The broken bridge, p.1
The Broken Bridge, page 1
THE BROKEN BRIDGE
A SUCCULENT SLEUTH COZY MYSTERY
IRIS MARCH
CONTENTS
Prologue
1. A School Bus and Pink Coneflowers
2. A Backpack and an Editor
3. Police and Lunch Plans
4. Drinks and Desserts Plus Two
5. A Morning Hike and a Suspicious Earring
6. Succulent Planting and a Ring Box
7. Whispered Conversations and Dark Chocolate Mocha
8. The Home and Garden Show and Lunch
9. A Voicemail and a Stately Delivery
10. Tests and Tomatoes
11. Keys and Questions
12. Too Much Eye Contact and Good Cop/ Bad Cop
13. Miso Soup and Blue Blazes
14. The Succulent Sleuth and Morning Plans
15. Another Hike in the Dark and a Mysterious Person
16. A Missed Confrontation and a Broken Bridge
17. Shannon’s Call and Daylight
18. A Concerning Letter and Theo’s Theories
19. Phone Calls and Counted Keys
20. Sorted Pots and a Knotted Secret
21. A Secret Cabinet and the Police Station
22. The Runner and a Flower Arrangement for a Funeral
23. Brooks and Shannon
24. Reflections and a New Recipe
25. An Unlocked Shop and a Big Discovery
26. Protective Keys and M&M Trail Mix
27. In the Dark and Scared
28. A Confession and a Hissing Cat
29. A Useful Screwdriver and More Involvement
30. A Cornered Animal and Police Cars
31. A Community Band Concert and More to Come
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The Broken Bridge: A Succulent Sleuth Cozy Mystery
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Copyright © 2022 Iris March
Cover design by Mallory Rock of Rock Solid Book Design (www.RockSolidBookDesign.com)
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
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This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.
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The Buckeye Trail, the Buckeye Trail Association, The Ohio State University, Ohio University, and the Ohio State University Agricultural Technical Institute are all real institutions but are used in this book fictitiously.
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Wandering Gingko Press
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Ebook ISBN: 979-8-9859182-0-5
Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9859182-1-2
Dedicated to my sweet nieces and nephews, especially Molly
PROLOGUE
It had rained the night before, so the Buckeye Trail was soft. Brooks ran this stretch of trail regularly and knew where the puddles would be and which roots would be especially slippery, making them dangerous. He often ran after work, which helped him mentally divide his time at home from time at the office. Running had always been a blissful stress reliever for him and now was also a way to drown out sorrow. He listened to fast-paced rock music to help him keep a quick, steady cadence.
On this particular day, Brooks was running out and back on the same section of trail. Sometimes he asked a coworker to drop him off at one trailhead and parked his car at another to make a straight run. Today, Brooks looked forward to the waterfall that he’d get to see twice.
Brooks pushed himself to try to beat his normal time for this route. He didn’t expect to run faster than he ever had before.
Brooks ran hard on the first leg of his run. He was satisfied with his time and took it easy as he turned around and ran back toward his car. Within the second mile, right after the waterfall, he noticed something different. Brooks spotted a red backpack on the edge of the trail, behind a tree without its owner in view. Was it abandoned? He had not seen anyone else since he passed this spot the first time. He considered that perhaps a hiker was “using the facilities” farther off the trail and put the pack out of his head. Brooks let his mind wander and looked up at the leaves moving in the breeze. He noticed that the shadows of oak leaves were slightly different from those of maple tree leaves. Nature was such a wonderful healer.
When he turned his attention back to the trail, Brooks spied a polished walking stick just off the trail. It was broken into two jagged pieces and had definitely not been there when he ran past that spot not even a half hour ago. He stopped and picked up the longer piece, inspecting the smooth, glossy wood. He looked around and searched for another person within the forest. Again, there was no one around. What could he do to respond to this discovery? Who would he report this to? Why was it broken? Brooks’ heart rate was already up from exercising, but he felt like someone was watching him and he itched to move on. Had anyone been there, he would have stopped to help them, but now he left the walking stick and ran on, wondering what actions to take.
Near the end of the trail, Brooks found himself on the familiar truss bridge over the river. He’d always loved the noise that his feet made as they pounded the wood mixed with the river’s happy gurgling. Thwomp thwomp thwomp. His eyes were on the water: the swirls of the eddies and riffles were mesmerizing. But halfway across the bridge, Brooks stopped in his tracks. The bridge supports were cracked. Part of the railing was broken clear through. And there were splatters of wet blood on the trusses. The bridge had been whole and clean when he had plowed past that exact location, arms pumping hard. He turned around, looking for someone else, anyone. What happened here? Were the abandoned pack and the walking stick related to the damage and this grisly scene? Brooks jogged to the end of the bridge to get away from the gore and immediately called the authorities.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency? This is Stacey,” a woman said on the other end of the line.
