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  Trevar’s Team: 3

  A Beryl Trevar Mystery

  by

  Scarlet Clover Publishers, L.L.C.

  Littleton, Colorado

  Copyright © 2018 Kieran York

  TREVAR’S TEAM: 3 - A Beryl Trevar Mystery

  By Kieran York

  Published: August, 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the publisher. This includes electronic or mechanical recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, except for the quotations or brief quotations used in critical articles or reviews, without prior permission from Scarlet Clover Publishers L.L.C.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, locales and events are used fictitiously.

  Covers Design Director: Karen D. Badger

  Interior Design and Formatting: Karen D. Badger

  Front Cover Art – Kelly Jo Stevens

  Edited by – Martha Ryan, Kathie Solie, and Barbara Oatley

  Published by Scarlet Clover Publishers L.L.C.

  P.O. Box 621002

  Littleton, Colorado 80162

  Printed and bound in the United States of America, UK, and Europe

  ISBN-13: 978-1725042759

  ISBN-10: 1725042754

  Books Also Written by Kieran York

  Fiction:

  Ballad of Raindrops

  Astray

  Primrose

  Trevar’s Team: 1 (A Beryl Trevar Mystery)

  Trevar’s Team: 2 (A Beryl Trevar Mystery)

  Trevar’s Team: 3 (A Beryl Trevar Mystery)

  Touring Kelly’s Poem

  Loitering on the Frontier

  Night Without Time

  Earthen Trinkets

  Careful Flowers

  Appointment with a Smile

  Royce Madison Mystery Series:

  Timber City Masks: Book 1

  Crystal Mountain Veils: Book 2

  Shinney Forest Cloaks: Book 3

  Rasp Meadow Crossing: Book 4

  Silver Wilderness Range: Book 5

  Timber County Cuisine: A Royce Madison Cookbook

  Poetry:

  Blushing Aspen

  Realm of Belonging

  Once Word: The Thought Trilogy Poetry 1

  Festival of a Moment: The Thought Trilogy Poetry 2

  Knapsack of Stars: The Thought Trilogy Poetry 3

  Short Fiction:

  Sugar With Spice

  Within Our Celebration

  Contributor to Sappho’s Poetry Series, edited by Beth Mitchum:

  Wet Violets, Volume 2

  Roses Read, Volume 3

  Delectable Daisies, Volume 4

  Fallen Petals, Volume 5

  DEDICATION

  I dedicate this book to my very dear friend, Anne Petersmann.

  I thank her for the portrait of Clover York, and for the kindness and artistry of the beautiful sculpture of Clover. Anne has been my friend for half a decade, and one of the most amazing artists and photographers that I know.

  Anne is the manager of Fitzdouble, A.Pic, and Pinsel und Palette.

  by Anne Petersmann, A.Pic

  by Anne Petersmann, Fitzdouble

  These are two of my most treasured possessions and I am grateful for both. I thank the brilliant artist for capturing the spirit of Clover.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Memorial

  I first and foremost, and forever, acknowledge CEO Clover York. (February 12, 2003-April 21, 2018)

  Clover had been with me for over fifteen years. I’d never left her side, nor had she ever left me. As a puppy, she was there in 2003 when I faced death, and I fought to live for her. She was there when I wrote, and rewrote books, and when we started Scarlet Clover Publishers. She made all the difference in this direction of my life, and the determination of my heart and soul.

  I shall be forever be thankful for Clover’s friendship. Looking at her as I wrote, that gave me strength. I would sometimes say, “Just a few minutes more,” as I wrote. She seemed to understand. From the moment of her diagnosis this April, until past the time of her death, my writing ceased.

  I am writing again, and she would want that. I’ve got a new schnauzer puppy, and she would have also wanted that for me. She only wanted what made me happy. Trevar (Trevy) Clover York, is only a few months old at this writing. I think Trevy knows she was sent by Clover. I know she was sent by Clover, to save me.

  I thank and appreciate my family and friends for getting me through the heartbreak of losing Clover. For the month when Clover was ill, my Facebook friends helped me by sending support, information, menus, and medical pointers. Finally, they sent condolences. Hundreds of messages, emails, and posts were invaluable, and much appreciated.

  I also wish to acknowledge the women and men at Deer Creek Animal Hospital. They helped before, and when, Clover went over the Rainbow Bridge. They helped me when Trevy was an ill puppy. I thank the women in the front office, and the medical support team. My thanks to Dr. Markee Kuschel, Dr. Jody Hanson, Dr. Kelly Jones, Dr. Jamie Saliman, Dr. Jim Houchens, and CPhT Kathy Litja. My thanks and appreciation to a wonderful team.

  Memorial Poem

  This poem was written by one of Clover’s vets. She has cared for many of my pets over the years. She graciously allowed me to share this poem. It has helped in the healing, and I wanted to share it.

