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  STAMPED OUT

  A Mail Carrier

  Cozy Mystery Series

  BOOK ONE

  BY

  TONYA KAPPES

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book is dedicated to Ashley Yungbluth.

  Not only has Ashley become an amazing reader, but she’s also become a great friend to me over the years.

  When I wanted to write the Mail Carrier Cozy Mystery Series, I knew I could ask Ashley anything I needed since she is a clerk at the USPS.

  I honestly had no idea how hard they work until I started to pick Ashley’s brain. I just knew that some really GREAT mysteries could happen, and what better sleuth than someone in all of our daily lives…a mail carrier.

  Thank you, Ashley, for taking the time to answer all my questions and being the wonderful you that you are!

  I’d also like to thank Mariah Sinclair for the adorable covers for the Mail Carrier Series. They are so fun and fit my writing style perfectly. You’re a genius.

  Thank you to Red Adept Editing for the wonderful editing job you do to make my words make sense.

  And a huge thank-you to my husband, Eddy. He does all the things that would normally take me away from writing. Without him by my side, I’d not be able to be a full-time writer and fulfill my dream.

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Cover by Covervault, Mariah Sinclair. Edits by Red Adept Editing Services.

  Copyright © 2019 by Tonya Kappes. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, email [email protected].

  About the Author

  Tonya has written more than 60 novels, all of which have graced numerous bestseller lists, including USA Today’s. Best known for stories charged with emotion and humor and filled with flawed characters, her novels have garnered reader praise and glowing critical reviews as well as being the Woman’s World Book Club Cozy Mystery pick twice. She lives with her husband and a very spoiled rescue cat named Ro. Tonya grew up in the small southern Kentucky town of Nicholasville. Now that her four boys are grown men, Tonya writes full-time.

  Facebook at Author Tonya Kappes,

  https://www.facebook.com/authortonyakappes

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  https://www.facebook.com/groups/208579765929709/

  Webpage

  http://www.tonyakappes.com/

  Goodreads

  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4423580.Tonya_Kappes

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  https://twitter.com/tonyakappes11

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  https://www.pinterest.com/tonyakappes/

  For weekly updates and contests, sign up for the Coffee Chat with Tonya newsletter via her website or Facebook.

  Also by Tonya Kappes

  Magical Cures Mystery Series

  A CHARMING CRIME

  A CHARMING CURE

  A CHARMING POTION (novella)

  A CHARMING WISH

  A CHARMING SPELL

  A CHARMING MAGIC

  A CHARMING SECRET

  A CHARMING CHRISTMAS (novella)

  A CHARMING FATALITY

  A CHARMING DEATH (novella)

  A CHARMING GHOST

  A CHARMING HEX

  A CHARMING VOODOO

  A CHARMING CORPSE

  A CHARMING MISFORTUNE

  A Camper and Criminals Cozy Mystery

  BEACHES, BUNGALOWS, & BURGLARIES

  DESERTS, DRIVERS, & DERELICTS

  FORESTS, FISHING, & FORGERY

  CHRISTMAS, CRIMINALS, & CAMPERS

  MOTORHOMES, MAPS, & MURDER

  CANYONS, CARAVANS, & CADAVERS

  HITCHES, HIDEOUTS, & HOMICIDE

  ASSAILANTS, ASPHALT, & ALIBIS

  VALLEYS, VEHICLES & VICTIMS

  A Southern Cake Baker Series

  (under the pen name of Maymee Bell)

  CAKE AND PUNISHMENT

  BATTER OFF DEAD

  A Ghostly Southern Mystery Series

  A GHOSTLY UNDERTAKING

  A GHOSTLY GRAVE

  A GHOSTLY DEMISE

  A GHOSTLY MURDER

  A GHOSTLY REUNION

  A GHOSTLY MORTALITY

  A GHOSTLY SECRET

  A GHOSTLY SUSPECT

  Killer Coffee Mystery Series

  SCENE OF THE GRIND

  MOCHA AND MURDER

  FRESHLY GROUND MURDER

  COLD BLOODED BREW

  DECAFFEINATED SCANDAL

  A KILLER LATTE

  HOLIDAY ROAST MORTEM

  Kenni Lowry Mystery Series

  FIXIN’ TO DIE

  SOUTHERN FRIED

  AX TO GRIND

  SIX FEET UNDER

  DEAD AS A DOORNAIL

  TANGLED UP IN TINSEL

  DIGGIN’ UP DIRT

  Spies and Spells Mystery Series

  SPIES AND SPELLS

  BETTING OFF DEAD

  GET WITCH or DIE TRYING

  A Laurel London Mystery Series

  CHECKERED CRIME

  CHECKERED PAST

  CHECKERED THIEF

  A Divorced Diva Beading Mystery Series

  A BEAD OF DOUBT SHORT STORY

  STRUNG OUT TO DIE

  CRIMPED TO DEATH

  Olivia Davis Paranormal Mystery Series

  SPLITSVILLE.COM

  COLOR ME LOVE (novella)

  COLOR ME A CRIME

  CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SNEAK PEEK-

  HOLIDAY ROAST MORTEM

  Book 7 in the Killer Coffee Mystery Series

  RECIPES

  Also by Tonya Kappes

  About the Author

  ONE

  Have you ever been around one of those people who say there’s something coming or something about to happen? Or you’ve been thinking ’bout her and she calls at that moment, that instant?