“My name is Brooks Thompson. I’m on the Buckeye Trail in Hawthorn Heights, and the bridge over the river is broken and there’s some fresh blood.” He stopped speaking for a moment because he couldn’t catch his breath. “I found a backpack and a broken walking stick abandoned farther up the trail. Someone is in trouble, I think.”
“Are you in danger, sir?” she asked.
Brooks looked around and saw only trees and underbrush. Birds chirped. It was a sunny, pleasant afternoon. “I don’t think so.”
“We can send a police unit to the scene. Tell me your location.”
“I can meet the police at the Buckeye Trail trailhead off of Main Street,” he said.
“Can you tell me your precise location, sir?”
“Uh, I don’t know the address for the trail.” Brooks didn’t know how to tell the dispatcher where he was. “I’ll just meet them at the garden center. Patty’s Plant Place. The parking lot is connected to the parking lot for the trail. It’s also on Main Street.”
“I’ll send a unit right away.”
And then Brooks finished his run faster than he expected, faster than he had ever run that route. He ran away from the violence that happened and toward the help he could provide.
1
A SCHOOL BUS AND PINK CONEFLOWERS
As Molly Green checked out one of her regular customers, she heard the bell over the door jingle and looked up. The customer, Harriett, was buying yet another bottle of Molly’s strong-smelling vinegar-based weed killer along, with her third flat of petunias that week.
“I really think these purple ladies will fill out the space finally,” the short older woman told Molly. Harriett always referred to flowers as “ladies,” and Molly loved to play along during their conversations.
Molly gave her regular sales pitch as she watched a hiker enter the garden center out of the corner of her eye. “I bet they will. You must really be packing these girls in. Remember, we’re selling milkweed at our cost for the month of June to encourage more plantings.”
“You know I’ll be back soon, Molly,” Harriett said as she handed over her credit card. “I’m still holding out for the milkweed seeds that I planted last fall. We’ll see if they come up. I want to do my part for the monarchs. You know I do.” Molly nodded. They had certainly had the full conversation before about how milkweed leaves are the butterfly’s only food source after they emerge from the chrysalis. They shared concern over the species’ dwindling numbers.
As the credit card machine worked, Molly watched the hiker who had just entered. He looked to be in his early twenties and wore a navy-blue handkerchief as a headband, carried a polished walking stick, and had a hefty red pack on his back. No doubt he had been hiking the Buckeye Trail that ran behind the garden center’s property and needed to use the bathroom. She made eye contact while she waited for the machine to do its thing.
“You can just leave your pack here,” she called to him, pointing. “Bathroom is right around the corner.”
He shuffled over, avoiding a display of gardening gloves of various floral patterns, and let his bag fall to the floor. He mumbled, “Appreciate it,” before making a beeline to the bathroom.
Harriett said her farewells, and Molly tidied up the counter. She put the pen Harriett had used back into the pen corral and wiped off some soil with a rag she kept handy for that purpose.
After the hiker emerged from his pit stop, Molly greeted him properly.
“Yeah, I’m totally hungrier than I thought I’d be. My name is Trevor. Are you Patty?” he asked, extending his hand.
“I’m Molly. My grandma was Patty. She used to own the place. Nice to meet you.” Molly shook his hand, used to being asked if she was Patty. “How far are you hiking the trail?”
“I’m hoping to make the whole loop,” he told her enthusiastically. “I just started three days ago. It’s been so great being in the woods all day and camping every night. I’m hoping to make it to a bed and breakfast tomorrow so I can take a proper shower.”
“What a wonderful summer break. Most people usually just hike for a weekend or a week. They’ll do the complete 1,444-mile circuit through Ohio over a few years.”
“Well, I’ll be a senior at Ohio University next fall,” he said. “You know, in southern Ohio. I figured I should do something cool like this before I need to figure out the whole real world job thing. I’m getting over a pretty bad breakup too. You know how it goes. A major change of scenery is good for that type of thing.” He shrugged and looked away.
“Nature has a way of healing hearts, for sure. And jobs get in the way of hiking for weeks at a time. This will be a great start of the summer for you.”
“Totally,” Trevor smiled, his sheepishness gone. “I’ve got an internship lined up for the month before I get back to school. Environmental engineering major.”
She nodded. “Sounds great. As I said, we’ve got some granola bars, trail mix, chips, and drinks on that shelf.” The way he was eyeing the food corner, she could tell he was itching to take a look, so she stepped aside. She had never been great at small talk with shop newcomers, anyway.
“Thanks,” he said and headed for the snacks.
