Willow stood with hands on her hips. “It’s strategy. What’s that saying? Keep your friends close but keep your enemies closer? For now, Fiona is our enemy.”
My jaw dropped. I didn’t know how to respond. If Izzie and Megan were right about Fiona’s troublemaking, inviting her here this evening would be like throwing meat to the wolves since I suspected the shop owners were starving for revenge. “I don’t know …” I shook my head.
“Really?” Willow blinked. “I would’ve thought Izzie told you. She invited her. First, she spoke with Theo to see what she thought. She agreed with Izzie that having Fiona attend this evening to observe, maybe talk with a couple of the guests, and then write about the experience in her column was a great idea.” She moved down the middle row to place cups and napkins at nine of the stations, then tuned the stereo to a smooth jazz station. “Anyway, Izzie is desperate to squash all the anger and tension that’s built up. I know she doesn’t care for Fiona—hardly anybody in town does—but she wants this to work.”
I scratched behind one ear with my free hand. Last night, Izzie’s comments and attitude hadn’t exactly screamed forgiveness. However, the shouting match between Megan and Fiona might have caused her to forget mentioning the invitation. “I understand trying to play peacemaker. What I’m finding hard to believe is how Fiona will help achieve that.”
“Go ahead and place those brushes next to the napkins, then grab the flat and liner brushes. We need all three kinds this evening. I’ll be glad to run the event, if you keep an eye on Fiona.”
Willow’s brow arched as if she were asking me rather than ordering. In any case, keeping an eye on Fiona might not be a bad idea. I sure didn’t know if she was the sort to keep her promise. What if she came this evening to stir up more trouble?
Willow twirled around to face the stage, then rushed to one side and switched on the projector. “Look. I’ll admit I’ve got doubts, too. But we both should have faith in the plan. Besides, any publicity put in the Whisper Cove Gazette will help business, right?”
Before I could answer, the bell chimed.
As the door flew open, a rush of damp, muggy air filled the room. “Hello, ladies! It took me awhile to get through town. A huge sale on summer wear at Casually Done is attracting a swarm of shoppers. Lord knows Aggie Rezno’s business needs a major boost. She’s not the best salesperson.”
“Speak of the devil.” I mumbled before raising my chin to smile. “Glad you could make it, Miss Gimble.”
She waved her arm. “Please. Miss Gimble is too formal. I think it would be nice if we became friends. Don’t you agree, Chloe?” She creased her mouth into a thin smile.
I bit down on my lip. “Fiona, would you like something to quench your thirst? We have bottled water, tea, and, of course, wine.” I moved to the mini-fridge behind the front counter.
“Don’t bother.” Fiona dug through her carryall and pulled out a thermos. “I always carry my own drink. It’s a special brew of sassafras tea with just the right amounts of cinnamon and ginger.” She tapped the container. “Family recipe.”
I blinked. “That’s nice. Willow? You want something?” I jiggled a bottle of iced tea.
“Nope. Maybe later.” Without looking at either me or our guest, she busied her hands with last-minute prep.
The bell jingled again. Two women entered, chatting and laughing. I recognized Megan and the owner of Quaint Décor, Sammy Peale. She had graduated a few years before me and starred in track and field. Her tall build remained athletic. A thick mane of chestnut brown hair swung across her shoulders as she waved at me.
“Chloe Abbington, how great is this?” Sammy squeezed me in a hug that threatened to cut off oxygen.
After a second, I pulled myself free. “Good to see you, Sammy.”
I tried my best to keep up with Sammy’s account of Whisper Cove news and kept my responses to an occasional nod. Several more guests popped inside to join the group of merchants. However, Megan remained near the door, clutching her bag close to her chest. I winked and smiled with a wave, attempting to chase away what I figured was her discomfort or embarrassment about yesterday’s drama.
“Oh! There’s Penny.” Sammy squeezed my arm. “I don’t think you’ve met. She owns a shop next to mine. Penny is pure genius when it comes to aromatherapy. I’ve got to ask her about my itchy skin problem.” She hurried toward a slightly older, large-chested woman with platinum blonde hair pulled back in a bun.
I turned to search for Megan, but she’d moved on to take a seat. Her apprehensive mood must have vanished because she was carrying on a conversation with another shop owner. I mingled to chat with the guests, both old friends and new acquaintances, until Willow gave me the nod. She’d start the show any minute now. I pivoted on my heel and crossed the room.
Fiona raised her camera and snapped candid shots of the guests and shop. “Seems you have a nice gig going. With any luck, your sister won’t tank the business before Christmas.” She snickered and pointed to the stage. “The wine will help.”
