A Brush with Murder

by Bailee Abbott

Izzie stepped forward and grabbed her friend’s arm. “Megs.”

  Megan turned to glare, her green eyes flashing. “You know what I’m talking about, Izzie.” Her lips trembled as she spoke. “You’ve been her target too, and you haven’t even opened your shop yet.” She blinked away tears before pulling her arm free and disappearing into the crowd.

  I ran my tongue across my upper lip as I cocked my head toward Megan. I took a wild leap. “Bad karma?”

  Izzie bit down on another nail. “Yep. Super bad karma.”

  That sour taste curdled my stomach again, only this time for another reason. Before making my decision to return home, I’d listed the pros and cons of what to expect, like confronting my parents, whom I loved with all my heart, and suffering through their questions about New York. Even adjusting to the small-town life I missed so much, where everybody knew everybody and everything, would be a huge challenge. Quite a different picture from city life. Yet I had never pictured a disgruntled journalist angering the merchants and stirring up trouble. I sighed. The saying to expect the unexpected echoed in my head.

  “Izzie, dear. Do you think I could trouble you for a glass of water?” Fiona sneaked up, suddenly appearing at my side, and I hop-skipped sideways.

  The gawkers had gone about their business, leaving the three of us. I didn’t care for sharing alone time with the supposedly toxic journalist.

  Izzie wrinkled her nose and stiffened her shoulders. She marched back inside the shop and returned within seconds. She thrust a bottle of water into the journalist’s hand. “We were just leaving, Fiona.”

  Fiona cleared her throat, and the prim smile surfaced as she turned to stare at me. “I’m sure Izzie doesn’t mean to be rude. You must be her sister, Chloe. So very glad to meet you.”

  I blinked at Fiona without speaking, then glimpsed Izzie, whose face had turned tomato red. Awkward didn’t begin to cover this moment.

  Fiona barreled on. “I imagine our little display wasn’t exactly a warm welcome, was it?” Fiona chuckled. “Megan tends to be overdramatic. No harm done, though. She’ll forgive and forget by morning. Have a wonderful evening, ladies.”

  She took several swigs from the bottle, then turned on her heel and strode down the shoreline.

  “She is … certainly interesting,” I said.

  Izzie scoffed. “Interesting isn’t the word I’d choose. Fiona Gimble stirs up more trouble than a springtime tornado.” She tapped her foot. “More than this town can handle.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “Is she really that bad? She seems totally unaware.”

  “More like she refuses to admit her nasty comments hurt people.” Izzie shrugged. “Could be she’s a lonely spinster who’s desperate for attention, whether good or bad. She never talks about the life she had before coming to Whisper Cove, so who knows for sure? It’s like she put up this wall to keep folks from getting too close.” She folded her arms, hugging her chest. “None of that excuses her vicious column. I’m with Megan. Fiona Gimble needs to disappear.”

  I hitched my breath. “That’s kind of harsh, don’t you think?”

  Izzie screwed her face into a scowl. “If her agenda is to ruin people’s reputations and businesses rather than to get along with folks, I’ll be first in line to help pack her bags and point the way out of town. That’s all I’m saying.”

  My concern surged along with my heartbeat. What happened to her treat-people-with-kindness motto? “Izzie—”

  She shook her head and let out a nervous titter. “Don’t mind me. I’m worried about Megan is all. I’ll give her a ring to make sure she’s okay.”

  She pressed her phone to one ear. After a few seconds, her brow creased. “Straight to voice mail. Okay, let me lock up, and then we can head for home. I’m sure you’re tired after that long drive.”

  Without argument, I walked alongside her toward Whisper Cove Boulevard. Sure, I had questions. They pummeled my brain. I especially wanted to know more about Fiona. Who was she, really, and why was she causing such a stir when, as a newcomer in town, making friends should be a priority? I couldn’t remember hearing about her or running into her when I had visited last Christmas. Obviously, she had riled Izzie and Megan, who insisted many others, especially shop owners, voiced the same concern. How could anyone cause such a reaction with a newspaper column?

  Reaching our drive, Izzie helped carry my luggage inside the house. She set the cases next to the coat rack before leaning over to give me a quick hug. “Let’s make some hot cocoa and sit out on the deck.” At once, she turned and took long strides down the hallway.

