by S. Y. Robins
Copyright © Lovy Books Ltd, 2015
S. Y. Robins has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
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Colorful Death
Cozy Mystery
S. Y. Robins
About the book
Jade is having a very bad day. Her little cottage has a leaking roof, her car broke down, and she’s managed to lose her favorite hat while walking back home. So far, this trip to England has not been so much the restful country retreat she wanted. So far, it has pretty much sucked.
And unfortunately, it’s about to get worse. When she catches attractive neighbor Maddox out in a horrible rainstorm, Jade invites him in out of the cold, only to see scratches on his arms. Maddox is pleasant and polite, but even Jade can see that something is wrong. When she learns the next day that an old lady was murdered in her cottage, Jade has a sinking feeling that she knows who’s to blame.
When another body crops up soon after, Jade sets out to find the truth. After all, how much worse could this vacation get? She might as well tramp over the heath and figure out what’s going on.
But all this poking about is going to put her squarely in the killer’s sights. And now that they’ve murdered twice, they’re not going to stop until all of their enemies are dead.
Chapter One
Jade slammed the cupboard shut and glared at it. She glared at the mug, too, as she threw a tea bag into it, and at the kettle as she filled it, and the stove as she turned it on. She threw an extra glare around the room for good measure, and crossed her arms while she waited for the water to boil.
No doubt it wasn’t fair to take her frustrations out on innocent inanimate objects, but there was no one else to take it out on. She had no one to call up and bemoan to, because she hadn’t bought an international phone plan. She knew no one here to go out with, and even if she did know someone, there was no hope of getting something fruity and pink to drink at the pub in town. No, they just had beer, beer, beer, beer, and more beer. So she was stuck with tea. Alone. No one to shriek at that she’d had it up to here with this bloody trip.
The day had started out fine, of course. She’d woken up to birds chirping and a rainstorm clearing, and for about an hour she thought this trip had been the perfect idea. Cottage in the English countryside. Secluded. Lots of tea. The best place for her to finish the manuscript that just would not go right.
And then she spent all morning and part of the afternoon staring at a blank page. Jade was stubborn. She did not give up quickly. Still, after three hours with not a single word, even she had to admit that she was beat. She piled into the teeny car that came with the cottage and drove into town, almost killing someone right as she pulled out and swerved onto the left side of the road.
The day had continued downhill from there. There wasn’t a decent cup of coffee to be found, and the pretty blue skies clouded up almost immediately. Used to the heat and sunshine of Phoenix, Jade found herself shivering as she tried to buy groceries. Without peanut butter or macaroni and cheese to be found anywhere, she settled for a loaf of bread, some Nutella, and a bag of apples, which she then had to carry home when the car broke down a mile from the cottage.
Which was approximately when it had started to rain—and 'rain' was a generous term. Jade might as well have swum home. She arrived as darkness was falling and bumbled around the cottage in the dark, trying to find the light switches while she banged her shins into every shin-height object in the immediate vicinity.
She was going to scream. Jade gave another glare at the kettle, and then turned to look as the glare of car headlights flashed across the room. The car sped past at terrifying speeds, considering the deluge outside, and Jade glared at it, too, more out of habit than anything else. She flumped down into the armchair by the cast iron stove and gave a groan. She was still damp, which was hardly helping her mood, and her dinner of a single apple had likely not helped either.
But the more she sat here, the more it all started to drain away. The stove was finally starting to warm the cabin nicely, the chair was ridiculously comfortable, and the tiny bed in the corner looked perfectly inviting with its patchwork quilt. From the old desk to the mismatched mugs, this cottage was perfect. The kettle was just beginning to whistle, and Jade could sense that a piece of bread with Nutella might make a good end to an otherwise awful day.
Tomorrow she would start over. Yes, that was a perfect way to look at it. She’d been struggling with this manuscript for five months. One more day was hardly a reason to give up.
She stood up, stretched, and considered herself in the tiny mirror by the door. Her looks, hardly noteworthy at all in Phoenix, had been another way she was out of place here in England. With wavy black hair and caramel skin, Jade drew eyes wherever she went here. No one remarked on how pretty her eyes were, large and dark, framed by long lashes, or on her pointed chin or tiny rosebud mouth—no, all anyone saw was her coloring. Apparently, this part of England did not have a lot of South American tourists.
At least, she thought with a smile, the people here didn’t seem to care about appearances as much as they did in Phoenix. Jade had wandered around in jeans and a sweater for two days, not a speck of makeup on her face and her hair in a messy bun, and no one gave that a second glance.
Oh, the lecture she’d get if her mother could see her now…
Jade grinned and cut a slice of bread, spreading Nutella thickly over the top of it. Her mother hadn’t liked anything about the idea of this trip. That was part of what made it so appealing. She moved around the apartment, lighting a candle on one of the side tables and a pretty little lantern by the bed. Switching the electric lights out, she was bathed in soft, flickering light. No computer, no TV, nothing but her and her books.
