Murder in Morro Harbor

PROLOGUE

The sun was just beginning to crest over the hills to the east when Gloria Lancaster shuffled into the kitchen of her Morro Harbor estate. She moved slowly. At seventy-five, her joints ached, her lungs protested after decades of cigarettes, and her heart—traitorous thing—beat to the tune of its own drummer, despite the battery of pills lined up in front of her.

Easing into her usual seat at the end of the long counter, Gloria pulled the pill organizer toward her. Six different medications every morning, along with assorted vitamins, fish oil, flaxseed, and magnesium capsules, each as big as your thumb. She counted them out in deliberate order, lips pressing thin as her hand hovered over the first one. A sigh escaped as she washed it down with coffee. It was the only real coffee she had all day, a dark, sharp substitute for the six cups she used to enjoy. Two cups now, no more, her doctor’s strict orders. She resented him for it, though she never said so out loud.

Her housekeeper, Peg Myer, moved quietly through the house like a shadow, her rubber-soled shoes muffled on the hardwood. Originally hired by her parents over forty years ago, Peg was almost one of the family. She hummed as she cleaned, occasionally calling out a comment about dusting or laundry. Gloria answered with polite murmurs, though her eyes kept flicking to the wide windows and the restless shimmer of the ocean beyond. Something was troubling her, causing her thoughts to drift miles away.

At the stove, the cheerful voice of her chef, Bobbie Booker, filled the silence as he whipped eggs with an enthusiasm Gloria found exhausting. “Frittata today,” he announced, “with zucchini and a little goat cheese.” He grinned over his shoulder. “It’s doctor-approved.”

Gloria’s smile was hollow. “Doctor-approved is boring. I’d kill for bacon.”

“You mean you’d kill yourself with bacon,” Peg said from the doorway, arms full of fresh dish towels. The two women exchanged a look, one that skirted affection and exasperation in equal measure.

She returned to the pills. Reaching for one, her hand trembled slightly. Not from weakness, though she could blame it on that if anyone noticed. It was nerves. She felt uneasy. She was not a woman easily rattled—her reputation in the construction industry was one of iron will and a sharper tongue—but something had wormed its way beneath her armor.

“Peg,” Gloria said, her voice sharper than intended. The housekeeper looked up. “Have you seen my grandmother’s brooch? The diamond one?”

Peg paused what she was doing. “The one you wore to the gala a while back?”

“Yes,” Gloria said, swallowing another pill, her fingers tightening around her mug. “I’ve looked everywhere for it.”

A sharp clang snapped Gloria’s attention upward. Bobbie stared down at whatever had slipped from his grasp.

“What was that?”

He stood, holding a medium-size stainless steel knife. “Just one of those cheap knives you bought. No harm done.” He dropped the knife in the sink and pulled another from the butcher block on the counter.

“They weren’t cheap,” she snapped.

He shrugged. “They’re not the quality I’m used to.” There was a flippancy in his tone she hadn’t heard before and wondered where it had come from.

“Fine, tell me what you want and I’ll buy them.”

Bobbie quickly replied, “The best is made by New West. They’re the Rolls-Royce of knives. And they’re made in America.”

“Fine. If it will stop your complaining, go ahead and order them.”

Bobbie looked at her, his eyes narrowed briefly. Just before she focused her gaze on him, he quickly changed to a smile.

Gloria refocused her attention on the line of pills in front of her.

“I’m sure the brooch is just misplaced,” Peg reassured her employer. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“I hope it wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t what?” Bobbie entered the conversation.

“Never mind,” she said, but the crease in her forehead deepened.

“It’ll show up. I’ll go through your room with a fine-tooth comb,” Peg said over her shoulder as she placed the towels on a shelf in the pantry.

Gloria gave a small laugh, but it was brittle around the edges. “I hope so. Heaven forbid people think I’m losing track of things. Or…” She shook her head as she lifted her cup again, eyes fixed on a lone surfer riding a wave. She hadn’t told anyone about the secret meetings, the way she’d summoned each niece, nephew, and Blue, her nonbinary nibling, to the estate in the past few weeks. Nor did she mention the conversations she’d had with her sister Emily and her brother Preston.

The only person she’d talked to about the meetings was her lawyer and long-time friend, Karsen Kerrington. She’d also told Karsen about the missing brooch. Her expression melted into something softer when she remembered how Karsen had reached out and placed a comforting hand on hers.

“What if someone is stealing from me?”

“Do you want me to call the police?” Karsen had asked.

