A Word Before Dying: Mysteries to Die For

By TG Wolff, Jack Wolff, Judi Lynn and 5 more

The last word has been a common element of mysteries going back to the emergence of the genre. In Hercule Poirot's first case, The Mysterious Affair at Styles, Mrs. Emily Cavendish Inglethorpe's last word was "Alfred." But was her husband's name said for comfort or as an accusation? In Nayland Smith's first engagement on British soil with The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu, Sir Creighton Davey's last words were "the red hand." Was there meaning to the puzzling phrase or was it a symptom of a dying mind? Then, of course, is the greatest last word ever, Citizen Kane and "Rosebud."

For your puzzle solving pleasure, Mysteries to Die For presents: A Word Before Dying. Nuts. Hiawatha. In Vino Veritas. El Melena. Bad Luck. Sue Her. Best Friend. Ghost. Shadow. Nine enigmatic phrases. Nine stories arranged for you to deduce the truth before the detective takes center stage.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mysteries To Die For
• Release date: Aug 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986641607

TG Wolff

TG Wolff writes mysteries for puzzle lovers. Her stories are intended to be solvable, giving every industrious amateur detective what they need to unravel the case. In addition to her De La Cruz Casefile and Diamond mystery series, TG Wolff is half of the brain power behind the podcast Mysteries to Die For. Keep up with her through her blog and e-zine, available through tgwolff.com

Book preview

Introduction

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Welcome to Mysteries to Die For.

I am TG Wolff and this is the book that goes with the podcast where my piano player / producer Jack and I combine storytelling with original music to put you at the heart of mystery, murder, and mayhem.

To hear these stories along with background on the authors, context on setting and, of course, Jack’s incredible original music, look for Mysteries to Die For wherever you get your podcasts or check out my website www.tgwolff.com/podcast.

Each Mysteries to Die For season has a mystery-based theme. A Word Before Dying is Season 4 and contains nine original stories around the theme of the murder victim’s last spoken word.

The last word has been a common element of mysteries going back to the emergence of the genre. In Hercule Poirot’s first case, The Mysterious Affair at Styles, Mrs. Emily Cavendish Inglethorp’s last word was Alfred. But did she say her husband’s name for comfort . . . or as an accusation? In Nayland Smith’s first engagement on British soil with The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu, Sir Creighton Davey’s last words were the red hand. Was there meaning to the enigmatic phrase, or was it a symptom of a dying mind? Then, of course, there is the greatest last word ever, Citizen Kane’s Rosebud.

As a mystery lover, I take it as a personal challenge to solve each case along with the detective. These short stories are arranged to enable you to do the same. After the case is laid out, there is a break titled Deliberation. That is your cue to lock in on your suspect. Then comes the big reveal.

As Aurora Williams would say, Happy hunting, Detectives.

Nuts!

Judi Lynn

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A First Wedding Anniversary Complication

Laurel was about to punch in the code numbers the owner of the Airbnb had given her when its door creaked open. Hmm. The owner must have forgotten to lock up when she left. Grabbing her grocery bags, Laurel bumped the door the rest of the way open with her hip. She pushed her way into the foyer and held the door so that Nick could follow, rolling in their big cooler.

They’d decided to enjoy a long weekend on Lake Michigan for their first-year anniversary. And they’d come prepared. Bottles of wine. Fresh crab cakes from the seafood market in town. Frozen shrimp. Filet mignon. Croissants and bags of salad. Time to indulge.

Their first year together had gone fast. Nick had finished and sold his true crime novel based on the Midlife Murderer. Laurel had volunteered random hours at the soup kitchen and hospital. Their kitten had grown into a cat, and Laurel had put out extra bowls of food and water before they left.

The house they rented overlooked the water. Its backyard ended in sand. In early July, Lake Michigan’s water was still too cold to enjoy, but they could walk the dunes and ride the ferry that crossed the river on the far side of the small tourist town. Shops and restaurants looked intriguing, plenty of spots to eat lunches out while watching boats dock nearby. Four days of fun.

The Airbnb was even better than they’d expected—a gray shingled two-story with a wraparound porch. They walked into a large, airy sitting area, divided by a huge island from a gourmet kitchen with all white cupboards and butcher block countertops. Laurel circled the island to reach the cupboards but had to stop abruptly to keep from tripping over a woman sprawled on the floor, fighting for breath. Thin and older with dark hair threaded with silver, she gasped, trying to suck in air.

Laurel tossed her bags on the island and dropped down beside her. Nick! Call 911!

