A Brush with Murder
A PAINT BY MURDER MYSTERY
Bailee Abbott
To my family-Gary, Kristin, Sean, Jenn, and my furry pal, Max. You all are so awesome, and that inspires me to work harder and do better. Love you to pieces!
Acknowledgments
First, I’d like to thank my agent Dawn Dowdle for guiding me, encouraging me, and being my advocate in this publishing venture. I am blessed to have you in my corner. To my editor, Faith Black Ross, and all the other staff at Crooked Lane Books, thank you for taking a chance on my Paint by Murder series and for helping to make A Brush with Murder a better story. It’s been such a great experience, and I look forward to the next.
It takes a lot of building blocks to nurture an idea that turns into a plot and develops into a story. Two of those blocks were especially important. First, my visits to Bemus Point, New York, a quiet little town set along Chautauqua Lake, inspired the setting for this series. Such a beautiful place made writing my description of Whisper Cove so easy. Second, choosing a business—all cozies have them—like paint parties, seemed a perfect choice. Why, who knew even ten years ago how this type of recreational fun would explode and become such a popular scene? I have my daughter Jenn to thank for introducing me to this experience. Pushing me to take a chance (I am a horrible artist!) and tag along to our local Painting with a Twist shop to create trees in fall colors, snow globes, snowscapes, and so many more subjects on canvas inspired me to make this a part of my story. Besides, a paint party shop is definitely not an overdone theme in cozy mysteries. I figured it was a win.
I want to include a shout-out to our author brainstorm group—Julie, Cari, Jane, Wendy, and Shellie. They are the cheering squad ready to help when you need one! And finally, to all the wonderful readers who gobble up cozy mysteries faster than we can write them. You’re the reason books make their way to the printed page. Thank you so much!
Chapter One
I rounded the next bend in the road and at once gripped the wheel. Flashing lights bordering a huge sign grabbed my attention.
“Road closed. Detour ahead. How ironic is that, Max?”
My life was a sign, too. A regrettable, take-ten-steps-back detour sign. Now, if I figured out which road to choose next, one that hopefully wouldn’t lead me to another dead end, my story might have a happy ending. I slammed my hand on the wheel and the horn blared.
A sharp bark made me bounce in my seat and swerve the car. Tires bumped and vibrated over the graveled surface of the highway berm until I jerked the wheel and steered back onto the road.
“Good grief.” I gulped. “I appreciate your feedback, Max, but maybe tone it down a bark while I’m driving. You don’t want me to wreck the car, do you?” I dared a quick glance in the rearview mirror and laughed at the pint-sized ball of fur.
He lifted one paw in the air to scratch at the bars of his crate and whined.
“I know it’s hot and uncomfortable, and this cute little piece of junk is overdue for the scrapyard.” I worked my lips into a smile. “Don’t worry. Someday we’ll have lots of money. I’ll buy you all the kibble and doggie biscuits your little heart desires. Promise.” I tapped fingers on the wheel then turned up the dial on the AC. The motor chugged and clinked until a large puff of air whooshed out of the vents. Warm air. “Yeah, someday.” I powered down all four windows. “Fresh air is nice too. Right, Max?”
Flipping on my turn signal, I slowed to form a place in line behind a trail of cars as it snaked around trucks and guys wearing yellow hard hats and orange vests. Sharp odors of tar and diesel fuel permeated the air and filled the car. I coughed and waved one hand in front of my face. Thankfully, the billboard advertising the Blue Whale and fresh haddock came into view. Whisper Cove was only two miles away. My heartbeat quickened. “Now, stop your worrying and count your blessings, Chloe Abbington. Not everyone gets a chance at a do-over.”
Swerving around the last hard hat and work truck, I picked up speed along the road that bordered Chautauqua Lake. Rays of evening sunlight sparkled like tiny jewels on the cobalt blue water. I glanced at the tranquil scene of boats and bathers lazing on their docks along the shore. Lifting my chin, I sniffed the fresh piney air. For a brief moment, I wondered why I ever left, but then remembered my dream had been to conquer New York.
