Murder Comes to Notchey Creek (Harley Henrickson Cozy Mystery Series Book 1) by Liz S. Andrews

Author:Liz S. Andrews [Andrews, Liz S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little Forest Press
Published: 2018-11-25T23:00:00+00:00

32

Return to Camelot

“Are you ready yet, Harley?” Tina scuttled through the shop’s back door, bringing a current of cold wind and the faint aroma of baked goods with her. She wore a hot pink sweater, matching miniskirt, and silver stilettos with white puffs of fur on the toes. A heart of silver beads glittered from her sweater.

“Ready for what?” It was a little before seven, and Harley was turning off the lights in the storefront windows.

“The engagement party, of course. Michael and Savannah’s. Don’t tell me you forgot.”

In truth, she had forgotten. She was so preoccupied with Patrick’s death and the subsequent events that the party had utterly slipped her mind. Luckily, she had prepared for the occasion the week before, setting aside designated boxes of liquor marked Sutcliffe Engagement on a shelf in the storage room.

“So they’re still having it then?” she asked. “I thought they might’ve canceled because of Patrick.”

“Canceled? Oh no. I got a call from Pearl Johnson this morning, confirmin’. And we can’t miss it, Harley. Michael’s payin’ us too much money to cater this thing.”

“Just let me get my things.”

“Oh, and here’s your uniform.” Tina handed Harley one of the black-and-white tuxedo-style uniforms they used when catering events together. “I know how you love to wear it.”

“I look like a blackjack dealer at a casino.”

“More like Steve Urkel at the prom.” Tina laughed. “Besides, it’s your own fault. You should’ve picked the skirt combo like I did. It’s way cuter.”

“I thought the pants were more practical.”

“You would.”

After Harley closed the store, she and Tina loaded the food and alcohol in the truck bed and made the short pilgrimage to Briarwood and the Sutcliffe’s ancestral home, known throughout the region as Briarcliffe. And if Briarwood was the showplace of this small southern town, then Briarcliffe was its crowning glory.

As Harley’s truck climbed the hill, Briarcliffe’s wrought iron gate rose through a vine of artfully groomed wisteria, the sweetness of summer’s white blossom replaced by autumn’s aroma of woodsmoke rising from the mansion’s chimney.

Harley brought the truck to a rattling stop, her eyes squinting against the glare of the truck’s headlights.

“What a beauty,” Tina said in the passenger seat. “And to think Savanah gets all this.”

Briarcliffe was the town’s oldest property and its most significant, a residence befitting a family of timber barons who had later tripled their wealth in real estate, constructing luxury chalets and hotels in the Smokies. The three-story Georgian home, constructed of butter-yellow limestone hand-hewn from quarries fifty miles north, had rows of large, white-paned windows on each of its three floors, and a wide veranda around the home’s perimeter, its columns tangled with green and red tresses of tumbling ivy.

Harley smiled, gazing out the window, remembering the stories her grandfather had told about Briarcliffe from his childhood. It had been a time of innocence then, he said, those days before one tragedy after another struck the Sutcliffe family.

People packed bathing suits and swam in the creek that traversed the property’s backyard, while

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