Perfection. She retrieved the plate from the counter, turned—and froze.
Out in the slanting rain, the last light of dusk fading from the air, a figure stood by the side of the road, its eyes fixed on her. It did not move even as the rain gusted. It stood as still as any ghost in a horror movie, implacable and determined.
Jade let out a strangled little whimper. The plate was shaking wildly in her hands, and she fought the urge to hurl it at the window. She needed to find the phone. Then she could call for help. Standing still, too afraid to take her eyes from the figure lest it begin to advance on the cottage, she felt along the counter for the phone they’d given her.
And then the figure turned to leave. It stumbled, fell to its knees, and struggled up to march onwards in t
he rain. Jade let out her breath in a whoosh. The plate clattered to the ground and she jumped. Not a murderer. Not a—
Was the person injured? She frowned at the shape, then ran to the door and threw it open.
“Wait! Wait, come back!”
The figure looked over its shoulder and burst into a run.
What on earth? Jade looked around for her coat, but she was already losing the shape in the dark and the storm. Reasoning that she was already damp and her hair still wet, she dashed out into the pouring rain with a few muttered oaths.
“Come back!” She sprinted through the darkness, hoping against hope that no drivers were out without their lights on.
The figure kept running, but Jade was faster. A sprinter in high school and college, she’d always been able to put on an impressive burst of speed. She caught up with the man a few hundred yards away, grabbing his arm and pulling him back.
“Hey! Why were you looking at—” She broke off as she recognized the man. “Maddox?”
Maddox Smith owned the cottage closest to hers. She’d been introduced to him yesterday when she arrived, the landlady simpering at his handsome face while he passed by on the road. A painter, she’d said later. Very talented. Studied with Vera Acker a few kilometers away. Yes, quite a prodigy. Quite a prodigy, indeed. And even Jade had to admit that Maddox was good-looking. Tall and pale-skinned, he nonetheless had eyes of a deep sapphire blue and black hair that fell over his forehead like he was on the cover of a romance novel.
Whatever he had in looks, however, he was one of the most awkward people she had ever met. After a muttered greeting, he’d been on his way hastily, and now he was staring at her like he was absolutely terrified.
“Were you watching me?” Jade asked suspiciously. Cozy cottage be damned, she was not going to stay if there was a peeping tom around.
“You just got home,” he said. It was a question.
“About an hour ago,” Jade said, bemused by this sudden change of topic. She squinted through the rain. “Are you hurt? I thought I saw you—oh, my God!” Scratches showed on the side of his face, visible even in the dim light. “Come with me, I think there’s Neosporin and Band-Aids in the cottage. Come on. What happened?”
“Nothing,” he said instantly. “I should go.”
“Are you sure? Look, let’s get you dry and…did you come to my place for help? Did someone attack you?” If someone had scratched at her face like that, she’d probably be staring in people’s windows in shock as well. “Is there someone dangerous still out here?”
“You said you got back an hour ago,” he said, instead of answering any questions. “Where were you before?”
He was in shock. That was the only answer. It had to be. Jade shook her head.
“Please, you have to get out of the cold. I’ll make you some tea and you can call the police and tell them about this person who attacked you. You’ll be perfectly safe.”
“Where’s your car?” he asked suspiciously.
“What?”
“Your car. It’s missing.”
“Does that matter?”
“I have to go.” He yanked his arm out of her grasp and ran into the darkness, leaving Jade staring after him.
She turned slowly, peering into the darkness. There was no one there. Maybe he’d just fallen in the dark. Maybe he’d fallen while trying to peer in her windows, for all she knew. That would be why he didn’t want her to call the police, perhaps.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t quite get over the idea of some deranged lunatic stalking around the British countryside. She sprinted back to the house and locked the door, pulling all of the curtains closed. When she did go to sleep, it was with the phone on the bedside table and her eyes fixed warily on the door.
Chapter Two
Jade hardly hesitated before picking the largest jar of Nutella on the shelf and tossing it into her cart. She was getting addicted to the stuff. Two loaves of bread were already sitting in the cart as well, and a bunch of ridiculously expensive bananas. She looked at her list, frowning. Honey for tea, eggs, cheese, pasta and sauce… And she’d give anything for black beans and rice, but Britain didn’t seem to have black beans. Or avocados.
Ah, well. She picked up a set of eggs with delicate blue shells, and a block of cheddar cheese, and made her way to the check out. Everyone seemed to be whispering about something, looking at the paper, and the distracted cashier dropped Jade’s change onto the ground instead of her outstretched hand as he craned to hear what the people in the next lane over were saying.