  Thank you for your words, Dr. Thornton:

  We who invite animals into our lives welcome the warmest happiness and the deepest sorrow. Our relationship with these animal companions has evolved over thousands of years of increasing entanglement until they rely upon us, and us upon them. In some ways, they are as people; in other ways they recall us to a simpler state of being. Pets anchor us to the uncomplicated goods in life; straightforward devotion, the pleasure of placid rest in a sunny spot contrasted with rambunctious play, the tranquility too often absent from our lives. We must lose these dear pets to death, but they have true immortality in the way which they have touched us to a depth beyond our humanity, and changed us for the better.

  ~ Laurie A. Thornton

  Introducing Trevar (Trevy) Clover York

  When Scarlet Clover Publishers lost our CEO, Clover York, I was in the middle of writing this mystery. Clover was the heart and soul of SCP.

  I hadn’t worked on this mystery, Trevar’s Team: 3, for two months. I’d taken care of Clover, lost her, and then decided if I was ever going to finish this book, I’d need help. Trevy joined Scarlet Clover Publishers on May 1. That was how she got her name. The mystery series features a strong, confident, and courageous team of women detectives, led by a former attorney, Beryl Trevar. Hence, Trevy was named after a strong woman.

  Trevy has some big paw prints to fill. And so far, she’s been a terrific little work partner. She has insisted I finish this book. I am blessed that she is on the Scarlet Clover Publishers staff. Welcome Trevy!

  Table of 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

  Epilogue

  Promos

  About the Author, Kieran York

  Coming Soon from Scarlet Clover Publishers, LLC

  Chapter 1

  I suddenly quit chewing, as I dropped my fork. Looking across the café’s booth table, I gave a heartfelt sigh. “I’m uncertain why anyone would be following me.”


  “You can’t make that stuff up! Someone was following you. You’ve got an unknown tail checking you out.” Summer Wade’s voice was hushed, as if the information was highly confidential. “I checked it out as you pulled out of the marina this morning. His eyes were glued to you. Binoculars lifted every so often. I know he’s not an enforcer.”

  “Could be a disgruntled client. Maybe he was recently released from prison, and you know how it goes. Incarcerated criminals sometimes go for their attorney. They feel robbed. When I was practicing law, I had my share of detractors.” I pushed the plate away from me.

  “That’s right, some of the dirtballs you represented when you were a lawyer did have to pull time. As Rachel says, you helped spring all the others. How about the clients from our agency? We put more than a few behind bars. There are pissed off customers.” She leaned in toward me. “Maybe your hypothesis is reasonable. You ticked off a deranged killer, and he or she was just released.”

  “Summer, over the years you’ve been far less kind, and certainly more physically harmful than I was. You should be at the top of a murderer’s list.” Grinning, I shrugged. “It was probably a coincidence. He wasn’t following me at all.” I chuckled a moment. “Or, maybe he’s attracted to me, and he’s a stalker.” I paused, considering that I did scope out a male driving a non-descript blue Lexus. “There was a guy I noticed this morning. But I haven’t seen him since earlier this morning. And I certainly didn’t get near enough for a description.” I gave a cursory check of the parking area. Outside of Palm’s Oyster Bistro a small parking area had filled up with noontime luncheon guests. My business partner, Summer, noticed I was inspecting the area through the large windows of the Palm’s Bistro.

  “Is he around?”

  “I don’t see him, but part of the lot is hidden. Maybe this guy took a break. Even stalkers need a potty break.”

  “Or maybe he knew that I made him, and he’s being more careful.”

  Arguing, I said, “Summer, he was a guy going to work. He happened to be following me.” I felt a chill climb up my spine. My natural propensity was being the private detective following a perp. Not being tailed. That usually meant a problem.

  “Why the binoculars?” she suspiciously questioned.

  “It’s a picturesque marina. Our yacht and the others docked, are beautiful, and make an elegant photo. He’s probably a tourist interested in Palm Beach.” I hesitated. I was disputing an event that needed to be followed up. Danger hides out. “Okay, listen, duck out the back door, and see if he’s around. Go to your car, and watch. Give me a bell. I’ll come out the front door and go to my convertible.”

  She stood. Her tall, thin Amazonian frame was toned. As she walked down the aisle, I was very glad that Summer was a member of our detective agency, Trevar Investigators, Inc. Her resume was certainly questionable. She was an ex-druggie. But her resolve, and strength, amazed me. She was now combing her short, dark sable hair upward and back. Stylishly. She was as warm and tender as she was fierce and sarcastic. She’d lived many life times, and she was yet only in her early twenties. Her motorcycle named Priscilla was her pride and joy.

  As I took the last delicious sip of my iced limeade, my cell rang.

  Summer’s words rushed. “Trev, he’s here. He parked a row behind you.”

  “I’ll be right out. Time to confront.” I stood, tossed money on the table, and headed toward the door.

  “Wait!” There was alarm in her voice. “Look, there’s more. As I walked to my cycle, I walked right past him. I got a good look at him.”

  “And he’s a tough-gun gangster?” I inquired.

  “No. He looks like he could be your twin.”

  I stopped at the door. “He has a resemblance to me?”

  “No. He is identical to you. Do you have a brother?”