“Welcome, everybody. My name is Willow North, and I’m your instructor this evening. I’m new to Whisper Cove. So, if you want to know anything about me, just ask.” She circulated the room to pass out tiny plastic goblets and quickly filled each one before returning to her place next to the easel. “Compliments of the shop for this special occasion. Enjoy, everybody! Oh, and if you’d prefer coffee or water, let us know.” She set the empty bottle on the counter and wiped her hands on a towel. “Now, when you’re ready, I want you to take the flat brush—that’s the big, fat one—and dip it in the white paint. Add some blue. If you’ll look at the projector screen, you can see from my painting, this gives the sky a softer appearance.”
I crossed my arms and glared at the reporter. “You sure say whatever comes to mind, don’t you?”
Fiona peered at me and sighed. “Too much lying and deceit going on in this world. About time people tell the truth to each other.”
I stiffened and kept my voice low, though I wanted to shout. “Even if the truth hurts? I mean, going out of your way to tell somebody you hate their shop or how they do business seems cruel and uncalled for.”
Fiona stuffed the camera back inside her carryall, then took a swig of tea. She capped the thermos and kept quiet.
“No comment?” I sniffed and recalled Megan’s claim about Fiona.
Glancing across the room, I cringed at all the vicious stares cast in our direction, including a couple of ladies who held their brushes in a white-knuckled grip. My heart sank as Izzie’s bubble of hope to mend fences popped and fizzled into nothing right before my eyes. Deep in thought, I almost missed the empty seat next to Penny. I scrambled to think and take a mental inventory of guests, but Fiona’s rambling interrupted.
“Last year, my husband died and left me with a ton of debt. Meanwhile, at his funeral, my sister had the poor taste to confess how she and my dearly departed had been having an affair for several years and claimed I didn’t care enough about him to notice. I wanted nothing to do with that man, including his name.” Fiona’s chin trembled. “Perhaps this heart of mine is too broken to mend. Maybe my misery tends to spill out in the column I write. My intention isn’t to hurt anyone, Chloe. I figure truth is better than living in blissful ignorance.”
I swallowed. Had anyone heard this story? Izzie claimed Fiona kept quiet about the details of the life she had before moving here. “You came to Whisper Cove hoping for a fresh start?”
Fiona nodded. “Landing my job at the Whisper Cove Gazette was like a touch of fate from an angel. You understand?”
I did. Izzie’s suggestion to help her launch Paint with a View was my stroke of fate, wasn’t it? How could I not sympathize, at least with that part of Fiona’s story? I opened then shut my mouth, not sure what to say. If she told the others her tragic tale, they might offer to help her get through what was obviously a hard time. “Fiona—” I turned at the sound of Willow’s voice.
“Take your
painting knife and mix your white and green colors together. You’ll apply this in thin lines to create waves in the water. That will give dimension and texture to your painting.” Willow made some quick strokes on her canvas, then circulated to help the others.
Fiona poked my shoulder. “Would you look at our Olympic star? Talk about needing a dose of truth and a reality check, Samantha fits that sad tale. She’ll never make it in the business world.” Fiona snorted. “Her talent is mooching off of others and taking shortcuts to get what she wants. Lazy and dishonest are qualities to scar anyone’s résumé.”
My mouth flapped. What happened? A few seconds ago, I felt sorry for the woman, and then she cannonballed me with another round of lethal comments aimed at the Quaint Décor owner. To make matters worse, Sammy turned at that same moment to shoot Fiona a hateful glare, as if she knew the unkind journalist was talking about her.
“Wow. Would you look at the time? Flies by when having fun, right?” Fiona laughed as if none of what she’d said about Sammy was hurtful or wrong.
“Okay, people.” Willow tapped the mic until everyone quieted down. “Before leaving, you’ll want to use one of the hair dryers to finish your masterpieces. Trust me. Wet paint and car seats don’t go together.” Willow hopped off the stage and motioned to me with a wave of her arm.
This was my cue to circulate and thank our guests, which, after my talk with Fiona, would be the easiest part of the evening. I turned to say goodbye to her. However, she had her phone in hand, tapping keys at a frenzied pace while an ugly scowl creased her brow.
When she finished, the smile was back in place. “Sorry to rush off.” She pumped my arm in a firm handshake. “I’ll take a couple more quotes from the shop owners before I leave.”
“Thanks for agreeing to write about our event. I’m looking forward to reading the article when it comes out.”
Fiona lifted her chin. “That may not be for a while. I have other topics scheduled for my column. Don’t worry, though. I’m sure I can fit you in by October or November. Good evening, Chloe.”