  I opened my mouth but then snapped it shut. Izzie had already disappeared into the kitchen. I stared at my suitcases piled in the foyer for a second. Cocoa did sound nice. “Do you have anything to munch on? I’m starving.” I followed her path to the rear of the house.

  When I reached the doorway, I spotted Max curled up in his favorite spot, sound asleep, but found no sign of Izzie. “Seriously?” I shook my head. Too much caffeine or too many sugary desserts had turned her into a jumping jackrabbit. “Izzie? Where’d you go?” I stepped across the room to the back door. The porchlight glowed, revealing Izzie’s silhouette. I frowned. She was talking on her phone in a hushed tone. I leaned my ear against the screen.

  “Stop. Of course I’ll help you. See you tomorrow evening at seven.” Izzie pivoted on her heel and gasped. “Good grief! You scared the heck out of me.”

  I opened the door and moved aside to let her through. “You mentioned a hot beverage?”

  She lifted her shoulders and managed a weak smile. Sliding past me, she reached the kitchen counter. “Sorry. I had to take that call.”

  I grabbed the can of cocoa and scooped the powdery mix into mugs while she filled the kettle with water. I sorted through the choice of comments that filled my head to find the right one. I desperately wanted to avoid behaving like the pushy, older sister who couldn’t resist being nosy and patronizing. I cleared my throat. “I couldn’t help overhearing your phone conversation. Everything okay?”

  She turned and laughed. “Why shouldn’t it be?”

  I walked closer and reached around her to set the mugs next to the stove. “How about we start with tomorrow evening when you plan to meet someone. What about the Paint Your Shop event?”

  Izzie’s eyes popped wider, and she gasped. “Oh, wow. The event with the shop owners. I totally forgot.” She gripped my arm. “Chloe, I’m so sorry.”

  I frowned. Izzie wasn’t the kind to forget her own agenda. No doubt, opening a business caused stress, but this behavior measured several heaps of anxiety into the mix. I pointed at the steaming kettle. “Do you want to get that, or should I?”

  She grabbed the potholder and wrapped it around the kettle handle. “Look. This really stinks, but I can’t be at the event tomorrow evening.”

  While she poured water into both mugs, I let her comment sink in. I narrowed my gaze and pointed. “What exactly are you saying?”

  Izzie motioned me to the table. “Sit. Drink your cocoa. You’ll feel better.” She opened a tin can that sat on the lazy Susan. “Try one of these. I made them especially for you. Chocolate coconut bars. Your favorite, right?” She hiccupped.

  I slid onto the bench. While studying her face, I chewed on a bar, savoring the generous amount of coconut. Izzie’s behavior advertised like a neon road sign flashing watch out for trouble ahead.

  I dabbed my lips with a napkin, then set it next to the mug. “Now, you want to tell me what you’re thinking?”

  She pressed a hand against her lips to stifle the next hiccup. “I need you to run tomorrow’s event without me.” The words rushed out.

  I gripped the handle of my mug. “Izzie.”

  “I know. I promised we’d iron out the wrinkles of my crazy plan together, working side by side.” She squirmed in her seat. “Hey, at least my assistant will be with you. Willow knows what to do. We’ve practiced the drill. I know that to look at her most people would think sh
e’s too young, but wow, is she super talented.” She leaned back. “Besides, you love a challenge.”

  I sniffed. “I do when they’re my challenges to screw up, but this is your business. Don’t you want to be there to make sure the event runs perfectly? If something goes wrong, you’ll never forgive me or yourself.” I picked up the napkin and twisted the ends into pointy nubs. Truth was, I’d had it with screwed-up moments in my life. I needed a win to boost my confidence.

  “Nonsense. I totally believe you’ll do fine.” She squeezed my hand. “Please, Chloe. Do this for me.”

  Before I could answer, her phone rang.

  “Oh!” Izzie jumped out of her seat. “It’s the art supplier I’ve been waiting to hear from. Be right back.” She hurried out of the kitchen and down the hallway.

  “Don’t hurry!” I called out. “I’m turning in for the night.”

  “Sleep well,” she hollered as her footsteps faded.