Gloria didn’t, not yet anyway. She didn’t have any proof. She did, however, want to update her will and trust based on what she uncovered in her meetings with family members. She’d revised the trust five years ago after the deaths of her sister Jillian and Jillian’s husband, William. They’d both succumbed to Covid in the first year of the pandemic. Updating the will and trust after their passing had seemed like the responsible thing to do.

But this time, with every change, signature, every notarized page, she had felt the ground beneath her shift. And Karsen reminding her of what her doctor had said—that she had plenty of good years left if she reduced her stress, watched her diet, and kept the cigarettes and coffee to a minimum—left her feeling uneasy. Because if she wasn’t dying anytime soon, then certain family members would have to wait to get their hands on her money. And waiting could make people restless, especially if they had financial problems. It left her feeling like she had a target on her back.

CHAPTER ONE

Funerals shouldn’t take place on a warm summer day, Sydney Lancaster thought to herself, wiping away tears as she said goodbye to Aunt Gloria. At forty she was the oldest of the five Lancaster cousins and Gloria’s protégé.

Aunt Emily and her wife, Ashley, sitting to her right, were more composed, as Gloria would have expected, but her cousin Blue, on her other side, was clutching her hand, tears falling down their face, their short blond hair falling over their eyes. Uncle Preston, at the end of the row, was quiet for the moment, thank God, though he was obviously drunk and had caused quite a scene at the funeral home earlier. In the second row of mourners sat her cousin Mason, his fiancée, Courtney, his sister, Gael, and her husband, Collin, and Blue’s twin sister, Michelle. From all appearances none had shed a tear.

Directly behind the family, dabbing tears from her eyes, stood Karsen Kerrington. Morro Harbor was a small beach town of only ten thousand residents, so of course the mayor, all five city council members, and the police and fire chiefs in dress uniforms were in attendance for the funeral of one of its most prominent business people. Also present were a dozen friends she rarely had time for, neighbors she hardly knew, business associates who, for one reason or another, were obligated to attend, and looky-loos, who were curious about the local millionaire business tycoon.

Gloria Lancaster’s death had been unexpected, throwing the family into turmoil and bringing long-simmering questions to the surface. Including who would succeed her and how her substantial estate would be divided, a matter that carried more weight for certain members of the family than for others.

When the graveside formalities concluded, workers lowered the casket into the ground. Emily and Ashley each tossed a rose into the grave, followed by Blue and Sydney, who hugged her aunts and cousins and hurried off. She and Blue were needed back at the family home to make sure Peg and Bobbie had everything ready for the after-funeral reception.

Sydney slowed as she and Blue made their way down the hallway to the kitchen. The aroma of BBQ tri tip, fresh baked bread, and an Italian seasoning she couldn’t put her finger on, filled the air.

As they approached, familiar voices could be heard.

“What will you do now?” Peg asked.

Sydney paused. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but something in Peg’s voice caught her attention.

“I have a few irons in the fire,” Bobbie replied.

She pictured him standing at the island, sleeves rolled up, moving effortlessly between cutting boards and mixing bowls the way he always did.

“That sounds mysterious.”

“Not really. I’m starting a catering business.”

Sydney couldn’t help but smile to herself. She wasn’t surprised. Bobbie’s food was impressive. He deserved to build something of his own.

“That could be expensive,” Peg said.

“I’ve had a run of good luck, and some of my investments are paying off.” There was the scrape of a bowl across the counter before he spoke again. “What will you do?”

“My sister in Florida asked me to move in with her.”

“That sounds nice. If you don’t mind the homophobia.”

Sydney saw him point to the rainbow tattoo on his wrist.

“You couldn’t pay me to live there.”

“I know. It’s horrible,” Peg said. “But she’s lonely. Her kids don’t visit as often as I wish they would.”

Sydney closed her eyes. Everything was changing. Her aunt was gone, and the people who had filled the house with warmth and routine were making plans to leave.

She hadn’t let herself think much beyond today. There had been too much to do. Funeral arrangements. Flowers. Guests. Endless condolences from people who’d loved Gloria or simply admired her.

“Did Sydney find what she was looking for this morning?” Bobbie asked.

Sydney opened her eyes, her brows knitting.

“Her grandmother’s diamond brooch?” Peg asked.

“The one Gloria couldn’t find a few weeks ago?”

“Yes. I was sure she’d just misplaced it, and it would show up eventually.”

“Do you think she just forgot where she put it?”

“I don’t know.” Peg sighed. “I guess it’s possible.”

Beside her, Blue nudged past.

