I announced over the PA system that I was opening the doors. There was a mad dash as people streamed in. While many of them went for the various booths, four women headed straight for the checkout counter. I propped the door open and went to see what they wanted.
They were piling casserole dishes on the counter.
“How are you, dear? Such a terrible thing you suffered yesterday. We wanted to bring you some food, so you didn’t have to think about cooking,” an older woman with curly white hair said. “If we’d known earlier last night, we would have brought it out to the house.”
“Um. Thank you. This is…” Weird. I could see why they might take food to the murdered man’s family, but I’d just found him. I didn’t deserve their kindness.
“So traumatic,” the white-haired woman said. “I’m Helen Irby, and these lovely ladies are all a part of the Widow Circle. We always try to help families out during times of trouble.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I said. “Really.”
“So, what can you tell us about the victim? Someone said his head was bashed in. Did you know he and his wife had just moved to town? We’re headed to her house next.” Helen shot the words at me like bullets from a gun. I had to take a moment to think about what she’d said.
No. I didn’t know any of that. I’d assumed, since he was a part of some bigger company trying to buy Michael’s place, that he was from out of town. Obviously, if I was going to search for answers on my own to help Greg and the investigation, I needed to know a lot more about Rick, his family and his business.
“I feel so sorry for his family,” she said. From the way he treated Shannon and Michael, he couldn’t have been a terribly nice man.
“I’m Erma,” said the tiny woman next to Helen. “I heard that they already have a suspect in the murder and that there could be an arrest today. My nephew Kevin works as one of the assistant deputies while he goes to college. I’m so proud of that boy. Anyhoo, he was telling me that it’s pretty open and shut. They’re just waiting for some fingerprints or something.”
I shivered again. Funny. I’d called my brother this morning and he hadn’t told me a darn thing, just that it was an active investigation and he couldn’t discuss it.
Seemed these women had more information than Greg was sharing. Probably a good idea for me to question them after they met with the widow. I might be able to pick up additional information.
“You better get these casseroles in the fridge,” said Helen. “We have some shopping to do, ladies, and then we’ll visit the new widow. Oh, and let us know when your book club meets. We all want to join,” she said.
I handed her the flyer with all of the upcoming classes and events listed. “And come find me when you’re on your way out to visit the widow. This is my town now, too, and I want to pay my respects and send a basket of goodies.”
Helen winked and the ladies disappeared down an aisle.
My brain hurt. There was no other way to explain it. I asked Maria to help me put the casseroles in the fridge and put together a basket of prepackaged food for the new widow.
Bless Your Art was so crowded that we didn’t have time to think most of the day. There’d been a few hiccups but nothing that wasn’t easily fixed.
Six hours later, the sales on our first day had far exceeded anything I could have imagined.
The number made no sense.
We’d made our first month’s forecast in profits, in one day.
One. Day.
Of course, that probably had to do with the fact that everyone in Sweet River wanted to ask me about what I’d seen and share their theories. When I wasn’t able to tell them anything, they went off to shop.
To get out of telling the story a thousand times, we explained that the police had asked me not to say anything. Which meant everyone knew the whole story an hour later and I hadn’t said a word.
That’s the way small towns worked.
This town was full of gossips, and I was certain every single one of them had been in the store.
We were about to close when three police cars with sirens blaring and lights flashing pulled up in front of the store.
“What’s going on?” I asked Samantha, who had arrived after school to help at the register. She’d been a godsend today. Turned out the cheerleading book nerd was also good at math and science. She could tally as fast as the computer scanners we used. And she was just so darn cheerful, I’m sure it helped balance out my silence. While I’d functioned on some level and even managed to smile a few times, I felt like I was in some kind of Twilight Zone episode where my world had shifted on its axis.
I worried I might never feel like myself again.
“Did someone maybe trip an alarm?” Samantha asked. “You’ve got so much security in this place, it’s possible.”
My brother came through the door.
“Hey, we were about to close up. What’s going on?” I asked.
“I need you to lock the front door and not let anyone else in. Are there any customers still here?”
“No. We just checked out the last of them.”
The detective I’d talked to yesterday came through the door. She nodded toward me. “I sent Dickens around the back, just in case he tries to run,” she said.
My brother frowned. “I don’t think he’ll do that. He’s a good man.”
“Who murdered someone.”
“Allegedly murdered. I told you, those fingerprints have a very good reason for being on the bottle,” Greg said.
“Who?” I asked. Someone in my store was accused of murder? It didn’t make sense. The checkout area was raised so I could see over the whole place. I glanced around to see who was left. Everyone was focused on my brother and the detective.
Then the detective headed to Michael’s booth. He watched her walk toward him, and when she started reading his rights, he shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“You have the right to remain silent,” the detective continued. And then when she finished reading his rights, she asked him to put his hands behind his back and cuffed him.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Greg said.
“By the book,” the detective said. “You want it all by the book. He’s a friend of yours—you know we have to do it this way.”
“Greg, come on. You can’t believe I would do something like this,” Michael said, his voice clogged with emotion. It was almost as if he were about to cry. But there was no denying the look on his face—he was shocked. He couldn’t believe what they were accusing him of, and there was no way he was that good of an actor. “This isn’t real. I—Ainsley, call Shannon. I can’t believe this.”
Purchase A Case for the Winemaker from:
The Ainsley McGregor Series:
A Case for the Yarn Maker releases April 16, 2020
Bestselling author Candace Havens has published more than 25 books. Her novels have received nominations for the RITA's, Holt Medallion, Write Touch Reader Awards and National Readers Choice Awards. She is a Barbara Wilson Award winner. She is the author of the biography “Joss Whedon: The Genius Behind Buffy” and a contributor to several anthologies. She is also one of the nation's leading entertainment journalists and has interviewed countless celebrities from George Clooney to Chris Pratt. Candace also runs a free online writing workshop for more than 2000 writers, and teaches comprehensive writing classes. She does film reviews with Hawkeye in the Morning on 96.3 KSCS, and is a former President of the Television Critics Association.
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