He let go of the cooler and reached for his phone.

Where does it hurt? Laurel asked. Did you swallow something that got stuck?

The woman shook her head, desperately clawing for something in her purse. Laurel grabbed the purse and turned it upside down, scattering its contents across the oak planks. Do you have pills? Nitroglycerin? What are you looking for?

Pleated with wrinkles, the woman’s face was turning slightly blue. She gripped Laurel’s arm and wheezed. Nuts!

Nuts? Oh, crap. An allergic reaction? Laurel asked.

A slight nod as her throat constricted more.

A retired nurse, Laurel knew there wasn’t much she could do for her. Do you have an EpiPen?

The woman’s lips moved but she couldn’t talk. She pointed to a kitchen drawer. Nick dug through it, shaking his head. I don’t see a pen.

Laurel pulled the drawer out of its opening and dumped it on the island’s counter. Only a can opener, wine corks, scissors, and odds and ends. Nick searched through more drawers. Nothing.

Laurel turned to ask the woman another place it might be, but she’d lost consciousness. We’re losing her.

Nick opened and shut cupboards, hoping the pen had been misplaced. Just then, an ambulance pulled in the driveway, and he ran to meet them. It’s an allergic reaction. She can’t breathe.

One of the EMTs reached for an EpiPen, and they rushed inside.

Laurel and Nick stood out of the way as the EMTs worked on her, but she was unresponsive as they loaded her on a stretcher to take her to the hospital. Will she make it? Nick asked.

It’s going to be close, the one who’d administered the shot said. Do you know her?

Nick shook his head, holding the door as they wheeled her to the ambulance. We rented the house for four days and found her on the floor.

The second EMT said, She’s its owner. Comes in to clean between guests. Thanks for calling. They finished loading her, then he and his partner were gone. The house was suddenly silent.

Nick and Laurel looked at each other. Not quite the romantic beginning I was hoping for, Nick said.

Laurel went to wrap her arms around him. Tall, dark, and drop-dead gorgeous, he still took her breath away. Life had given her the best of both worlds. Her first husband was kind and scholarly. Nick was smart and glamorous. Instead of writing academic treatises, he’d worked as a crime reporter.

Smiling, Nick bent to kiss the top of her head, burying his face in her tousle of brown curls. We had a shaky start, but let’s put our food away, open the champagne, and then we can get our suitcases and check out the house.

Deal. She started digging through the cooler until she found the seafood salad and crackers she’d bought. She put them out as Nick popped the champagne and poured them each a glass. To us! she said.

They walked outside to the wraparound porch and stared out at the sandy beach just behind the house. Nick looked at the lapping waves. The water looks cold, but it’s beautiful.

Does it ever get warm enough to swim in?

Not sure. Maybe by late August.

Too far away. He’d moved in with her in early June. They went to the justice of the peace later that month. They sat outside to eat their snacks and sip their champagne. When they finally went inside, Laurel went to rinse their plates and stared at a dirty plastic dish and fork in the sink. Nick, I think this might be important.

He came to stand behind her. Damn.

She looked up at him. Should we call the police or will they think we’re obsessive?

I’m calling them. Nick pulled out his phone and looked for the number of the local station. When they connected, he said, We rented an Airbnb, and when we got here, the owner was dying from an allergic reaction. We called 911, but I’m not sure she made it when they took her to the hospital.

The man didn’t hesitate. She didn’t.

The thing is, Nick said, there’s a dirty plate in the sink. It looks like she ate something chocolate. Should we throw it away? Or would a doctor want to see what killed her?

Don’t touch anything, the man’s voice turned sharp. A deputy’s on his way.

Right now? Nick asked.

Now, the man said. Marjorie was allergic to nuts from the time she was born. She’d never eat anything she suspected might have them. And she always had her EpiPen with her. She was a friend, but she was starting to get a little forgetful. We’re curious what happened.

Will we be allowed to stay here? Nick asked.

All I want is that plate. His voice softened. As I said, Marjorie was a friend of mine. Heck, she was a friend to everyone she met. Her daughter’s going to want to know what happened. Dan will be there soon, and when he leaves, you’re free to enjoy your stay.

Nick grimaced as he hung up. A deputy will be here soon. We might as well get our suitcases and stow them while we can.

Laurel knew what that meant. There was something odd about this death.

~

Not an Accident?

When Laurel and Nick walked to his Porsche and popped the trunk, a woman started toward them from next door. She fidgeted, nervous, and asked, I saw an ambulance leave Marjorie’s house. Did she have an accident?