  My best friend, Iris Peabody, she’s not one of those psychics or anything, but she does get those weird feelings every once in a while. The first time we were in third grade. She swore to me how she’d seen a vision of Bobby Peters, the cutest boy in school, kissing me on the old rubber tire that was cemented into the ground on the playground. As soon as the teacher said it was time for recess, I darted out to that playground and perched myself right on top of that tire.

  Until…

  Bobby Peters himself ran by and pushed me right off, sending me to the ground and breaking my wrist. Boy, was Iris wrong.

  Then there was another time when we were in high school and Iris told me she’d had one of them visions where Bobby Peters was going to ask me to prom. When I saw him walk over to our table in the cafeteria, my heart went pitter-pat.

  Until…

  He up and asked Iris. She went.

  It wasn’t until years later, when I’d already gotten married to Richard Butler—making me Bernadette Butler, stay-at-home mom and ex-United States postal worker—and Iris was already divorced from Bobby Peters when she called me up at three p.m. one afternoon. I was getting ready to head on over to the high school football stadium to watch Grady. Oh no, he didn’t play football; he was the S
ugar Creek Gap grizzly bear mascot that did get promoted to manager of the team the following year. Still, I went to every game Sugar Creek Gap High School played to watch my boy run up and down the sidelines in the ridiculous bear outfit, waving the high school flag in our very small town of Sugar Creek Gap, Kentucky.

  Anyways, back to Iris. Well, she called me right before I was setting out for the game, asking all sorts of questions about Richard and whether I’d talked to him. Her exact words were, “I feel like something is wrong with Richard.”

  To this day, I still get chills thinking about it.

  Iris insisted I call him, but I knew Richard was away on business in our neighboring state of Tennessee, according to the online calendar we shared. There was no reason to bother him, especially when Iris’s little “feelings” had never come true yet.

  I was cheering on the cute bear when I noticed the state Sheriff had showed up at the game. It was like a slow-motion scene when I recalled seeing them ask someone a question, and the person had pointed directly at me. The Sheriff officers’ eyes met mine, and my stomach dropped. Iris Peabody’s feeling about my beloved Richard had come true: he had been killed in a car wreck on his way to his meeting.

  I’m Bernadette Butler, United States postal carrier. Mom to Grady Butler. Widow.

  ***

  “Good morning, Vince.”

  Vince Caldwell was sitting outside on one of the many swings across the long covered porch at the Sugar Creek Gap Nursing Home, looking at the morning paper.

  My phone rang just as I’d walked up. It was Iris. This was the second time she’d called this morning and the second time I’d sent her to voicemail.

  “Mornin’, Bernie.” Vince pulled the readers off the bridge of his nose and looked up through his bushy gray eyebrows. He patted the open space next to him and put down his crossword puzzle. “I was thinkin’ of you this mornin’. About to turn cold. I hope you start dressing warmer. I’d hate for you to catch a chill.”

  “Thank you. I think about you every morning.” I took a seat and at that moment realized exactly why Iris had called me but hadn’t left a message.

  Earlier I had been running late for my route, and I wanted to try to finish a little early since it was game day.

  “I still can’t believe it’s been ten years.” Vince reached over and patted my leg. “We sure still miss Richard and his guitar.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” I sucked in a deep breath. My heart sank into my stomach when I looked at my watch to see the date.

  The anniversary of Richard’s death. Something I’d never forgotten…until today.

  “You and Grady headin’ over to the cemetery before the big game?” Vince asked, because it was high school football season, and wouldn’t you know, my son Grady had gotten his degree in sports management with a minor in English and was now Sugar Creek Gap High School’s English teacher and head football coach.

  “I’m sure we will.” I tugged open my mailbag and took out Vince’s mail. We probably weren’t, but I wasn’t going to tell anyone. I usually went to see Richard alone. “You want this or want me to put it in the mailbox?”

  It wasn’t long after Grady was born that Richard and I had decided I’d be a stay-at-home mom and quit my job as a mail carrier. Childcare was expensive, and Richard had just gotten his first good sales job, which took him out of town a lot. It made more sense for me to quit my job than to try to find somewhere or someone to watch our son.

  After Richard had passed, I’d gone back to the post office. They’d offered to give me my route back, which was a driving route, but the downtown-area walking route was available. It was much harder to walk and carry the mail, but staying outdoors kept my mind clear and helped me escape from thinking too much about Richard.

  “I’ll take it,” Vince said, bringing me out of my thoughts. Vince was one of the many elderly citizens who had moved to the retirement condos the nursing home offered. My parents lived here too. They weren’t retired by any means, but it was a low-cost and low-maintenance way of living, and they loved it here.

  “Well, if I’m going to get to the game on time, I better get hustling.” As I stood up, the chains holding up the swing clanked. I handed him his mail.