The sudden shrill ring of my phone blasted from the car speakers and made me gasp. Seeing the name on the screen, I grinned and pressed the button on my steering wheel. “Hi, Izzie.”
“Hi, yourself. What’s taking you so long? You should be on our doorstep right this minute so we can be talking face to face.”
I laughed. “Calm down. I’m only five minutes away.”
She hiccupped. “Thank goodness. I worried you’d changed your mind.”
“Sweetie, I swear New York City and all its baggage are only unpleasant memories, and I’m sure as heck glad I left all of it behind.” At least, I kept telling myself as much.
Around the next bend, a welcome sign announced my arrival to Whisper Cove, New York, population four hundred thirty-nine. I smiled. The number hadn’t changed in two years, which was fine with me. Staying here for a while, surrounded by familiar sights, folks I’d grown up with, and a cozy atmosphere, would be a huge relief.
“You’re a life saver, Chloe. I’ve mentioned that, right? Of course I have.” Izzie hiccupped once more. “Sorry. My nerves are frazzled, and my brain’s turned into goo. Did you know four out of five businesses fail in the first year? I do. I researched it. Yet here I am, taking the leap, and that’s huge for me. Lord, I hope this isn’t a huge mistake.”
I swerved to miss a fallen branch. “Take it from me, the queen of huge mistakes, your plan is practical and well thought out. You were stuck in a rut at the bakery, working part-time and only snagging a commission here and there to paint somebody’s portrait. Besides, you’ve got Mom and Dad backing you, and don’t forget about me. I’ll be your dutiful servant for however long you need.” I chewed on my bottom lip. I projected as much enthusiasm as possible. “Your shop will be the biggest hit since Gwen Finch opened Go Fly a Kite twenty years ago.”
“Ha. I wish. You can stop with the dutiful servant line. We’re sisters, and you’re older than me. I can’t boss you around.”
“Please. You’ve been dishing out orders since I was six and you were five.” I made a left onto Seneca Drive and passed the town hall before reaching Main Street. Claire’s bakery, For Sweet’s Sake, carried a banner announcing today’s special—fresh-baked bagels, four dollars a dozen. Catty-corner from Claire’s was La Chic, with its trendy but pricey selection of clothing. Artisan Alley and the shoreline were only a block away. I was anxious to take a peek at Izzie’s shop, but the desperate tone in my sister’s voice on the other end of the phone warned me to go home. “I’m about to turn onto Sail Shore Drive. See you soon.” I tapped the end call button and slowed the car to a crawl. In a few hundred yards, I steered the car to the right. “We’re home, Max.”
On one side of the road, trees formed a natural border, and on the other was Chautauqua Lake. The Abbington house was a huge, white clapboard, two-story structure that stood out from the others on our block. Pale green shutters framed the windows, and a widow’s walk topped the roof. Izzie and I often joked about our granddad’s choice to build something intended for houses overlooking the ocean. Of course, Granddad Abbington once lived on New York’s Atlantic coast. He owned a fleet of fishing trawlers and spent most of his life on the sea. Moving inland and clear across the other side of the state made him homesick. Sound enough reason to build the widow’s walk, he claimed, and he spent most every evening up there until the day he passed away.
Pulling into the drive, I let the engine idle for
a minute. I studied the details of the yard and house. Nothing about this scene had changed. Not a tree or shrub, not even the porch swing painted tangerine orange. Then again, why should it? Our parents’ belief was to embrace new experiences, but they never changed what they loved. That included adding a fresh coat of bright, tangerine orange paint to the swing every summer.
“Okay, Max. Let’s go see your auntie.” I turned off the ignition and stepped out of my car. Opening the crate, I let Max free so he could run around the yard.
Izzie stood on the front porch. She waved both arms with an energy that moved her whole body. Thick, brown curls hung loose almost to her waist.
