Praise for the Brentwood Women Mysteries

  BRENTWOOD WOMEN MYSTERY SERIES

  The Brentwood Women—a daughter, mother, and grandmother—all different, yet all made of underlying steel—follow clues to solve a series of murders in these light, fun, and engaging mysteries, the Brentwood Women Mystery Series, by Houstonian Wendy Adair. Houston is the backdrop to this series of books, and Adair captures its vibrancy.

  —Karleen Koen, author of one of Parade Magazine’s 150 Best Romances Ever Written: Before Versailles * Dark Angels * Now Face to Face * Through A Glass Darkly

  deliver us from evil … and the six o’clock news

  A seasoned protagonist, a family team working together, adorable animals, and a mystery that keeps me guessing—it’s all here!

  An older protagonist? Check. A multigenerational story? Check. Animal companions? Check. A twisty mystery that keeps me guessing? Check. Deliver Us from Evil … and the Six O’Clock News has all the things I love in a good cozy!

  Adair gives us no shortage of suspects to consider, with a couple of them being really, almost painfully, obvious. (Small spoiler: unsurprisingly, neither of the obvious ones was the killer.) When the big reveal drew near, that was the first time I had any inkling of who our villain would turn out to be. I do love it when a mystery surprises me with whodunnit!

  Deliver Us from Evil … and the Six O’Clock News is the first in a series, and I certainly hope it won’t be the last! W. H. Adair, you’ve got me hooked.

  —Lisa Henson, Reedsy Reviews

  deadly … as a walk in the park

  Adair has done it again—written a highly enjoyable cozy mystery that I couldn’t put down. The Brentwood women series is brilliantly conceived, with each of the three Brentwood women taking their turn at being the center of the mystery, while they all work together to hunt down the murder. Deadly … as a Walk in the Park is full of plot twists, great characters, and mouthwatering food descriptions, and it will satisfy the animal lovers among us. It’s a delightful read, and I’m hoping Adair will finish up the next book in the series as fast as she can.

  —Lynn Rankin-Esquer, acclaimed author of The Unmooring of Mrs. Mango and My Paperback Cape: The Unlikely Odyssey of a Bookworm

  Deadly … as a Walk in the Park

  Copyright ©2024 by Wendy Adair

  Published by

  Bungalow Books Publishing

  ISBN: 979-8-9865364-6-0 (Paperback)

  ISBN: 979-8-9865364-7-7 (Hardcover)

  eISBN: 979-8-9865364-8-4 (eBook)

  Copyediting and Proofreading by Kim Bookless

  Cover and Interior Design by GKS Creative

  Project Management by The Cadence Group

  Library of Congress information on file with the Publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information retrieval or storage system, without the prior written consent of the publisher.

  ALSO BY W. H. ADAIR

  Deliver Us from Evil … and the Six O’Clock News

  Murder … from Time to Time (coming 2025)

  WRITING AS WENDY H. ADAIR

  The Broken Hallelujah

  Winner of the 2024 BookFest Gold Medal for Best Audiobook and the 2023 IPPY Bronze Medal for Wartime Fiction from the Independent Publishers Book Awards, and a finalist for the 2023 Page Turner Award and the International Book Award.

  WRITING AS WENDY ADAIR, WITH COAUTHOR OSCAR GUTIERREZ

  Our Time: 75 Years of Learning and Leading

  A history of the University of Houston

  This book is dedicated to the many brains and hearts who helped get the ideas and people out of my head and onto the page. I couldn’t do this without Joan Salamanchuk and her mathematician’s focused insights, along with Marilyn Brown’s careful and precise review. Memoirist Joyce Boatright always sees the heart of the story, and my fellow authors Lynn Rankin-Esquer and Karleen Koen bring their fine editors’ eyes and novelists’ souls to make my manuscripts better every time. It takes a village, and these women are mine.

  Hats off also to my friends and colleagues at The Cadence Group, who work prodigiously to turn my words into beautiful and very readable novels. Bethany Brown and her team, designer Gwyn Flowers and editor Kim Bookless, have walked me and my fledgling Bungalow Books Publishing offerings through the self-publishing bog to produce exquisite and precise publications. Not to mention Joshua Schwartz and the crew at Pubvendo, who are helping get the word out even as I write this.

  My heartfelt thanks and appreciation to you all!

  One

  VICTORIA

  MINUIT STARED AT THE door, her brown eyes never blinking.

  “Stop fretting. You know what they say about a watched pot. He will be here soon. Come sit.” I looked at my companion and patted my knee.

  Minuit continued her vigil. She was not very good with upset routines, and Cam always rang the bell promptly at 7:00 a.m., not a minute later. It was already 7:15. Not acceptable.

  I was about to pull her away when the bell sounded. “Well, about time.” I laughed, walking to the door, leash in hand. Minuit was already suited up in her special vest—the one with the reflective tape and her name embroidered on the side in violet silk: Minuit Brentwood. A click on the harness and the jet-black greyhound was ready for her morning speed walk with our neighbor Cameron Mitchell. Holding tight to Minuit, I opened the door.

