mystery with a touch of murder
an Author's Life - Plotting & Writing
New Release! - EASIER DEAD THAN DRAWN
A wall muralist falls to her death and when the authorities cry murder, Chloe is the prime suspect.
#3 in the Paint by Murder Mystery Series...
When the town council hires Chloe Abbington’s close friend, famous wall muralist Lana Easton, to paint a mural advertising the return of the floating amphitheater, not everyone in Whisper Cove is happy about the theater or Lana. Naysayers think the noise from concerts and visitors will disrupt their quiet community. It doesn’t help that a lot of money taken from the town’s budget is being used to pay the muralist for her services. The mood turns even more grim when Lana is found dead, and since Chloe was there alone to discover her body, that makes her the prime suspect.
Before Chloe finds herself painted into a corner as the killer, she and sister Izzie hurry to solve the case and find the real criminal. The suspect list grows to include Lana’s boyfriend and her intern, as well as a couple of local residents. The task is a tall order for the sisters, and it doesn’t help that the detective on the case is someone who doesn’t seem to care for Chloe or her interference. Clues about Lana’s past surface and point to more than one suspect. The challenge will be to decide which one is the real killer.
Teaser -A BRUSH WITH MURDER
I stood and turned to tidy up and reorganize paint supplies on the shelf by size and color. All the while, my head kept spinning with ideas. We could invite Fiona to dinner, get to know each other, and send a message she was a welcomed addition to our community. I snapped my fingers. “Or maybe we throw her a party on her next birthday! If we show her kindness, maybe she’ll change for the better. Like flies and honey.” I smiled and hummed along to the Stones belting out “Honky Tonk Woman.”
My back pocket buzzed, along with a familiar ringtone. I plastered the phone to one ear while lining up bottles and tubes of paint with the other. “Hi, Mom.”
“Oh, good. I thought your phone would go straight to voice mail like Izzie’s. Listen, your dad and I are going to the Bixbys for a late-night game of gin rummy. When will you be home?”
I glanced at the clock. “I’d say by ten.”
“Well, if you’re hungry, there’s leftover pizza in the fridge. We should return by twelve or one. How’d everything go this evening?”
My hand jerked and bottles of paint tipped over like a line of dominoes. “Dang it all,” I muttered under my breath. “Except for Fiona’s behavior, the event ran like a charm. I’ll share the details later. Thanks for the pizza. You and Dad have a nice visit, and say hello to the Bixbys for me.”
A nanosecond later, before she could ask more about Fiona, I stabbed the end call button and moved on to scrub and dry the brushes and knives. “Shoot. I forgot to mention my idea about the dinner invitation.” I figured the sooner we got started on my strategy, the better.
With the paint tools cleaned, dried, and put away, the only task remaining was to take the trash to the dumpster in the alley. I collected the wastebaskets from the front, the bathroom, and storage room, and emptied everything into one bag. Taking a deep breath, I lifted the heavy load and staggered to the back exit. “Should have used two trash bags.” I dropped my cargo and, with the swipe of my foot, shoved it to one side.
Closing my fingers around the handle, I pulled the door open and shuddered. Dark alleys shouldn’t scare me. After all, I’d been a New Yorker for two years. But that label also meant I kept my guard up to prepare for anything. I flipped the switch to turn on the floodlight. I grumbled then toggled the switch again and again, but the alley remained pitch black.
“Well, that’s just fantastic.” I blew out air and dragged the trash bag across the floor. Lifting the load with both arms, I stepped into the alley. My foot caught on something lumpy. I frowned. Another bag? Izzie wouldn’t leave trash in the doorway. Of course, I didn’t know Willow or if she was lazy or careless enough to do so.
Frustrated, I pulled out my phone and switched on the flashlight app. “Somebody is going to hear about this.” I scowled, waving the light across the alley pavement until it rested directly in front of me. My eyes widened, and the phone slipped from my hand as the floodlight flickered. A scream built in my throat, and I couldn’t stop the sound. A body lay at my feet with arms and legs spread out in a disturbing, awkward pose.
I back shuffled but couldn’t pull my eyes from the horrible sight. A knife protruded from the neck while blood tinged the mop of white hair with red. The curved handle of the weapon looked familiar. So did the body. I cringed and clamped one hand over my mouth to keep from screaming again.
Fiona Gimble was dead, and she’d been stabbed with what looked to me like a painting knife.