My jaw dropped as heat spread through me. We’d been tricked. Or I should say, Izzie had been. Though Fiona had promised to write a nice article, I bet nothing had been discussed about when she’d have it published. I couldn’t wait to let Izzie know. Possibly, she had some influence with the Gazette’s owner, Theo Lawrence.
I made a quick tour of the room to say thank you and goodbye to everyone, though the gesture was mechanical. I hoped no one noticed. Fiona’s comments troubled me and dampened my mood.
“You okay, Chloe?” Willow stood close as the last two guests gathered their paintings and walked to the door.
I shook my head. “Nothing surprising, I guess.”
“Fiona?”
“Yep.” Having no desire to share the details, I gathered napkins off the table and tossed them in the trash.
“I warned you she’s the enemy. It’s a shame, though. Izzie is such an optimist and wanted this evening to work out.” Willow picked up all of the paint tools and plopped them in the plastic washtub she cradled under one arm.
“Fiona’s the enemy, all right. She should never have been invited.” I quickly heaved a sigh. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. Izzie meant well.”
“No problem. Fiona tends to bring out the worst in people.” Willow shrugged, then set the washtub on the table near the back. “I really hate to ask, but I have a date this evening, and I’m supposed to meet him in like fifteen minutes. Would you mind finishing the cleanup? I like this guy a lot and want to make a good impression.” She twisted the hem of her shirt and blushed.
I chuckled. Youth and the innocence of love. Granted, Willow was probably only a few years younger than my twenty-six, but personal experience had left me somewhat jaded. “Sure. I’ve got this. Plus, you did most of the work already. Go have fun.” I shooed her away.
“You’re the best. Thank you! I owe you big time.” Willow grabbed her bag and rushed out, letting the door slam behind her.
I locked the door then, with hands on hips, swiveled side to side to view the shop, and estimated the cleanup wouldn’t take more than a half hour or so. After I washed and put away the brushes and knives, wiped the tables, swept, and dumped the trash, I’d be finished and on my way home. I sighed. “Easy-peasy.”
I flipped the radio station to rock. The powerful beat of The Black Keys resonated through the speakers. Keeping time to the rhythm, I swept the broom back and forth across the plank flooring. A sense of accomplishment filled me. Except for the minor hiccup with Fiona and her contrary behavior, the evening had been a success. Izzie would be pleased. At once, I pulled my phone from my back pocket and tapped the call button.
“You’ve reached the number of Izzie Abbington. Sorry I missed your call. You know the drill.”
I frowned but didn’t bother to leave a message. We’d see each other soon enough. I could share all the details of the evening, including Fiona’s announcement, over a cup of hot cocoa. Izzie wouldn’t be happy about a long delay in printing the story. I shuddered. We were only halfway through summer. October might be too late. By then, the feud between the town and the columnist could spiral into a barroom brawl.
“I can’t believe I felt sorry for the woman.” I grabbed the bottled cleaner, aimed, and gave the table several squirts. “What’s with her? Just because somebody treated her crappy doesn’t mean she should do the same to others.” I ripped paper towels from the roll and applied some serious muscle to wipe the surface dry. “All her honesty-is-the-best-policy garbage. What a crock of bull.” I stuck out my tongue. After tossing the used towels into the trash, I hoisted the washtub and moved to the storage room.
Brushes and knives clanked together as I dumped them in the utility sink. Once I added soap to a sink full of hot water, I sat in the chair to relax. I could agree with Izzie and Megan. Running the woman out of town would be easiest, but she’d only take out her venomous attitude on somebody somewhere else. Dumping our problem on others wasn’t kind. Besides, this wasn’t a wild west show where the sheriff fired his gun and chased unwanted folks out of town.
I stood and turned to tidy up and reorganize the 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 welcome 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 a 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 gaze 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 was dead, and she’d been stabbed with what looked to me like a painting knife.
Chapter Three
“What time would you say you discovered the body?”
I pressed my lips together and fixed my gaze on the notepad Detective Barrett held. Members of CIT, his crime investigative team, filled the shop, busy collecting and filling bags with evidence. I struggled to block out the loud buzz of conversation, the crinkle and snap of the bags, and the laughs that seemed so out of place. I squeezed against one wall of the supply room to move away from the gurney being carried in by two men. “I told you. I believe it was close to nine thirty, maybe a few minutes after.” My defenses rankled, and I flashed angry eyes at him. “I was too busy freaking out over a dead body to pay much attention to the time, Detective.” My breath hitched. “Sorry.”
A Brush with Murder Page 3