  Cam apologized as he stepped into the foyer and reached for the leash. “Victoria, I am so sorry. I had to take a call from Matthew Sinclair, and the time escaped me.”

  I smiled and waved him in. “I am not the one needing an apology. Your best dog friend has been anxious for the last fifteen minutes. She no doubt imagined the worst had happened and you had found another BDF.”

  He laid his hand on the dog’s head with a half-smile at Minuit that made me realize something really was bothering him.

  I stopped him as he took her leash. “Excited about Carolee? We finalize her appointment this morning. It will be wonderful to have her back home.”

  Cam smiled as he moved toward the door. “This will be the first time in years we will all be in the same city. A perfect time for me to retire and still have plenty of energy for grandkids.” Again, he scratched between Minuit’s ears. “And no, my dear, you definitely will continue to be my BDF and walking buddy.” The dog wiggled and pushed against his leg, reminding him they were late for their walk.

  My hand still rested on his arm. There seemed to be something else bothering him. “Are you sure everything is all right? Was it something with Matthew?”

  Cam shook his head. “It looks like we may have an audit problem in one of the international subsidiaries. We’re still checking it out.”

  He gathered Minuit to his side and headed out the door. “Don’t worry. It will all work out. Minuit and I will get a good walk today, despite the heat.” Looking down at the dog, he promised, “I’ll have her back in an hour or so.”

  I patted his arm as they left. “Wonderful. My quiche lorraine will be done by then.” I nodded again. “Thanks as usual for keeping her in sporting shape. Without you, she no doubt would be a couch potato watching endless reality TV. You saved us both. Breakfast is the least I can do.”

  Cam put the dog into the back seat and strapped the seatbelt into her harness.

  I thought, not for the first time, how grateful I was that Cam’s retirement had provided me with a much-needed dog walker. My own retirement had kept me busier than I expected, and right now, I needed to get ready to meet with my board. At least the pandemic had given us new ways to do business. I was ready for my second and last cup of coffee and needed to set up the computer for my upcoming Zoom meeting. Time to hit the shower and get dressed—and not in a business jacket and lounge pants. The apocryphal images of spilling something during a Zoom talk and showing everyone penguin pajamas seemed too real to ignore. A business meeting required business attire, no matter if we stayed at home.

  Two

  CAMERON

  CAMERON BUCKLED IN THE dog with a pat on her head as an apology. His day had begun like most others since his retirement as CEO of Houston Financial Group. He lived alone now after the death of his wife, Sara. After fifty years of sleeping with her by his side, he still was not used to having the queen bed all to himself. He remembered their discussion about moving to a king. The queen bed would ensure we would always sleep closely together. He smiled to himself.

  That exactly right-sized bed now felt enormous and unfamiliar. Her picture in the silver frame watched from his bedside table. A more formal family portrait, from Christmas thirty years ago, hung over the dresser. He woke every morning to his young, laughing wife and their two children amidst a pile of presents and wrapping paper. He was there, too, with much more hair.

  He was proud of his son who’d taken over Houston Financial Group, particularly the fact that Edwin didn’t complain about moving through all the departments to earn his position.

  Cameron slowed down as they pulled into the parking lot.
Looking at the greyhound in the rear-view mirror, he nodded. “Minuit, stay single and carefree. Children can be very tiresome.” Something else was going on with Edwin, he could feel it. Something to check on.

  That slight worry about Edwin was countered by his delight at Victoria hiring his daughter, Carolee, to be executive director of the Houston Charitable Foundation. He knew the ever proper and professional Victoria Brentwood would never let personal relationships rule her decisions. She recognized Carolee as the best in the business and was lucky to get her.

  Cam should be feeling completely happy. Except for the worries about the audit. And whatever might be going on with Edwin. And of course, missing Sara.

  This day marked exactly twenty months since losing his wife to cancer. She was seventy-two and far too young to leave them. And yes, he was still keeping count of the days, though by now, he’d perfected his “getting on with it” face. And everyone had indeed gotten on with it, with life. At least they no longer clucked over him. Widows had given up bringing him casseroles and dropping by to make sure he was eating properly. Their couple friends had stopped inviting him to dinner parties where he would be odd man out. His golf and fishing buddies had gotten back into their old groove. And his children no longer hovered over him as if expecting him to shatter.

  Retirement hadn’t changed his morning routine much. He was up at 6:30. A quick shower was followed by coffee and two eggs on toast. Instead of a tailored suit and tie, his sartorial choice consisted of sweats and jogging shoes, and he was ready for his morning jaunt around Memorial Park.

  Victoria had picked up on the fact that he had much on his mind. It was past 3:00 a.m. before his brain finally shut down from spinning in circles the previous night. Too many unanswered questions swarming around him and those he loved. His unease was too evident if Victoria noticed it. I need to get Sinclair back to redo my will … again, he thought. Another thing he’d have to follow up.

  He could barely admit he missed Sara so much that he actually connected with the fringe spiritual group she had discovered in the depth of her illness. She’d be laughing hysterically today if she really was on the other side watching over things. She had all the answers those guys claimed to know.

  Enough. Calming walk. Then he could get back to business.

