Assam of death, p.1
Assam of Death, page 1
Assam of Death
The Wallshire Mystery Series
Book Four
H. C. Cardona
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Your exclusives!
Did You Enjoy Assam of Death?
Acknowledgments
Chapter
One
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glow on the gray walls of the Wallshire Police Department. Everything smelled like lemon-scented cleaner and badly burned coffee—comforting in a strange, institutional kind of way. I tugged my sweater a little closer, letting the soft fabric brush my wrists. My scarf—deep burgundy and just dramatic enough—hung loosely around my neck, and I’d added a swipe of autumn lipstick before walking in. Something about red always made me feel more capable.
I hadn’t taken more than three steps toward the front desk when I spotted him.
Levi Kessler. Leaning against the counter like it personally offended him. Dressed in a perfectly pressed charcoal shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to hint at forearms he definitely knew were distracting. His jaw was set, brows drawn in that way that suggested the paperwork in front of him had either insulted his intelligence or failed to file itself.
Of course, he looked good. And, of course, he was here.
“Hart,” he said without even glancing up, like my presence was an unfortunate side effect of breathing the same air.
“Detective,” I replied, chipper enough to be annoying on purpose.
He finally looked up, eyes flicking to my scarf, then my face. “You lost?”
I smiled sweetly. “Nope. I’m here to see Captain Stone.”
That got his attention. He straightened just a fraction, something unreadable flashing behind his gaze. “For what?”
“Gala stuff,” I said with a casual shrug. “He invited me. We’re going to talk about it.”
He blinked once. “He invited you.”
“Mm-hmm,” I said, looping the strap of my purse back over my shoulder, pretending not to notice the way his jaw ticked. “I’m guessing that’s not what you were expecting?”
Levi scoffed under his breath and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, You’ve got to be kidding me.
Before I could press him further, Captain Stone stepped into the lobby, all warmth and charm like a brisk autumn breeze. “Miss Hart! Right on time.” He smiled broadly, completely unaware that the air between Levi and me was thick enough to cut with a butter knife.
“Captain,” I greeted with a cheerful nod. I didn’t miss the way Levi crossed his arms behind me, brooding like it was a full-time job.
Stone gestured toward his office. “Come on back. Let’s talk details.”
I followed him, but not before tossing a glance over my shoulder at Levi.
His eyes were still on me.
And they didn’t look amused.
Captain Stone led me into his office, the rich scent of old leather and wood polish wrapping around me like a familiar story. A few case files were neatly stacked on his desk, but it was the trophies, plaques, and framed newspaper clippings lining the walls that gave the room its gravity. A small lamp glowed in the corner, casting warm light that softened the angles of the space—and his expression.
“Peyton,” he said as he sank into his chair, his voice a soothing blend of charm and command. “Thanks for coming. The gala’s more important this year than ever. We’re hoping it’ll help lock in some serious funding for the department.”
I slid into the chair across from him, brushing an imaginary wrinkle from my skirt. “Right. It’s at Hallowthorne House, isn’t it?”
“Exactly.” His whole face lit up at the mention of it. “Historic, a little spooky, elegant as hell—it’s the perfect place to remind people that supporting Wallshire means investing in legacy. And safety.”
I nodded slowly, already picturing the ivy-covered mansion with its creaking staircases and candlelit halls. The kind of place where whispers lived in the walls and secrets hid behind paneling. It was perfect—for a fundraiser, sure, but also for a murder mystery, if we were being honest.
Stone continued, “We’ve invited business owners, civic leaders, long-time residents. People who shape this town. I think you’ll find the crowd… enlightening.”
There was a glimmer in his eyes—nothing inappropriate, just amused, like he enjoyed tossing me into the deep end to see what I’d do.
“Networking,” I said, trying not to sound dubious. “I guess that makes sense.”
“Not just networking,” he added. “This is a chance for people to see what you bring to Wallshire. And to realize you’re not just the woman with the tea shop who keeps stumbling into crime scenes.”
I snorted. “That’s a high bar.”
Stone smiled. “I’m serious. You’ve become part of this town’s pulse. Let them see that.”
There was a pause, a flicker of tension that I couldn’t quite place. Then he leaned back, tone shifting just slightly. “I’d like to invite you as my guest. I mentioned it earlier, but I want you to know I was serious."
My eyebrows shot up. “You mean like… arrive together?”
He nodded. “I’ll pick you up. It’s easier that way, and frankly, it sets the tone.”
The tone? I didn’t ask what that meant.
Still, something fluttered in my stomach—a mix of nerves and surprise. “All right,” I said, folding my hands neatly in my lap. “When is it again?”
“Friday evening. I’ll swing by at six. Don’t worry, you’ll have time to change.”
I grinned. “That’s very presumptuous of you.”
“I’ve seen your tea-stained aprons, Peyton.”