I reached up to smooth my poker-straight short bob of black hair and heaved a sigh. Two sisters couldn’t be more opposite. Izzie was tall and thin, with the graceful moves of a ballet dancer, while I was petite and curvy, the older sister who tended to stumble over things. She was the perfect runway model, and I was the classic geek. On the other hand, where Izzie often lacked the confidence to tackle new ventures, I braved those moments, excited to begin something different. Together, we checked all the boxes on a personality test. Maybe that was why we were so close and depended on one another.
“Hey, you. Looking as beautiful as ever, hiccups and all.” I greeted her with a smile and a hug.
“You, too.” Izzie hung onto me for several seconds while Max jumped up and down. “Sorry about what’s his name.”
A flush of heat spread throughout me as my heartbeat flip-flopped. With my face planted against her chest, my words were muffled. “Let’s leave him out of the conversation. Where are Mom and Dad?”
“They went on a retreat at a winery up north to drink and paint.” She lifted Max in her arms and snuggled him, while he licked her face. “The spontaneous, carefree behavior of our parents never changes. They’ll be back late this evening.” She put Max on the porch floor and shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”
I laughed. “Neither can I.” I glanced over my shoulder at the lake and the empty dock. “Did they go by boat?”
“Of course.” Izzie wrapped her arm around mine. “How about we give Max a chance to snoop around inside and get acquainted with his new digs? I have his water and food dishes out on the kitchen floor, filled and ready. You and I can take a walk to Artisan Alley. I’m super excited for you to see the shop.” She opened the door to let Max in the house, while we remained on the porch.
“Before unloading my luggage?” I moved alongside her down the sidewalk.
She wagged her head as we descended the porch steps. “Your things can wait. We have less than twenty-four hours to get ready for the pre-opening event I’ve arranged. I call it Paint Your Shop.” Izzie let go of my arm and hurried on to the next block, heading toward Artisan Alley.
I picked up my pace. “Izzie, please. I’m sure you’ve got everything in order.”
She was the think-and-plan type. That careful procedure kept her sane but drove me and my impulsiveness crazy. We stopped to wait at the corner while a few cars drove through the intersection.
“Tell me about the event. What’s the theme?”
“Oh—well, all the guests are local shop owners. Nine are coming. Small and intimate gives it a cozy feel, don’t you think? Anyway, they’ll paint a scene of businesses in Whisper Cove, with the lake in the background, and then label one of them with their shop’s name.” She picked at the hem of her blouse sleeve. “I hope getting the merchants together will stop all the arguing and bad karma.”
I raised my brows. “Bad karma?”
The traffic cleared, and Izzie grabbed my hand. We ran across Whisper Cove Boulevard and down Whisper Lane, leading to Artisan Alley. Lake water lapped against the rocky shore in an even rhythm while the cries of gulls echoed in the distance. The breeze off the lake carried the musky scent of algae and pondweed. I took a breath and filled my lungs. I’d missed those sounds and smells.
“I’ll explain later.” Izzie smiled and pointed at the corner building, the last in a string of craft shops that trailed along a road facing the lakefront. “Right now, take a look. Theo owns the building, but she gave me a sweet deal on rent. I imagine our parents’ generous donations to the Gazette every year influenced her decision.”
I stepped onto the pathway to get a closer view of the cottage structure with its huge picture window. Painted canary yellow, the building fit perfectly in this cheery setting along the lake. Above the front door, a sign with bright blue letters spelled out Paint with a View, and a tin box decorated with colorful butterflies hung from the wall.
Izzie reached around me and plucked a flyer out of the box. “See? I had these printed in case people were curious enough to take one. It tells you plenty about the shop and what we offer.”
Clearing my throat, I skimmed the flyer and nodded. “‘Paint with a View. Experience a fun time painting with friends and relatives. Sign up and join the party.’” Underneath the message was a schedule of upcoming events and themes.
“I even created a website, which I included along with my phone number.”
I shook my head at Izzie. Her eyes brightened while a grin lifted her cheeks.
“I’m having a landline put in soon, and I’ve filled all the slots for the grand opening. I can’t believe that’s only two days away. In fact, we’ll need to schedule a second Paint Your Pet event next month because dozens more people want portraits of their fur babies. Isn’t that great?”