Another woman across the street had been staring out her front door. She came to hear the news, too. The person’s face was covered with a sheet. Was that Marjorie?

Nick hesitated, then said, The ambulance didn’t get here in time. She died.

Died? The next-door neighbor put a hand to her throat. That’s impossible. Marjorie was healthy, active. I’m new here, and she went out of her way to make me feel at home. Hosted an outdoor barbecue so I could meet the people on the block. She was always doing something nice for somebody.

She had an allergic reaction to nuts, Laurel said. Her throat swelled shut.

The woman put out an arm to catch herself, bracing herself on Nick’s car. Oh my god, I killed her. I just took over a cheese ball and crackers for her to enjoy. I rolled the ball in pecan pieces.

Don’t be silly, Elaine, the other lady said. Marjorie gave the cheeseball to me. She knew she couldn’t eat it and didn’t want to hurt your feelings.

Elaine let out a shaky breath, then looked at her friend. I thought I noticed someone drop off something for her after lunch. Did you see anything?

The other woman hesitated. Come to think of it, a white van parked in front of Marjorie’s house. I was trimming my roses, though, and didn’t pay much attention.

They were standing there, talking, when the deputy, Dan, arrived. He looked at the women. Hey, Elaine. Dottie. You saw them carry Marjorie out?

They nodded.

Did anything unusual happen today? Dan asked.

Dottie spoke first. A van dropped something off, but we were both busy. Neither of us paid attention.

No reason to, he said, but if you think of anything, let me know. He turned to Nick and Laurel. You have something for me?

They walked inside the house. Nick went to the sink and showed him the plastic plate and fork.

Marjorie was fastidious, Dan said. The allergy must have hit her before she rinsed these to throw away. He opened an evidence bag and scooped the plate and fork inside it. As he sealed it, he looked at the purse with its spilled contents on the floor and shook his head.

Laurel said, I thought she was looking for pills or nitroglycerine, so I picked it up and dumped it. We didn’t think about an EpiPen until she said ‘nuts.’ 

Dan nodded. I’m surprised you thought of it then.

She grimaced. I’m a nurse, but there was nothing I could do to help her. I hate that feeling.

You called 911. That’s all anyone could have done. He heaved a sigh. The town’s going to miss Marjorie. She and her husband raised their kids in this house and lived here until he died three years ago. Then she started to rent it out and moved to a small condo on the edge of town, wouldn’t hire someone to come in and clean it between guests. Said she liked keeping an eye on it, and she’d stay here when it wasn’t rented.

She loved it, Laurel said, liking Marjorie more. She could relate. She loved her house back in Cumberland. She still lived where she and Stuart raised their two daughters.

The deputy glanced around the room and shook his head. Her kids will probably sell it. The condo, too. Her daughter moved a short distance away to Holland, Michigan and her son and his wife live in Grand Rapids. They visited Marjorie a lot but don’t want to move back here.

Should we call her daughter to ask her about Marjorie’s purse? Nick asked. We weren’t sure what to do with it.

Dan thought a minute. It would be nice if you called. We informed both kids about her death, but it would be more personal getting the purse from you rather than picking it up at the station. I’ll send you her number when I get back.

His answer surprised Laurel. She was hoping he’d take the purse with him. She wanted to put this whole thing behind her to enjoy her vacation, but when she looked at Nick, she could tell he was intrigued by what had happened, and he was looking forward to meeting the daughter. One of the hazards of marrying a crime reporter. The deputy had agreed too easily, too. He had an ulterior motive of his own.

When Dan left, Laurel turned to Nick. You suspect foul play.

I can’t rule it out, he said. Neither can Dan. It would make a great story.

She sighed. This is our anniversary celebration.

But she didn’t fool him. He studied her. Aren’t you a little curious?

Oh, damn it, she was. Okay, but we still celebrate.

He reached for her and pulled her close. Believe me. I intend to.

Heat rushed through her. They’d have a great four days even if he was digging for information. Nick called Marjorie’s daughter, and then they put away food and poured second glasses of champagne.

~

Death by Chocolate Cake

The bed in the master bedroom was king-sized and comfortable. Laurel stretched while Nick finished his shower and hit the play button to repeat her favorite songs. Black Velvet by Alannah Myles filled the room with sensuality, followed by Dusty Springfield’s Son of a Preacher Man. Then it was her turn to shower.

They dressed and finally started to unpack and settle into the house, and Laurel’s thoughts turned to Marjorie again. Since she died here, her car must still be in the garage.

