The Perils of Peaches (Scents of Murder Book 3)

Scents of Murder Mystery Series

Book Three

The Perils of Peaches

By

Lynette Sowell

Copyright 2015

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Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 Biblica. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

Dedication

To my sisters, Cat and Amy, far, far away. Because “we are family, I’ve got all my sisters and me.”

With much thanks and love to my husband, for putting up with leftovers for dinner, vacant looks from me while I’m in my story world, and for letting me have this second career.

For my own “Hannah-B,” who I can hardly believe is all grown up!

Thank you to my friends in American Christian Fiction Writers, especially to those who helped clarify HIPAA patient privacy regulations for me.

I also dedicate this to my fellow medical transcriptionists who will understand Andi’s frustration as she types for this difficult doctor.

Thank you, readers, for joining me on this last installment of Andi Clark Hartley’s sleuthing adventures.

. . . for the LORD searches every heart and understands every motive behind the thoughts . . .

—1 Chronicles 28:9b

Chapter One

“So how is life in Mommy-ville, Mrs. Hartley?” My sister, Diana, reached for a plump peach and put it into the burlap sack hanging from her shoulder. A warm late June breeze touched our cheeks and went along its way.

“In a word, blissful, even with the big four-oh looming ahead of me next year.” I shifted and smiled down at the bundle strapped to my chest. “Isn’t that so, my little banana-girl?” Hannah laughed, her baby cheeks puffing, her eyes crinkling into slits. People had told me that becoming a mother would give me a love I’d never experienced before. They were right. My cup indeed ran over, especially at dirty diaper times, and then it sort of smelled.

Life with my husband in Greenburg, Tennessee, had settled into its own sweet rhythm after Hannah’s birth, once she figured out she was supposed to sleep through the night. Which made for a happy baby and an ecstatic mommy.

Di and I had picked from the first two peach trees in Dr. Barkha Mukherjee’s grove. At the rate we were going, the rest of the peaches in the grove would have dropped and spoiled. But I treasured rare moments for sister talk, now that Di had lived an hour away in Jackson for nearly two years.

“So . . . nothing new going on in town?” Di popped another peach into her bag. “No mysterious happenings, no leads to chase, no wrongs to right?”

No dead bodies turning up . . .

“Nope. And if there is, I’ve been way too busy to notice. I’ve been subject to the whims of my princess here—that and keeping up with the shop. I sort of feeling like I’m stealing time from the store being here right now, but it was too beautiful a day not to spend the morning outside.” Greenburg’s residents, like most towns, carried secrets. But my sleuthing days had ended and there were plenty of busybodies to go around without me adding my nose to the mix. I paused and inhaled the scent of ripened peaches.

“Oh, Andi, enjoy days like this.” Di climbed down from her short ladder and joined me at ground level. “Stevie thinks he knows everything and that we, in his fourteen-year-old opinion, are completely lame. Which is anything but blissful.”

“Does he actually say you’re lame?”

“In a roundabout way, yes.” She frowned and tugged on the weight of her bag as if it were the source of her troubles. “Sometimes I miss my sweet little boy.”

“I’m sorry.” We put our bags between us on the ground.

“People tell us to love him, don’t back down, pray a lot, and push through it.” Di sighed. “But enough of that for now. Did you talk to Momma? Did she ever find out why she’s getting light-headed? I tried talking to her about it when I first got here, but she changed the subject.”

“She doesn’t know yet.” I grabbed one more low-hanging peach and plunked it into one of the bags. “She went to the doctor yesterday, and her test results should be back soon. I’m trying to worry less and pray more. But what if something happens to her while Daddy’s out fishing?”

“Did the doctor have any idea of what might be wrong?”

“He’s checking her blood sugar, cholesterol, thyroid, and screening for anemia.” Possibilities swirled in my head as Hannah gurgled from her pack. She was at that glorious baby age where she smiled at everything. When she wasn’t screaming over teething pain, that is.

Di stretched and looked at the bags. “Do you think we have enough peaches?”

“I think so. But Barkha says we can always come back for more.” Dr. Mukherjee, the most delightful doctor I’d ever known, had moved to Greenburg about three years ago. Word had it she’d come from Atlanta and left a promising research career. Why the doctor decided to put out her shingle in our mostly Caucasian community, far from her family and more exotic culture, I still didn’t know for sure. But I’d called her a friend ever since we met nearly two years before, when becoming a mother was something I’d fought by practically kicking and screaming.

Di was busy counting peaches. “Okay. According to your chart and the number of peaches we have so far, you might have enough peaches for ten more jars of baby food.”

“I hope so.” But I frowned. “Sometimes I wonder if it’d save me time just buying baby food instead of going through this.” Momma was the one who suggested making baby food. In these uncertain financial times, saving money sure helped the Hartley budget. My business, Tennessee River Soaps, floated happily in the black, but I racked my brain coming up with ideas to expand the business that wouldn’t cost more money.

I took a wiggling Hannah from her baby sling and tucked her into the portable playpen I’d set up in the clearing of trees. “Have fun, my little bug.” Her lip puckered when I set her down, and I tried not to cave and pick her up again. Instead, I nudged one of her toys nearby. Successfully distracted, Hannah moved to touch the closest one. Once she actually started walking, I wasn’t sure what Ben and I would do. Strap on roller skates to keep up with her, or something.

The purr of an approaching engine made us look to the driveway that passed the edge of the grove.

“Andi, who’s that?” Di peered at the Mercedes that glided to a halt at the nearest gap between the peach trees. A puff of road dust whirled around the car’s gleaming blackness.

“I’m not sure.” I glanced at Hannah, playing with her favorite plastic puppy dog.

“I’ll stay right here.” Di squinted. “But don’t worry. I’ve got my cell phone if he tries anything.”