Fair. I laughed, more relaxed than I’d expected to be. Maybe this gala would be just what I needed—if not to solve anything, then at least to shake up the puzzle.
Stone leaned forward slightly, folding his hands atop a thick folder on his desk. “How are you settling in?” he asked, voice low and smooth like a good dark roast. “The town treating you well?”
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, giving him a small smile. “Mostly. I’ve stopped getting lost on my way to the bakery, so that’s progress.”
His mouth quirked into a half-smile, like he was trying to keep it strictly professional, but wasn’t quite succeeding. “You’ve managed to find your way into every corner of Wallshire. Usually with a mystery attached.”
I raised a brow, unbothered. “I like to think of myself as a community participant with excellent intuition.”
“That’s one way to put it.” He chuckled softly, the sound warm and easy. “And Steeped in Mysteary? Still the coziest crime scene this side of the Paradise River?”
I laughed, relaxing into the moment. “I’ve had fewer surprise body discoveries lately, so business is improving.”
He nodded with mock gravity. “A positive trend. I’d like to keep it that way.”
There was a pause—brief but thick with subtext. His gaze lingered just a beat longer than necessary, not quite crossing any lines, but nudging close enough to make me sit up a little straighter.
“Really though,” he continued, the tone shifting back into something steadier, more grounded, “I’m glad you’re still here. Wallshire’s better with you in it.”
That landed deeper than I expected. I blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity behind his words. “Thank you,” I said softly, fiddling with the edge of my scarf. “Sometimes I still feel like I’m figuring out my place here. But I’m getting there.”
“You’ve got good instincts,” he said matter-of-factly. “And you’re not afraid to ask questions most people avoid.”
“Some people might call that nosy.”
“I call it useful,” he replied with a slow smile.
I felt heat bloom beneath my cheeks, subtle but impossible to ignore. I cleared my throat and reached for my mug of tea, lifting it as a distraction. “Careful, Captain. Keep flattering me like that and I’ll start thinking I’m part of the force.”
He leaned back, clearly amused. “Just don’t start asking for a badge.”
“Oh, no. I’d want a cloak. And a dramatic theme song.”
He laughed then, a genuine laugh that lit up his whole face. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Captain Stone walked me out of his office with a warm, practiced ease, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back. It wasn’t possessive, just… steady. Assured. Like he was guiding me through a room full of possibilities instead of fluorescent lighting and the scent of copier toner. The hallway felt quieter than before, as if the building itself had paused to eavesdrop.
The moment we stepped through the main doors, I spotted Levi leaning near the bulletin board, flipping through a file. His posture was stiff, his shoulders drawn up tight beneath his jacket. He wasn’t reading. Not really.
His eyes flicked up—and locked straight on Stone’s hand.
Just for a second. But it was enough.
His jaw ticked once, hard. The muscle there shifted like a warning bell tucked behind skin.
Before I could speak—or do something disastrous, like apologize for being walked out of a building—I heard the familiar cadence of Deputy Lockhard’s boots tapping across the floor.
“Miss Hart,” Lockhard said, with his usual easy charm. He was all angles and dimples, with sleeves rolled up just enough to suggest he either lifted hay bales for fun or wanted everyone to think he did. His tie was loose, his grin casual, and his hair always perfectly tousled in that “I swear I didn’t style this” sort of way.
“How’ve you been?” he asked, with a glance toward my scarf like he was checking for hidden bruises or secrets.
“I’m good,” I said with a smile that felt mostly honest. “Trying to keep myself out of trouble.”
Levi didn’t say a word. Just stood there, unreadable, the file in his hands forgotten. His silence was louder than any comment he could’ve made.
Lockhard’s eyes shifted between us, the tension obvious enough that even his smile dipped slightly. “Well, let us know if you need anything.”
“Will do,” I said lightly, but the air between all three of us was heavy as a cast iron teapot.
Stone gave me a nod and one last parting smile. “I’ll be in touch about the gala, Peyton.”
Levi’s jaw ticked again.
And me? I was already planning what kind of tea would pair best with awkward tension and territorial glowering.
Maybe something smoky.
The moment Captain Stone stepped away, the air shifted—like someone had opened a window and let in a gust of something colder, sharper. I barely had time to exhale before Levi straightened from the bulletin board, his eyes narrowing as if he were recalibrating the weather inside the room.
“Enjoy your date with Stone,” he said, voice clipped and razor-sharp.
I tilted my head, letting my lips curve just enough. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”
“It’s not jealousy,” he replied flatly. “It’s judgment.”
My brows lifted. “Judging me for what—helping out with a town fundraiser? Or for accepting dinner with someone?”
Levi crossed his arms slowly, gaze fixed on me with the same intensity he used to interrogate suspects. “Dinner,” he echoed, like the word itself offended him. “You lit up like he offered you front-row seats to the apocalypse.”