I folded my arms and chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve seen you this excited about something since the fifth grade when you won first prize in the Chautauqua Art Festival.”
She patted my shoulder. “Just you wait. More excitement is around the corner. Would you like to take a look inside?”
Before I could respond, she unlocked the door. A bell tinkled to greet us. I followed her into the spacious room. Three rows of tables were set up with easel stands and cupholders. There were enough stations to seat twenty-five to thirty customers. A small platform stage was situated at the far end, and a huge projector screen hung above it. Painted canvases decorated the walls with images of various subjects, like cute, furry animals, peaceful lake views, and panoramic mountain scenes. I walked the length of the room and paused near the stage. I lifted one of several hair dryers dangling from hooks. “You’ve thought of everything.”
“I researched businesses and chose the best setup. Some of the designs need to be dried in stages. Got to keep the events moving along if folks are getting out of here by the scheduled nine o’clock.” Izzie straightened one of the canvases.
“It’s certainly impressive.” I sat on one of the stools.
Our family possessed loads of artistic talent. However, I hadn’t been satisfied with local success. I wanted more. I went to New York, determined to fulfill my dreams of a gallery showing and taking my place in the artists’ world. Of course, that career move fell way short of expectations. After a couple of years, spending my days as a clerk in an art supply store and evenings attending every art event I could manage to talk about my work, I was exhausted and discouraged. Then the situation with what’s his name, aka Ross Thompson, added to my frustration and misery. No doubt, for me, the Big Apple had a few worms. Thankfully, Izzie’s call to help open her shop had come at the perfect time.
I twirled the stool around so I faced her. “You did good, sweetie.”
Izzie chewed on a fingernail. “If only Mom and Dad agreed.”
“You’re doing what makes you happy, right? Doesn’t matter whether they’re totally onboard.”
Izzie wagged her finger. “Ha. This coming from the daughter who spent two years in the French Quarter in Paris to study the masters and paint while living on bread and cheese, all because our parents, in their unconventional way, encouraged you.”
“You mean their bohemian way, don’t you?” I laughed. “That period lasted until I wanted to expand my diet to include lobster and prime rib.” I spun off the stool and landed squarely
on my heels. “I’m still craving that lobster.”
Our parents could afford to live a carefree, spontaneous lifestyle, painting only when inspiration hit them. The Abbington family trust gave them that choice. Thankfully, Kate and Joe didn’t put on airs or snub their noses at anyone. They were good people.
At once, a burning in my gut spread and left a sour taste in my mouth. “I dread hearing them say I told you so and giving me advice on what to do next.”
Izzie nodded. “They will, though. Mom and Dad can’t help themselves.”
I opened my mouth to respond with a witty comment when loud voices outside interrupted.
“What the …” Izzie ran to the door, with me close on her heels.
In front of the shop, two women were caught up in a heated exchange as their arms flailed and fingers pointed. I recognized the younger one with her blonde curls and stocky figure. Megan Hunt, Izzie’s closest friend, stood almost nose to nose with a much older woman. She was painfully thin and had a short bob of white hair. A crowd of gawkers surrounded them, but the sparring pair didn’t seem to notice.
“Your column stinks, Fiona Gimble. It’s full of hate and lies.” Megan sniffed and jutted out her chin. “My candles get rave reviews and win prizes. They sell by the dozens.”
“Do they really, Megan?” With a slight tilt of her head, Fiona pursed her lips. “My column is an editorial. I state my opinions, and I’m entitled to say what I feel. Freedom of speech is still part of the Constitution, isn’t it?” The pursed lips spread into a thin smile.
Megan balled her fists and smacked them against her thighs. “You’re a wicked person. Nobody in this town likes you, so why do you insist on staying here? Leave, Fiona. Leave before you and your precious column push somebody over the edge and—oh, what the heck.” She threw up her arms and turned. “Get out of my way.”
The gawkers parted, leaving Megan a path to escape.
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