That was odd. Jade frowned at them as she loaded the groceries into the trunk of her car—“boot, dear,” her landlady had informed her. “We call it a boot”—and set off for the tea shop nearby. Since the car was fixed and she was already here, she might as well try one of their fabled scones.
More whispering abounded in the tea shop. Knots of people clustered by the counter, parting only reluctantly to let Jade order a pear ginger scone. While she waited, she saw an Indian man surrounded by a crowd of people, looking vaguely cornered. As Jade watched curiously, he shook someone’s hand and tried to smile.
“Mrs. Collins!” Jade saw a familiar face in the crowd and worked her way over to her landlady. “Mrs. Collins—what’s going on?”
“You haven’t heard, my dear? Oh, my.” The woman clutched a hand to her chest. “There’s been a murder.”
“A murder?” Jade asked, alarmed. “Who? Where?”
She was just about to say that on second thought, it didn’t matter—she knew hardly a single person here—but Mrs. Collins was only too eager to tell her all the details.
“Why, Vera Acker!”
“The woman who lives near me?” Jade asked, alarmed.
“Oh, yes, dear, terribly tragic. And so frightening, don’t you think! Some lunatic running around the countryside, beating poor old women to death in their homes.”
“She was beaten to death?” Jade asked, horrified. All of her preconceptions about Britain were falling away rather unpleasantly. She was a writer, she thought to herself—she of all people should know that murder could happen anywhere there were people. But something about this quaint little countryside with its pretty cottages and tiny town center had seemed beyond things like violence.
“Yes, two nights ago. They just found her body yesterday when her nephew went to visit. That’s him over there, dear.” She gestured to the Indian man. “Her brother’s son.”
“And they don’t have any idea who did it?” Jade asked, her heart sinking. Murder wasn’t generally random, she knew that. Still, the idea was giving her chills.
“Not at all, not at all! Of course, they’re looking at the nephew. Her only heir, you see.” Mrs. Collins waved her hand. “But that’s nothing more than prejudice, if you ask me. Why, he wouldn’t hurt a fly! He’s a wonderful young man.”
Forbearing to mention that the “young man” appeared to be in his fifties, Jade studied him covertly. His face had a greyish tinge, and he was edging steadily towards the door, trying to escape the crowd of people who wanted to offer their condolences. One old lady had his hand clasped firmly in hers and appeared to be telling a story about his aunt. The poor man appeared truly overwhelmed.
“And it’s so sad that she was killed now, of all times,” Mrs. Collins said, hand still dramatically at her chest. If she’d been wearing pearls, Jade was sure she’d be clutching those.
“Mmm?”
“Why, she’d just broken into the art scene!” Mrs. Collins shook her head in affected sympathy. “Her work was selected for a huge showing in London. She was going to be a star, our Vera! After so many years as our favorite artist, a local treasure—and struck down in the prime of her career!”
“That’s terrible,” Jade said. The words were heartfelt. Her own big break had come a year before, when one of her novels hit the bestseller lists. A book tour and a deal had followed soon after, and now she was struggling to come up with an appropriately good sequel. She’d
thought the pressure was terrible, but now she had an awful example of a way things could be much, much worse. She had a chance to keep working and creating. Vera never would.
She had to get out of here. Jade smiled and extricated herself from the conversation, stumbling out into the cloudy day with a sigh of relief. She leaned against the wall, sighing heavily.
And then, with a chill, she remembered. Two days ago, Mrs. Collins said. Or perhaps a day and a half ago, just around nightfall—in the driving rain, a night when no one should have been out but at least one person had been, a person who didn’t seem to want any help with the suspicious scratches on his face.
A person who was coming right up the street toward her. Jade heard her breath catch, and Maddox looked up. Fear passed over his face. He looked terrified. He looked hunted. And then he turned and ran back down the sidewalk.
“Wait!” She was furious now. She had no idea what she was going to say when she caught up to him, but she would figure that out later.
He didn’t listen. They pounded down the concrete, her gaining on him, but his car was too close. He slid into the driver’s seat and backed out jerkily, screeching off down the street while Jade leaned over, heaving for breath.
Dammit.
“Is something wrong?” The voice was smooth, deep, and wildly sexy.
Jade stood up slowly, turned around, and cursed her new commitment to sweaters and jeans.
The man in front of her was an Adonis. His dark hair was artfully arranged, his smile bright, his teeth straight and white. From high cheekbones to a jaw that could cut glass, his face was perfection—and his body wasn’t far behind. Broad shoulders tapered to narrow hips, every line of his well-muscled torso standing out clearly in a dark green crew-cut sweater. Far from being as pasty pale as everyone else in this town, he was tanned, the very vision of health. He looked like he’d walked right out of an ad.