  I drummed my fingers on the mug, then picked up my half-eaten chocolate bar. If Izzie wasn’t worried about me handling the event, then why should I be? I slumped in my seat and groaned. Still, she must have an important reason for missing the pre-opening event. She was a type A personality, and micromanaging was her specialty. It would take quite a bit to keep her away from this opening. I chewed on my lip as I recalled her earlier comment. Izzie hoped this event would bring the merchants together and stop all their bickering, or, as she phrased it, bad karma. I popped the rest of the bar into my mouth. Acting so sneaky and secretive about wherever she planned to go tomorrow evening wasn’t like her, either.

  I picked up my empty mug, then stared at Izzie’s. She hadn’t taken one sip, and hot cocoa was her favorite beverage.

  “Hopping like a jackrabbit is right.”

  Walking to the sink, I peered through the window. Pine branches swayed in the wind, and the sweet fragrance of lilac carried through the screen. I hoped the phone call and her behavior were nothing to worry about. Still, why all the secrecy? What sort of craziness had taken hold of people in Whisper Cove? Could Izzie and Megan be right? Was Fiona the real cause of the trouble, or was something else at the center?

  I walked to the foyer and picked up two of my suitcases. Carrying them upstairs, I entered my bedroom and paused to study the familiar walls and fixtures. A sigh escaped. After a nine-hour drive, every bone in my body ached with exhaustion. I listened to the faint click of paws on the hall floor and smiled as Max pranced into my room. Lifting him in my arms, I gave him a smooch, then set him on the bed. Tomorrow, I’d be the big sister and push harder to get answers. After her strange secretive behavior, Izzie owed me.

  Chapter Two

  The burble and pop of the coffee maker finishing its second brew filled the moments of awkward silence in our conversation. This was like playing a game of dodgeball, where my job was to avoid the topic my parents were desperate to discuss while Izzie, the spectator, stood off to the side, totally entertained.

  “More coffee?” Mom leaned over my shoulder to pour.

  “We’re so very glad you’re home, Shortcake.” Dad raised his glass of buttermilk in the air. “This is where you belong.”

  Rather than respond, I took a generous swig from my cup, willing the caffeine to do its job. No point in interrupting when I lacked a line of defense. My bullet points fell into the negative column. Plus, my heart wasn’t into arguing.

  Without skipping a beat, Mom set a plate of flapjacks in front of me, smothered in butter and syrup. “He’s right. You can’t live among those big city art snobs fighting their way to the top for long without turning into one.” She pointed. “Eat. You’re skin and bones.” Turning, she picked up Max and carried him away from the table. “And you stop your begging. You have your own food.”

  A thick braid of auburn hair lay over one shoulder. The fringes of her suede leather vest swayed as she moved. We both possessed green eyes and fair skin, but that was where the resemblance stopped. She was tall and willowy, like Izzie. Only the red hair color was uniquely Kate’s.

  Dad, on the other hand, was my perfect match. We both had black hair, though age now peppered his with gray. He stood at least four inches shorter than his wife. From appearances, most people would probably think them mismatched as a couple. However, Izzie and I knew they complemented each other perfectly. Their opinions, lifestyle, likes, and dislikes all blended together like paint colors on a canvas.

  I forked a bite of pancake. “Don’t worry. I’ve learned those art snobs and I have nothing in common.” I shoveled more syrupy deliciousness into my mouth to avoid spilling any details of my New York City experience. With any luck, they’d move on to other topics.

  Mom snuggled next to me on the bench and stroked my arm. “It’s okay, honey. We all make mistakes and hopefully learn from them. As long as you remember who you are and what we taught both you and Izzie, you’ll be fine.”

  I drowned my groan with a few swallows of milk and shot Izzie a lethal stare as she winked without comment. What happened to the loyalty of sisters to throw out a lifeline when needed?

  I lifted my chin and returned the wink. “You know, Izzie gave me a tour of her shop. She’s really brave to open a business, don’t you think?”

  Mom stabbed the table with her finger. “Art should never be treated as a commodity.”

  “Also, never sold for money,” Dad added.

  “Art is pure, an expression of oneself, not some cookie-cutter effort or a paint-by-numbers project.” Mom wagged her head. “But that’s all we’ll say on the subject. We’ve also taught you girls to be independent and make your own way.”

