Murder at Royal Palms (A cozy mystery novella) (Thursday Club Mysteries Book 1) by Sheila Hudson

Author:Sheila Hudson [Hudson, Sheila]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Take Me Away Books, a division of Winged Publications
Published: 2015-07-21T04:00:00+00:00

~6~

Our community is the epitome of small, southern, and traditional. The membership roster is chocked to the brim with respectable leaders in business, academia, and government. In other words, they were boring. The deacons and elders were hand selected by the former minister for their prestige and influence—gentlemen (no ladies) who were keenly aware of what others expect.

That’s where Miss Meryl comes in. For years, she subtly controlled her pet areas through Mr. Tremaine when he was chairman of the church board. This put her head-to-head with the Ledbetter sisters, Elvira, and sometimes even Hattie. Now that three of her rivals were Golden Palms residents, the competition has lessened. But, Miss Meryl’s influence remained and she might just be persuaded to flex her muscle a bit. True, she was elderly but she was a driving force in the church and community having taught most of them in her classroom.

“Hello darling Roxy,” Miss Meryl called loud enough for the neighbors to hear. The air was brisk but she kept her vigil on the front porch and waved at every passerby. Folks knew that it would be well into the cold wind of November before Miss Meryl would relinquish her post. Even on the frostiest morning, you could see her perched near the window. Not much escaped her keen attention. She had a knack for details. Miss Meryl was used to keeping order since she taught school for forty years. If your family had roots in Athena, she knew all your family secrets for three generations.

“Miss Meryl. How are you? How’s Mr. Tremaine? I brought you those pear preserves that you like and some fresh baked biscuits. Let’s go inside for some tea.”

“No need. I have a pot of tea all ready for our nice chat. Come sit next to me on the glider.” She patted the cushion next to her. Miss Meryl always smelled like lavender. Her pants suit was not fancy but warm and topped with a shawl of many colors. One she probably knitted herself before the arthritis won. After a bit of catching up and chit chat about the comings and goings of our burg, I ventured the question.

“Have you heard that Deacon Parker’s granddaughter is getting married? And what’s more the ceremony is to be in the parsonage.”

“Yes I heard. I knew that she would wind up pregnant and having to wed. Cynthia Parker has the worst reputation in town. Her grandparents tried to straighten her out, but with her background. Land sakes! I am surprised she didn’t get knocked up before now.”

With a steady hand, Miss Meryl poured tea out of her silver service and passed me a cup and saucer. The aroma of peppermint warmed me even before a sip. After slicing a biscuit, she slathered it with a layer of butter and pear preserves. She smacked her lips and continued, “I haven’t been in the parsonage in years. No offense. But is it fit for a wedding?”

And there it was. The open door I needed.

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