  “Not that I know of.” I could feel my frown deepening. The thought was improbable. My father had made it abundantly clear that he hadn’t wanted children, and he hadn’t wanted me. He blamed my mother for the little snafu that was my birth. Now, the question was – might there have been two snafus?”

  My cross of the parking lot was more of a charge than walk. As his face lifted, I noticed his uneasiness. He tried to look away. But I was walking directly toward his Lexus. “You,” my voice was commanding. “Who are you and why are you following me?” I couldn’t say more. I was stunned.

  If I were a male, this guy was exactly what I’d look like. His blond curly hair was stylishly combed. His light blue eyes were ringers for my own. His teeth, white and nicely spaced and formed were similar to mine. Although he wasn’t showing his dimples, he also had them. Just like mine. He was trim, and the way he fit the driver’s seat, I estimated he was over six foot tall. I was over 5’8”. “Who are you?”

  I heard Summer’s footsteps behind me. “Well?” she directed. “Answer the question.”

  He stuttered his words, “I, I was following you. I’m sorry, didn’t mean…mean to frighten you…”

  Summer leaned down, against the front door of his car, she looked him in the eyes. “Do we look in any way frightened? Answer her question.” Summer was also perplexed, she looked back at me, and then at the stranger. We simultaneously opened our over blouses, so that our shoulder holsters were visible.

  “I’m really sorry,” he muttered. “Look, I know you’re carrying a gun so I’m telling you, I’m not reaching for a gun. Just to get my wallet.” As he clumsily maneuvered to get his wallet, his hands were shaking. He flipped it open and pulled a yellow-edged photo out. Handing it to me, he said, “You’re too little to remember this. You were two and I was five. I can barely remember you.”

  In the photo was a blonde curly-topped me, and a toe-headed curly-topped boy. Holding me was my father, and I assumed his father held him. They were also identical. I muttered, “This is my father and his twin brother. So, you’re my cousin?” I questioned incredulously.

  “Yes. On the day this photo was taken, that was the last time I saw you and my uncle. I think my dad went to your dad’s funeral, but I was in college and couldn’t go. Mom didn’t want me near your side of the family.” He bowed his head, shaking it. “She thought you were all heathens. That was why we moved to Seattle. Mom used to say if she had any chance of keeping my father on the rails, she would need to move as far away as she could. Florida and Washington state are about as far as you can get.”

  Suddenly grinning, I recalled my mother moaning about the religious pains-in-the-ass that were my father’s family. And, I admitted, had my father’s twin stuck around, he probably would have ended up a broken alcoholic like my father. And my mother. Handing him back the photo, I asked “Back to question one. Why are you stalking me?”

  “I didn’t know if I could trust you. I want to hire you. Your agency. Oh, my name is Boyd Trevar. Boyd.”

  He stuck his trembling, clammy hand out of the window. I shook hands, still apprehensive. “Boyd, you could have called. Why the silly hide and seek?”

  “It seemed appropriate at the time. I need your help. I’ve got problems.”

  “Let’s go back in the café and have some coffee. I have questions. Summer, I’ll catch you later.” I led the way. Summer obviously felt secure in the knowledge that I was safe. She continued with her afternoon list of contacts in a divorce case. She revved her motorcycle, and skedaddled.

  Back in the restaurant, Boyd and I sat across from one another chatting – catching up. He disclosed that his parents raised their family in an upscale Seattle suburb. His father had died of a heart attack a year ago. His mother was a cross between being a church lady and a cat aficionado. A younger brother had a family and was in the insurance business. Boyd fought with his mother over having too many felines. And way too many Bibles. Both mother and brother had driven Boyd crazy. After college, Boyd moved to California to become a surfer. Then he became fascinated with deep-sea diving, and for the next couple of decades did deep-sea diving - interspersed with surfing.

  An
other commonality with men, he also chased women. One he caught, married for five years, then she left him. He’d originally relocated to Miami but had a project he’d been working on with a treasure salvage ship moored off of North Palm Beach. Boyd was staying at a moderately priced motel room in West Palm.

  As we talked, I noticed his handsome features, and the expression in his voice. Were the facial similarities throw backs from our heritage, or had we seen and heard our fathers, and somehow picked up their likenesses? Even his laugh was a similar kind of melody.

  When we arrived at my part of the show and tell session, I shrugged. “I spent most of my adult life as an attorney, and then started a detective agency…”

  He interrupted, “I’ve read all the press about you. You and your women partners have solved lots of crime.”

  “Our profession is adventuresome.” I couldn’t stand chit-chat anymore, I redirected him. “And you mentioned being in some kind of trouble.”

  “Let’s get out of here. I don’t want anyone hearing anything.”

  “Sure. We can sit in my car.”

  We got into my lunar blue Mercedes convertible. I’d left the top on, so we had the feel of security. Secret keeping. “This is a lovely car. I wanted to get a fancier car after the divorce settlement. I’ve got money, but I didn’t want to blow it on a car.”

  “For me it’s a prestige kind of show. I grew up in extreme poverty.” I lifted my sunglasses, resting them atop my forehead.

  “My parents talked about your mom and dad, and how you could be living like that.” He hesitated. “How did you pay for a degree in law?”