  I heaved a sigh and pushed back from the table. Game, set, match. Kate and Joe Abbington for the win.

  Izzie stared at her watch. “We should go, Chloe. I want to walk you through the program and have you meet Willow.”

  “You haven’t finished your breakfast, ladies.” Mom walked to the fridge and pulled out two containers. She placed one in my hand and passed the other across the table to Izzie. “At least take the blueberry and almond quinoa I fixed. Trust me. This power food will be the perfect pick-me-up come midmorning.” She gave me a peck on the cheek, then whispered in my ear, “I hope you stay a good, long while. Izzie needs you. We all do.”

  I pulled away and, tilting my head, studied her for a moment. “I’m not leaving any time soon. Promise.” I turned to glance at Izzie.

  She was busy chitchatting with Dad, which most likely meant she hadn’t heard our conversation.

  “Good. Now, go do your paint-by-numbers thing with your sister before she has a meltdown.” Mom laughed, then, exchanging places with Dad, she skirted the table to hug her other daughter.

  “Forgive your mom. She acts as if every time you leave it will be forever.” Dad kissed my forehead, then tousled my hair.

  I swung my hip sideways to nudge his. “I love her drama. It’s what makes Mom so special.”

  Dad sighed. “One of her many qualities I fell in love with. Okay, enough mush. Katy dear, let’s leave these two beautiful ladies to get on with their day. Besides, we have a boat to scrub down and give a fresh coat of paint.”

  Before they offered another round of hugs, I hurried out of the house and down the drive, pulling Izzie close behind me. Opening the car door, I scooted into the driver’s seat.

  “That wasn’t so painful.” Izzie buckled her seat belt.

  I steered north on Sail Shore Drive and my breathing slowed into a normal rhythm. “Let me say I’m glad the homecoming trauma is over.” No mention of my ex-boyfriend or sob stories about why I hated my job left me with at least some dignity.

  Izzie stared at a makeup mirror and brushed her cheeks with bronzer. “Nice try distracting Mom with the paint shop comment, but we’ve argued the subject to death. One more go-around couldn’t make a difference.”

  I shrugged as I drove through the intersection and onto Whisper Lane. “Sorry. I panicked. If she’d decided to dig for details about New York, well, I’
m not ready for that.”

  “Hey! Perfect timing.” Izzie clasped her hands. “We can get started right away.”

  I parked the car and turned to face the shop.

  A pixie-faced girl with spiked hair in shades of blue and purple stood in the shop’s doorway. She unplugged a pair of earbuds and waved. Her smile showed perfectly straight teeth and was punctuated with a set of dimples. “Morning! I opened the shipment that arrived yesterday evening and stocked the shelves. I’d say we have enough paints and brushes to last for months.”

  Izzie reached the stoop first. “You’re the best. Thank you, Willow. I’d like you to meet my sister. Chloe, this is my assistant, and she’s a genius at painting.”

  “Hi.” Willow pumped my arm with a firm handshake. “Izzie has told me great things about you. I’ve gotta say, you coming here to help get the business started is so nice.”

  I cleared my throat. “Thanks. Izzie swears you have what it takes to do the job, and I’m counting on that, especially this evening.”

  Willow wrinkled her forehead as she stared at Izzie. “Oh? Why this evening?”

  “Something’s come up, and I can’t be at tonight’s event.” Izzie fussed with her shirt button. “But you’ll be fine, and, of course, Chloe’s here. She’s a whiz at this stuff.” Her voice raised another octave.

  “I am?” I grinned, then placed a gentle hand on Izzie’s shoulder. “How about we go inside and you give me the crash course on painting events? Okay?”

  Willow curled her arm around Izzie’s and guided her inside. “Don’t sweat it. We’ve got this, boss.”

  I followed them into the shop. Smells of paint, linseed oil, and turpentine combined in the air and triggered memories of Paris and my days spent creating art. I sighed. Mom and Dad might be right. This was where I belonged … at least for now.

  * * *

  “She did what?” My voice squeaked as I struggled to keep a grip on a fistful of paint brushes. I couldn’t have heard her correctly. A huge box fan blasted noise and air into the room, which did nothing to alleviate the heat that lingered, thick and heavy, well into the evening. However, central air-conditioning wasn’t a luxury Izzie could afford yet.