Molly ducked into the back room to find her twin sister, May Flores-Sato, printing out a flower order on the back of an order from last week to conserve trees used to make paper. Molly used her knowledge of flowers to handle the programming side of their operation, while May took care of financials, sales, and marketing.
Besides May, Sherlock, the garden center cat, was also sitting at their computer station. He was staring at the printer paper slowly exiting the printer, ready to attack it. Sherlock was a short-haired black-and-white tuxedo cat who regularly greeted customers and basked in the sunshine or on bags of mulch or pea gravel warmed by the sun. Although he was an outside cat who could go wherever he pleased, Sherlock generally spent the night in the shop and ate the kitty kibble they left out. Molly considered him part of the staff.
May stood up from the computer station, beaming. “We’ve got another succulent add-on. I’m telling you, these little succulents are really increasing profits. We’ve sold twice as many living arrangements as we did last quarter so far. People love them.”
“Not another succulent,” Molly replied, slumping where she stood. “They’re killing me. I can only do so much with those things.” This was their regular relationship cadence: Where Molly wore her brown hair short, almost in a pixie cut, May’s matching brown hair fell down her back. Molly loved colorful, patterned clothing, and May wore muted tones and solids. May was chatty; Molly was quiet. May always wanted to bring order and loved the black and white of numbers, while Molly was drawn to the colors, textures, and tones of flowers. They were opposites: identical twins with very different tastes and opinions.
“No one would know if you just copied the same arrangement all the time. They’re all going to different customers. You don’t have to get that creative.” May poked Molly’s arm, handing over the paper. Molly knew she was probably being a little dramatic, but still.
“A sale is a sale,” Molly and May both said at the same time, but with different inflections. Smiles plastered their matching faces, and they both rolled their eyes, chuckling. They jinxed each other nearly every day.
“Do you want to check out the hiker buying snacks so I can get started? When is the delivery?” Molly scanned the order page. Sherlock abandoned his paper hunt and wandered into the front of the store.
“You’ve got until tomorrow afternoon to come up with something new and magical to include three succulents, your signature lame twigs, and something purple. I’ll go ring up the hiker.” May poked her again and stepped onto the sales floor. With a clipboard in hand—that actually belonged to May—Molly wandered into the adjoining staff greenhouse to assess whether she needed to place an order to include “something purple.” She decided that they had plenty of succulents with purple tones and annuals that would match.
Molly went back out to the sales floor to find Trevor chatting with Theo about the waterfall up the trail. He didn’t seem ready to check out any time soon. Theo Alexopoulos was one of three full-time employees and was in their local semi-pro soccer league. He did most of the actual heavy lifting and forklift work, including hauling bags of potting soil, mulch, and flats of flowers into the trunks of adoring women. Molly thought the ladies were attracted to his black curly hair that fell below his ears. He was also extroverted, intensely friendly, and quite the show-off with the forklift, zooming around as though he were on the soccer field.
Less than ten minutes later, a school bus delivered May’s kids to the parking lot. Hannah and Noah burst into the store, backpacks and arms loaded with projects they were taking home at the end of the school year. Molly was especially excited to see bean sprouts grown in cups.
“Yay! Second to last day of school—done!” May cheered with her arms raised, turning in circles. The kids cheered and danced around her in response, and then both gave her a hug at the same time. While Molly was admiring her twin’s supermom powers, she received her own double hug from her niece and nephew.
May supplied the kids with snacks while Trevor gave himself a self-guided tour of the greenhouse. When he returned to the counter, Trevor made jokes that Hannah and Noah ate up. “Where did the king keep his armies?” he asked them.
“In his castle, right? Where else?” Noah asked, munching a cinnamon graham cracker.
“In his sleevies!” Trevor said, tugging on the sleeve of his T-shirt. Molly and May both groaned, but the kids and Theo laughed. Sherlock headbutted Trevor’s arm to tell him he didn’t care about jokes and that Trevor needed to keep scratching behind his ears.
Molly rang up more customers. May and her children were packing up to leave and Molly was finally checking Trevor out when Theo called out a loud but bored “Hey-o.” Molly knew the jovial atmosphere was about to disappear.
“Hey-o,” Molly, May, Noah, and Hannah all called back at the same time without looking up.
“Are you guys yodeling in unison now?” Trevor asked, laughing.
“That’s our quick way of letting each other know our cousin is about to arrive,” Molly told him with a grin. “And Theo really gets a kick out of saying stuff in unison. May and I jinx each other significantly more often than most people do, and it can get kind of weird for him.”
As Trevor stowed his snacks in his bag, Shannon Flores entered the store in all her glory. Her fitted gray skirt suit, perfectly adjusted pink summer scarf, and bright pink lipstick screamed “I own this place,” and, sadly, she did. Actually, she owned a third of it. The three cousins had inherited the shop from their Grandma and Grandpa Flores six years ago.