“The funeral’s over,” they announced as they went straight to the salad bowl, plucked out a cherry tomato, and popped it into their mouth.

Sydney followed them in.

“The church was packed,” Blue continued, hopping onto the counter beside the sink. “Standing room only.” They glanced around the kitchen, taking in the trays of food spread across nearly every surface. “I hope you made enough food to feed an army.”

“Get your butt off there, young la—” Peg caught herself. “Young person. We’re preparing food here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Blue grinned and jumped down. “Bobbie, how’s that rash on your butt? Is that why that guy didn’t want to see you again?” Blue crossed their arms and leaned against the counter, a look of amusement on their face.

Bobbie’s head jerked up, and his mouth gaped open.

“Blue!” Peg and Sydney barked in unison.

“That’s inappropriate. And none of your business.” Peg had been a constant presence in Blue’s life since they were born and didn’t hesitate to scold them when needed. “Apologize this instant.”

Blue’s brows furrowed, and they cocked their head. A look of confusion spread across their face. They turned to Bobbie. “I’m sorry, Bobbie. I didn’t mean to…I was just…”

Bobbie shook his head. “I know, Blue. But how did you even know about it?”

Blue shrugged. “I was in the hallway the other day and heard you talking to someone on the phone. I didn’t want to interrupt, so I waited until you were done.”

Peg shook her head. “Blue, you’re not a child. You know better than to eavesdrop on someone’s private conversations.”

Blue nodded. “Yes, you’re right.” They turned to Bobbie. “I’m truly sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Sydney and Peg’s eyes met, and Sydney shook her head. This wasn’t the first time Blue had blurted out something that should have been private, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you.” Blue changed the subject. “Uncle Preston smells like he took a bath in gin. At the funeral home he tripped going up to the casket and almost fell in.”

Peg let out an audible gasp. “That’s terrible.”

“Yeah. Aunt Emily is pissed.”

Bobbie handed them the bowl of salad. “Can you put that at the start of the buffet?”

Blue took the bowl. “Of course, chica,” Blue said flirtatiously.

“I’ll chica you.” He snapped a towel at Blue’s backside.

“Missed me.” Blue laughed as they carried the salad into the dining room where the lunch buffet was being set up.

Peg let out a sigh. “You’d think Mr. Lancaster would have enough respect for his dead sister that he’d be on his best behavior.”

Bobbie laughed. “He doesn’t know what that is.” He quickly looked to Sydney. “Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all.

Sydney shook her head as she opened a bottle of white wine. “No need. He is what he is.”

“Yesterday I saw him going through Ms. Lancaster’s Lladro porcelain collection. I think he was looking up prices online,” he said, arranging finger sandwiches on a serving tray.

“He was doing what?” Sydney said, her voice louder than normal.

Bobbie glanced at Peg before turning back to Sydney. “He was going through the cabinet in the living room, examining each piece.”

“Jesus.” Sydney raised her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head.

“The poor woman hasn’t been dead a week, and the vultures are already circling.” Peg made a tsking sound with her tongue. “I hope he doesn’t cause any trouble today.”

“Oh, I think you can count on it,” Sydney said. “He’s in rare—” The chirping of her phone stopped her midsentence. “It’s Aunt Emily.” She held the phone to her ear. “Hello.” She nodded several times, then disconnected the call. “The hordes will be here shortly. I have a feeling it’s going to be a very long afternoon.”

She looked out the window to see AJ, the gardener, approach the back door into the kitchen. He knocked, opened the door, but didn’t enter.

“Hello, Ms. Lancaster. I put the umbrellas up around the pool in case anyone wants to sit outside. Do you need anything else before I take off?”

“No, AJ. Thank you for all your help.”

He started to close the door when Peg asked, “AJ, did you find your vape pack?”

He took the well-worn ball cap off his head, wiped away the sweat that dripped down his forehead, and replaced it. “No, I had to buy a new one, and they aren’t cheap, especially the cartridges.”

“It’ll probably turn up now that you’ve bought a new one,” Bobbie said as he removed a bowl of potato salad from the refrigerator.

“You’re probably right,” AJ said.

“What does it look like?” asked Sydney.

“It’s in a black metal case. About four by six inches big.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for it,” Sydney said.

“Thanks,” AJ said as he closed the door.

Peg pressed her lips together, watching the door click shut behind him. “That man would lose his head if it wasn’t screwed on.”

Sydney sank into a chair at the kitchen table. She felt a headache creeping up the back of her neck. It was going to be a long afternoon.