Teaser -KILL THEM WITH CANVAS
At the end of Sail Shore Drive, I turned left on Whisper Cove Boulevard and parked in the lot next to the dock. Near the shoreline, a dozen or so geese were pecking at the ground for crumbs left by visitors. As we stepped closer, they squawked and flapped their wings before scattering to the south end of the lake. The giggles of children erupted as they played several yards away from the dock, scooping sand with their shovels and buckets.
I lifted my head as a cool breeze stirred the dry leaves lying on the ground. A slight chill ran through me. I pulled my arms through the sleeves of my jacket and zipped the front. No one stood on the ferry deck. Besides ours, only one other car sat in the lot. “I don’t see any sign of Dewey. Maybe we’re out of luck.” I groaned. Being late to pick up an order wouldn’t look good for business. I took several steps away from my car, and my foot landed on something soft. Looking down, I found a knit hat. Hesitating only a second, I picked it up. Dewey kept a lost and found box on the ferry since passengers sometimes left behind personal items like this. At the end of the year, anything unclaimed was donated to a nonprofit organization like Goodwill.
“Wait.” Izzie pointed. “I see him. He’s standing at the far end, looking over the edge of the deck.”
Dewey Sawyer was the attendant and pilot of the ferry. Of course, the available times to use this transportation were limited. He was the only employee the town could afford to pay. A confirmed bachelor close to forty, he lived alone just outside of town. The story was that he’d inherited his widowed mother’s house and her modest stock investments. Along with the meager pay to run the ferry, Dewey got by. He kept mostly to himself, and his only weakness was indulging in drinking his favorite beverage, Yuengling Premium, preferably in the bottle. The real advantage, and what made the ferry so popular, was passengers being able to bring their vehicles across the lake with them. If there wasn’t enough room, you’d have to be patient and wait until the ferry returned for a second trip.
As we stepped up on the deck, Dewey was drying his damp face and hair with a towel. The sandy blond curls sprang out like corkscrews when he shook his head. He rubbed his face with one hand and leaned over to peer at the lake water again, as if he hadn’t noticed or heard us.
Izzie whistled. “Earth to Dewey. Are you running the ferry across the lake this morning anytime soon?”
Dewey gasped and sprang to attention. His hand and fingers splayed across his chest. “About to give me heart failure, you did.” His gaze flitted sideways for an instant and straight again to us. “You want to take the ferry?”
“Uh, that’s what we’re here for, and I expect you’re here to take us.” Izzie planted both fists on her hips. “What do you keep staring at, Dewey Sawyer? Your face looks pale and almost white.” Izzie inched closer to him.
I walked alongside her. With a frown puckering my brow, I squinted. “And your hands are shaking like you overdosed on caffeine. Are you on that diet again? The one where you eat next to nothing? I remember last time you ended up in the hospital eating your meals through a tube. Not a smart thing to repeat.” I shook my head. Dewey was as thin as the stem of a rigger paint brush. He couldn’t afford to lose any weight.
As we came to within a few feet of him, Dewey backed away from the edge of the deck and sobbed. I turned for a second. He stuffed his fist in his mouth, and his eyes bulged as if they could pop out of their sockets at any second. Something had upset him, which wasn’t so unusual. Everyone in town knew he was prone to hysterical episodes.
Puzzled and curious, I shifted my attention from Dewey to the lake water. I leaned over, searching exactly at the spot where he had been looking a moment ago. My insides lurched like they’d turn inside out, and I clutched my stomach with both hands. “Good lord.” I strained to speak.
Izzie gripped my shoulder and let go of a low, feeble cry. “Is that really…is she…?”
Even though my brain told me to look away, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the horrible sight. A body was floating face down in the water near the shore, a woman with long red hair, spreading like tentacles around her head. Her blue wool coat was snagged on a huge tree trunk that had landed in the lake and been left there after lightning struck it down in a summer storm. An inch or two of her red dress showed along with the bottom half of her legs that had turned white and wrinkly. This image was almost exactly like in the painting we’d found left behind at the lodge, only this scene was terrifyingly real. Viola Finnwinkle was dead, and she’d been left floating in Chautauqua Lake. As if my mind finally caught up to what happened, I fumbled in my pocket to pull out the knit hat. I gasped as the hint of what it could likely mean hit me. The knit hat with a narrow brim was purple, and it looked exactly like the one Aunt Constance had been wearing at our event.