I leaned casually against the cool wall of the station, folding my arms in return. “He asked me to attend the gala. You know, community, good cause, fancy cheese plates. It’s not exactly a clandestine affair.”
“Right,” he muttered. “Because those galas are always so wholesome.”
There was something in his tone—something too close to personal. I couldn’t resist. “Admit it. You’re just annoyed you don’t get to play knight-in-darkly-pressed-suit tonight.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he shot back, but the edge in his voice softened just slightly. “I’m not your babysitter.”
“No? So you won’t be pacing your living room while I’m out charming half of Wallshire over deviled eggs?”
“You think this is funny?” he asked, giving me a look that could curdle milk and still somehow make my pulse race.
“It’s adorable watching you squirm,” I said sweetly. “Also? You’re the one who thinks anyone I talk to has ulterior motives. Maybe you’re projecting.”
“I’m just saying,” he said, gesturing vaguely, “you’ve got a bad habit of trusting people with charming smiles and questionable pasts.”
“Coming from the man who trusts no one?” I lifted an eyebrow. “Look, if you’re going to be insufferable every time I wear lipstick and accept an invitation, you might want to invest in a stress ball. Or ask me out yourself."
He rolled his eyes with enough force to generate wind, but I didn’t miss the subtle upward twitch of his mouth. “Keep talking like that and maybe I’ll crash the gala. Just to supervise.”
“Oh please do,” I said with a grin. “I’d love to see you try to blend in at a mansion full of socialites and canapé trays.”
Our banter crackled between us, a familiar rhythm neither of us fully understood but couldn’t seem to let go of. It wasn’t a truce, exactly—but it was close.
And honestly? I kind of liked it that way.
Chapter
Two
As soon as I stepped into the Sasha's Inn, the warmth of it wrapped around me like a hug I didn’t realize I needed. Golden evening light poured through the tall windows, stretching long and lazy across the polished wood floors. Somewhere nearby, the scent of cinnamon scones lingered, mingling with the faintest trace of lavender and the crisp edge of autumn in the air.
I tugged off my scarf and tossed it onto one of the chairs with a theatrical sigh that felt entirely earned. The weight of the day still clung to me like static—especially Levi’s voice, low and judgmental, echoing in my head long after I’d left the station.
“Rough day or Levi Kessler levels of rude?” Sasha called from behind the front desk, wineglass in one hand, dinner receipts in the other. Barefoot and already halfway into cozy mode, she looked every bit the innkeeper-turned-best-friend who knew when I needed to be dragged back to reality.
“A delicious combo of both,” I said, flopping into a chair with the grace of a Victorian ghost in need of fainting salts. “He was broody. More broody than usual. Like someone insulted his tea and his childhood all at once.”
Sasha let out a low chuckle and padded closer. “That man has the emotional range of a crowbar.”
“Right?” I said, rubbing my temple. “I mean, it’s not like I was asking him to waltz with me through Wallshire Square. I just mentioned the gala and—boom—storm cloud Kessler activated.”
Sasha’s eyebrows lifted just enough to be dangerous. “Maybe he’s brooding because you’re going with someone else.”
I snorted. “Please. He barely tolerates me. If I got hit by a carriage in front of him, he’d probably just critique my posture.”
“Sure,” she said dryly, taking another sip. “Because men who don’t care always glare like they’re trying to unearth your secrets with their eyeballs.”
I tried not to smile, but it happened anyway. “Okay, fine. He might have glared… a little.”
“Mmhmm.”
She poured the rest of her tea and leaned against the counter, studying me like I was a mystery she hadn’t quite solved. “So, are you gonna look absolutely stunning and let him stew in his glacial silence at the gala?”
“I hadn’t planned on it,” I said, then after a beat, “But now that you mention it…”
Sasha narrowed her eyes at me, her grin curling like smoke. “Maybe he likes you.”
I scoffed so hard, I nearly choked on my tea. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh, come on,” she said, spinning her wine glass lazily between her fingers. “You can’t tell me there isn’t something there. It’s practically buzzing.”
“Electric is one word for it,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “Feels more like an electric fence. Every time I get too close, I get zapped.”
Sasha laughed, full and unfiltered, the sound bouncing off the inn’s cozy dining room walls. “Enemies-to-lovers. Classic. I’d read it.”
“If the genre is crime and punishment,” I deadpanned, though a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
She waved a hand like I was being ridiculous. “You should see how he looks at you when you’re not paying attention—like you’re a crossword puzzle that keeps getting harder the longer he stares.”
“Or like I’m a roach in his cereal,” I offered, lifting a brow.
“That too,” she said with a wink. Then she leaned forward, her voice softening. “What if you’re both just scared?”
I froze for a second. I hated how much that landed. “Scared?”