They went to see, and a Ford was parked in the far space of the two-car garage. Nick frowned at the half-filled garbage bag near the outside door. She must have meant to take this out when she left. He eyed it curiously. Do you think . . . ?

Open it and see, Laurel said.

And there, near the top of the trash, was a fancy, red-and-gold-striped rectangular box with Sweet Treats scrawled in black letters on top of it. Nick took it out and opened it.

Some kind of wonderful dessert was in this, he said.

The same dessert Marjorie ate before she died? asked Laurel.

Nick shrugged. It’s chocolate, like the remains on the plate we found.

Should we call Dan? When Nick didn’t respond, Laurel raised an eyebrow. Well?

Nick hesitated, then said, Either that, or we can deliver the box to him after we talk to the owner of the shop. Maybe we can find something delicious there to have with supper tonight.

Laurel knew him too well. The hesitation meant he had an ulterior motive. She’d guess he wanted to interview whoever sent the box. That dessert was to die for, she said. Are you allergic to anything?

Only excess curiosity. He grinned. He knew she’d figured him out. It killed the cat, didn’t it?

Laurel smiled back. So far, it’s only given you great twists for your books. Let’s walk into town.

Nick took the box with him as they strolled to the nearby shops. They passed a window filled with home decorations. Laurel paused to look at fancy cards and stationery in another window. The art store displayed beautiful statues and paintings with expensive price tags. When they found Sweet Treats and walked inside the French-style bakery, Laurel’s mouth watered at the aromas of cinnamon and pastries. They hadn’t eaten since enjoying the seafood salad they’d snacked on, and her stomach growled.

The glass display case was filled with everything she loved—éclairs, cream puffs, macarons, and too many temptations to name. Once the last customer left, the owner greeted them with a smile. Do you need help deciding?

Yes, but first we’d like to ask you about this. Nick held up the box. Did you deliver it to Marjorie Larwell this afternoon?

The woman frowned. No. It’s Marjorie’s favorite chocolate raspberry cake, but she didn’t order it.

Are you sure? Nick asked again.

She walked to a large book and glanced down the page, shaking her head. No deliveries to Marjorie today.

Nick pushed further. Could someone else have ordered it for her? As a surprise?

The woman shook her head. Not unless that person picked it up and drove it to her. Does this have something to do with Marjorie’s death? We’ve all heard about it by now.

Nick nodded. We found this at her house in today’s trash.

At the rental? The woman turned back pages. The last time she ordered the cake was two weeks ago, and we delivered it to her condo.

Are there nuts in it? Nick asked.

No! the woman snapped. Everyone knew Marjorie was allergic to them.

Thank you, Nick said, then looked at Laurel. You wanted to buy something for tonight, didn’t you?

His way of saying he wanted to end the conversation. The woman had been patient and helpful, so Laurel ordered more than they needed. Then they headed to the town’s jail. Dan was sitting behind a desk when they entered the station and Laurel handed him two bags of cookies. He listened as Nick explained about the empty box, his frown deepening the more he heard.

Something isn’t right about this, Dan said. Our M.E. did me a favor and already looked at the plate. Found peanut oil in the chocolate remains. Said it wouldn’t have taken much to affect Marjorie.

Nick looked baffled. This cake doesn’t use peanut oil, and it was one of her favorite things from the bakery.

If it came from the bakery, Dan said. I’m beginning to have doubts.

So am I. Nick rubbed his chin with its five o’clock shadow. Did Marjorie have any enemies?

Dan laughed. Is there anyone who hates a cocker spaniel? Marjorie was a gem. She was nice to everyone.

Nick left the box with Dan, and he and Laurel returned to the Airbnb. No more sleuthing tonight, he said. I’ll be your sous chef. Time to make our anniversary dinner. I saw filets and crab cakes. Surf and turf?

She smirked. I bought asparagus, too. Steaks Oscar. She was no gourmet cook, but with the crab cakes already made, she could handle this. It was one of his favorites. The only thing she might bomb on was the béarnaise sauce, but she’d bought a jar of hollandaise, just in case.

His dark eyes lit up. I’ll grill the steaks and asparagus.

Smart man. Then they’d turn out good. She reached for a skillet. I’m going to sauté mushrooms for a side. And we bought carrot cake bars for dessert.

A half hour later, they sat on the back patio to eat a romantic supper. Then they settled in front of the TV to watch Casablanca. It had been a big day, and by the time the movie