Oh dear. I sure hoped the stranger hadn’t heard her. He’d already lowered his window. Hair dark as ink swept neatly back from his forehead. Skin the color of toffee made his smile look more brilliant in his face. He gripped the steering wheel with his manicured hands, and used one of them to remove some slick-looking sunglasses.

“Good morning.” His voice held an almost musical lilt. “I hope I have the correct address.”

“Well, that depends on who you’re looking for. My sister and I are here picking peaches.” As if he couldn’t see that already.

The man looked at me as if I were an imbecile. “Obviously. I’m looking for Dr. Barkha Mukherjee.”

“This is her property, but she’s not here right now. I’m a friend of hers. Who should I say stopped by?” No way was I going to volunteer her whereabouts. His intense gaze made the hair on my arms stand on end.

His brow furrowed. “Please tell her . . . no, I’ll tell her myself. Thank you very much.” His window slid up again, and his car shifted into reverse and rolled back the way it had just come. I caught a glimpse of a license plate sporting a large peach. Georgia plates.

I wiped my hands on my denim shorts and rejoined Di by the portable playpen. “I bet that’s Barkha’s old boyfriend from Atlanta. I should warn her he’s here. She told me he’s been calling and won’t believe her when she says it’s over between them.”

“You’re right, we should warn her.” Di scooped up Hannah.

My stomach complained, reminding me that it was time to pack up and head back into town. “Let me see if I can reach her at the office. It’s lunchtime so they shouldn’t have patients. Plus, I need to see if the docs have any dictation files that need to be transcribed.” I stuffed Hannah’s toys into her backpack and started folding the playpen.

Inside of five minutes we had Hannah strapped in her car seat and the back of my Jeep Cherokee loaded with all her gear. Honestly, I didn’t know how my mother did it when we were kids, hauling both of us around. I’d sadly traded in my smaller Jeep Wrangler with the open flaps for a more family-size Cherokee last year, and the back contained Hannah’s fold-up bed, her bag with extra diapers and wipes, plus a few toys, and another bag with snacks. And the peaches, of course.

We roared along the road back to town. I called Bradley Medical and reached Eunice, the receptionist, right away. “Is Dr. Mukherjee free? This is Andi.”

“Are you okay, dear? You sound a bit out of breath.”

“Um, I’m fine. But a man just stopped by her house, looking for her. If he’s there, can you stall him? Or warn her?”

“No problem, hon,” Eunice said. “An Indian man did come by asking to see Dr. Bradley before lunch. A Dr. Tushar Gupta. Dr. Bradley looked upset after he left.”

“You need to tell Dr. Mukherjee that he’s in town.”

“Oh, I knew when I woke up this morning that something wasn’t right today. We had a no-show, and then somehow I’d double-booked Dr. Bradley, which put him in a royal mood. But Dr. Mukherjee was giving a guest lecture at Greenburg Community this morning, so she wasn’t in. It’s been all downhill since then.”

“But is she there now? Did she get to the office in time for lunch?”

“She met Dr. Bradley for lunch at Oat Grass.”

“Did you mention that to this Dr. Gupta?”

“I most certainly did not. They don’t need to be bothered at lunch. Of course, I don’t know why they don’t just stay here.”

“Thanks, Eunice.” I ended the call and glanced at Di as we headed over the Tennessee River Bridge. “Do you feel like having lunch at Oat Grass today?”

“So long as I can have a real hamburger and steak fries over at Honey’s Place afterward.” Di grinned at Hannah, who babbled from her perch behind us.

“Deal.”

Maybe I was reading too much into this Dr. Gupta’s appearance in Greenburg. Barkha spoke little of her past in Atlanta, or her family, and I didn’t pry. Now I wish I had, or at least asked her gently about why she’d left it all behind.

“Do you think maybe you’re overreacting?” Di’s question interrupted my thoughts. “I mean, now that I think about it, there are no intrigue or clues to track down, so we shouldn’t create a mystery where there is none.”

“Maybe you’re right.” I chewed my lower lip. “Maybe it’s not such a big deal. But if it were me, I’d want to know instead of getting a nasty surprise. At least we get to try somewhere different for lunch besides Honey’s Place.” Although eating somewhere besides my husband’s restaurant wasn’t disloyal because Oat Grass didn’t serve regular food. At least not the down-home, country-fried goodness served at Honey’s.

We cruised to Greenburg’s downtown square and turned onto a side street that led to the parking lot behind Oat Grass. Barkha’s Beemer sat in the parking lot next to Dr. Bradley’s sensible Volvo. I eased the Jeep into an empty spot.

“Here we go. Entering Veggie Town.” At my words, Hannah squealed from the back seat. She was at the age where she thought everything I said was funny. Unless she had gas, was teething, or she’d wet her diaper.

I took Hannah from her carrier and held her in my arms instead of wrangling the plastic baby seat from the back of the Jeep. Since Hannah’s birth, Ben and I learned to do things more slowly. And I’m proud to say we didn’t forget her in the church nursery, either, that first month we started bringing her out in public and weren’t used to being parents yet. Di had forgotten Stevie at church one Sunday when he was an infant, and the family had never let her forget it.

“I can’t believe we’re going inside.” Di looked at the front door. “You don’t think they’ll hold us down and make us drink herbal concoctions that look like green mud and taste like—”

“Of course not. I’m sure they have real food in there. I think. I know they have salads. Right, Hannah?” What better place to take my angel for lunch than the healthiest restaurant in town?

Di and I entered Oat Grass. I had Hannah on my hip as we stepped up to the hostess desk. Music from a classical guitar piped over the speakers. Some diners ate at mismatched wooden tables and chairs. A few reclined on cushioned chairs surrounding low tables.