  “Growllll.” Vince did his best impression of the grizzly bear sound the football crowd made when someone scored a touchdown. He got up too. “Goooooooo Grizzlies!”

  “Rah, rah.” I laughed and pumped my fist in the air. I noticed an Uber driver had pulled up. “Where are you going?”

  “Emergency city council meeting today. I’ve heard of some rumblings about Chuck Shilling selling his majority share of the country club to someone. Apparently, at last night’s commissioners’ meeting, things got a little heated.” He didn’t mention who might have bought the country club. “From what I understand, Dennis Kuntz is all up in arms. Should be a good one.”

  “Maybe I’ll stop in on my route.” I waved him off before I made my way into the building.

  Dennis Kuntz and Chuck Shilling owned the one hundred twenty acres the country club sat on, so why would Dennis be so upset?

  I pondered the question as I dropped the mailbag to the floor and filled the small community boxes as quickly as possible before I locked them back up and headed out in record time.

  In light of the news of the sale of the country club—which was huge if what Vince had told me was true—maybe no one would remember what today meant to me. Not that I didn’t love the way my community rallied around me and Grady, but it was as if they rehashed it every year when I was just wanting to grieve on my own.

  The bright sun had warmed the autumn day enough that I could take off my sweater. I tied it around my waist and walked over the Old Mill Creek bridge. Once over the bridge, I was standing right where I’d started my morning: next to the post office and across the street from where I’d begin the rest of my morning route. The downtown businesses were on the left side of Main Street.

  Eventually, I’d get to the small neighborhoods on the west side of downtown then make my way back to downtown, where I’d deliver all the mail to the business district of Sugar Creek Gap, which included the courthouse, doctors’ building, bank, and various other businesses. I liked to finish my day with a few neighborhoods just east of downtown that circled back to the post office.

  Briefly, I stopped to listen to the sound of the babbling brook swimming across the rocks as the old mill pushed the water down the creek. It was a daily ritual that I loved, only today there were a lot more cars on the bridge than usual.

  When I crossed the street, I noticed the cars were pulling into the courthouse parking lot.

  Out of curiosity about what Vince had said about the country club, I decided to switch up my route and deliver the mail to the courthouse just so I could pop my head into that emergency meeting.

  Social Knitwork was the first business I came to. It was our local yarn shop, owned by Leotta Goldey. She was a whiz with any sort of material. She was the go-to gal for anything that needed to be altered and lettered and had a monopoly on all things with names on them, including all the business she got from the Sugar Creek Gap schools and sports teams.

  When I pushed through the door, the bell above it knocked against the glass. Leotta looked up.

  “Morning, Bernadette,” she greeted me with a pair of knitting needles in her hand. “You doing all right today?”

  “I sure am.” I headed over to the counter. I reached around and grabbed her mail out of my bag, putting it in the basket that sat next to the register. “No mail today?”

  “Nope.” She stood over a customer’s shoulder, watching them knit something. I generally was here at the same time each day, which was when Leotta gave lessons as well. I was not a knitter or any type of crafter, but I did enjoy watching. “I’ll have some tomorrow. I’ll be writing out my bills this afternoon.” She pointed one of the needles to a coatrack, where some fluffy knitted fall-colored scarves hung. “I made some new scarves for tonight’s game. You
take one if you like. It’s gonna turn real cold this week.”

  “These sure are pretty.” I thumbed through them. “Grady and Julia gave me the personalized scarf for my birthday this summer that I think you made. I better use it, or they’ll tan my hide,” I joked, thinking Grady probably had no idea that Julia had given it to me.

  “That’s right.” She looked up at me and smiled from over the student’s shoulder. “He’s such a good boy, Bernadette. And that Julia. She’s a quick learner.”

  Julia Butler was his wife. They’d met at college. She worked as a secretary for Mac Tabor, a good family friend who was the local architect. She’d graduated from business school. She and Grady had gotten married a couple of years ago and had yet to give me a grandbaby.

  “Quick learner?” I asked.

  “Yes. She’s been coming over here and taking a class from me during her lunch break.”

  That was news to me, but it didn’t seem odd, since Julia’s office was just a couple doors down.

  “You be careful out there this morning.” She pointed her needle toward the window at the street. “All sorts of people cancelled their knitting appointments because they are up in arms about the sale of the country club. Did you hear about last night’s meeting?”

  “Somebody said something about it over at the nursing home this morning.” I watched alongside her as another car zoomed down the street.

  “I wonder why so many people care.” Leotta shrugged and walked back to her student.

  “I have no idea. I’m not a member of the country club.” I put my hand on the handle of the door.

  “I’ll see you at the game,” Leotta called out to me from across the shop.

  “Sounds good.”

  My phone buzzed. I stopped on the sidewalk and pulled the cell out of my pants pocket.

  When I saw it was Iris for the third time, I figured she really wanted something, so I answered it.

  “Hey, Iris,” I answered as I continued to deliver the mail of the local businesses. Mostly the owners were busy with customers or not in the fronts of their shops when I delivered their mail, so I’d pop in and out as quickly as I could.