  He pulled himself to the present and refocused on the winding road into Memorial Park.

  With his left hand steering the Mercedes, Cam reached into the back seat to scratch Minuit behind the ear. She managed a lick across his wrist as she twisted in her seat belt.

  “How about we do twice around the park today, old girl? I’ll send your mom a text so she doesn’t worry. Her quiche will be as good warmed up.”

  He pulled into the lot with the closest access to the walking trail. They were later than usual, and the lot was nearly empty, so he parked at the end of the row nearest the bench marking the start of the trail. Cam walked around the back of the car to unhook Minuit from the seat belt. They’d done this regularly for the past year, so the dog jumped onto the tarmac and stood waiting for his command to head out.

  An oversized SUV was in the middle of the lot, its motor revving. As soon as Cam moved into the drive, it headed directly at him. Cam dropped the dog’s leash before he was hit and thrown over the rear trunk. A sharp turn and the car was back on Memorial Drive toward the suburbs.

  Barely breathing, Cam lay crumbled on the ground. He felt something warm wrap around him. Minuit had leveraged her long body as close as possible.

  Thank God she wasn’t hit. He closed his eyes again and let the pain wash over him.

  Three

  VICTORIA

  I SAVORED MY SECOND—final—cup of coffee for the day, sipping it like it was a rare vintage. The remains of my quiche were evident on the Limoges plate. Cam’s text apologized for staying longer and missing breakfast, but he was now over an hour late. They must be enjoying their outing. I smiled, glad that my dog was getting a good workout. Cam would have to settle for reheated quiche when they got back.

  It was only ten o’clock but already hitting the high eighties in my courtyard. It was ten degrees cooler under the large pecan tree where I sat mourning the loss of my favorite stimulant.

  Watching the mourning doves at their daily ablutions, all I could think of was my impending withdrawal. I am not happy about this. Cutting back on caffeine has to be at least as hard as going cold turkey with cigarettes. Dr. Keene insisted this was the best way to control my blood pressure without adding another drug to my daily routine.

  My laptop was keyed into the Houston Charitable Foundation website. I was waiting on the Zoom meeting to start. Heading the board for HCF was almost as much work as running R&V Oil Services. Whoever thought retirement would move at a leisurely pace?

  The city was mostly back to normal with face-to-face meetings, but the pandemic had introduced a number of new ways to meet safely. Today, it was simply easier and faster for me to join online rather than in person.

  We were reviewing the announcement of our new executive director. Cam’s daughter was an obvious choice for the job. Carolee Mitchell Cummings was a rare find. Growing up next door, I had kept up with her even after she left Houston. Her career matched our needs exactly. After graduating top of her class at Stanford, she had held increasingly complicated positions in the nonprofit world, from marketing and fundraising for a Palo Alto craft museum to chief operations officer for the Getty.

  I was clear with the search firm and my committee that Carolee was a family friend. I recused myself from the final vote but was not surprised to get a unanimous endorsement from the board. Carolee had the fundraising and management know-how to run any foundation in the country. But we held the ace—Houston was her hometown. I was not surprised that her mother’s death brought the need for family to the top of her bucket list. In perfect serendipity, our unexpected opening jived with her homesickness.

  Cameron was over the moon to have her and her family back in Houston. We had toasted our successful hire over dinner the night before. All that was left was to plan her reimmersion into Houston with a grand announcement.

  The morning had gotten away from me, and Minuit was not by my side. What could be keeping them? No way they are still sauntering around the park. Not in this heat.

  I shook my head. Minuit was my surrogate child since my daughter, Hildegard, refused to let me direct her in anything these days. Now that my granddaughter, Grace, was soon to have her own child, I hoped to focus my attention on her … if she let me. Independent women … too much like me. I had to smile at that thought and turned to the computer to connect to my Zoom conference.

  The link opened on the face of the charity’s CFO. Alex Redman looked surprisingly ruffled. The calm and cool accountant could handle the toughest audit with nary a quiver. So why was he fumbling the connection?

  “Alex, are you all right? Technical difficulties?” I could see that most of my board was assembled across the top of the screen, looking as concerned as he did.

  He shook his head. “No, no. Network’s fine. But Carolee won’t be able to join us right now. We had just started when she was pulled away for a call. She had to rush off. Family emergency, she said. I think her father.”

  With everyone unmuted, the noise level rose quickly. Waving my hand for attention, I spoke quietly. That always worked to quiet a crowd.

  “Everyone, please. Hold on. We need to reschedule the planning session, and I will see what I can find out about Carolee’s difficulty. Alex, please check the calendars and set up a tentative date for the meeting. I will let everyone know what I find out.”

  I logged off and grabbed my phone. Cam was the last person I had called, so I clicked redial. Too many rings, and it flipped into voicemail. “Cam. Is everything all right? Do I need to come get Minuit?” I sent the same note in a text. Nothing. I was about to try to call Carolee or Edwin and got a ding from the Houston Chronicle online feed: “Gulf Coast University Regents Chair victim of hit-and-run.” I clicked the link and was horrified to read that Cam was in Methodist Hospital with critical injuries.