Thirty minutes later, the Lancaster home was teeming with people. In one corner of the dining room stood the city council members, all five with cocktail glasses half full of what Sydney assumed was one of her aunt’s very expensive whiskies. The police and fire chiefs were standing ramrod straight, hands in pockets, in the opposite corner, and there was a long line of people at the buffet and makeshift bar, the mayor at the front of that line. Peg stood vigilant beside Sydney, keeping an eye on the platters of food, refilling them when needed.

“Unbelievable,” Sydney muttered, motioning at Preston, who stood in front of the curio cabinet in the living room, a glass of gin in one hand, the other in the cabinet holding a porcelain figurine.

Emily swept past them, heading for her brother, her face flushed. “Preston,” she hissed, seizing the figuring from his hand and setting it back on a shelf. “For God’s sake, leave it alone.”

“Leave what alone?” Preston slurred, his voice carrying over the guests’ chatter. “This is my sister’s house. My sister’s things. I can look at them.”

The room quieted, forks pausing midair.

“You’re not looking, you’re scoping them out,” Emily snapped, her tone sharp. “There are papers, wills, trusts—no one has claim to anything until that’s settled. And even then…” She trailed off, her eyes flicking toward Sydney as if to say “not if I can help it.”

Blue, standing next to Peg, let out a low whistle. “And here I thought funerals were supposed to be dignified.”

Peg shot them a warning glare. “Not the time,” she whispered.

Bobbie, holding a bowl of fruit salad, appeared at Peg’s elbow. “He’s hammered.”

“He’s making a spectacle of himself,” Sydney hissed from behind clenched teeth.

As she spoke, Preston staggered, knocking into the sideboard with a clatter that sent cutlery rattling. His glass spilled, gin soaking into the linen tablecloth. Emily caught his arm again, steadying him with more fury than kindness.

“Enough,” she said, her voice low as to not draw attention. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Preston’s bloodshot eyes darted around the room and fixed on Sydney, his glare searing. She froze, dreading what he might say or do next.

The silence thickened. Preston swayed, blinking, focusing his glare on Sydney. His mouth opened, shut, then twisted into something that started out as a smirk and then turned ugly.

“Well,” he slurred, “there she is. Gloria’s little shadow.”

Sydney didn’t look away, meeting his glare with one of her own.

Emily tightened her grip on her brother’s arm. “Don’t.”

Preston ignored her, pulled his arm away and staggered a step toward Sydney. “Gloria’s right hand. Always so attentive. Always kissing up to her.”

A murmur rippled through the guests. Someone cleared their throat. Someone gasped. A dropped fork hit the tile floor, echoing across the room. Sydney’s pulse thudded in her ears, but her voice was surprisingly calm.

“You’ve had enough, Uncle Preston. You’re embarrassing yourself and the family.”

His eyes narrowed. “You can’t talk to me like that,” he snapped. “This was my parents’ house. This is where I grew up.”

“It was,” Sydney said evenly. “Which is why you should show some respect for what they built, rather than embarrassing them and the family.”

Blue let out a soft “Damn,” under their breath.

Emily seized the moment. “You need to get some air,” she said, steering Preston toward the patio door.

He tried to pull his arm away. “I’m not finished,” he protested with all the dignity of a spoiled child.

“Yes, you are,” she said with the authority of a drill sergeant as she wrapped a hand around his upper arm and pulled him away.

After the door slid closed behind them, the room remained in stunned silence for a beat, no one knowing what to do or say. Peg quickly moved in with several dish towels and began blotting the tablecloth before the gin damaged the wood. The hum of conversation resumed.

Sydney crossed the room to the curio cabinet. The glass door hung open, and several of the Limoges figurines were askew. The pink flamingo—her aunt’s favorite—sat dangerously close to the edge. She moved the pieces all back where they belonged. Preston hadn’t had the chance to disturb the Lladro figurines on the shelf below, so those more expensive items had not been molested. She let her shoulders relax and gently closed the glass. Seeing Preston’s fingerprints streaked across the pane, she picked up a napkin and rubbed the glass until the smudges disappeared. She breathed out a sigh. Order had been restored, at least for the moment.

She turned and scanned the room, finding Blue near the buffet, half-leaning against the wall. They’d been watching her. She loved all her cousins, but Blue held a special place in her heart. They grinned and gave her a quick two-thumbs-up.

The gesture was so unexpected, so playful amid the tension, that a laugh rose in her chest. She pressed her lips together to keep it from escaping.

Blue lifted their glass in a silent toast, and Sydney dipped her head in acknowledgment.