by Tim Myers
DEADLY GREETINGS
By Tim Myers
writing as Elizabeth Bright
Book 2 in the Cardmaking Mystery Series
Praise for the Cardmaking Mysteries written by Tim Myers as Elizabeth Bright
“Independent-minded sleuth Jennifer Shane tracks a murderer, crafts cards, and resists her overprotective family with panache and good humor.”
--Carolyn Hart, Award winning author of Death of the Party
“Elizabeth Bright shines in this crafty new series.”
Nancy Martin, author of the Blackbird Sisters Mysteries
“Elizabeth Bright writes an engaging and fast read and incorporates interesting information about card making while solving the murders.”
Armchair Interviews
Praise for the Lighthouse Mystery series by Tim Myers
“Entertaining ... authentic ... fun ... a wonderful regional mystery that will have readers rebooking for future stays at the Hatteras West Inn and Lighthouse.”
—BookBrowser
“Myers cultivates the North Carolina scenery with aplomb and shows a flair for character.”
—Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel
“Tim Myers proves that he is no one-book wonder... A shrewdly crafted puzzle.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Colorful... picturesque ... light and entertaining.”
—The Best Reviews
Praise for the Candlemaking Mystery series by Tim Myers
“Excellent storytelling that makes for a good reading experience…Myers is a talented writer who deserves to hit the bestseller lists.”
---The Best Reviews
“A sure winner.”
---Carolyn Hart, author of the Death on Demand series
“An interesting mystery, a large cast of characters, and an engaging amateur sleuth make this series a winner.”
---The Romance Reader’s Connection four daggers
“A smashing, successful debut.”
---Midwest Book Review
“I greatly enjoyed this terrific mystery. The main character…will make you laugh. Don’t miss this thrilling read.”
---Rendezvous
The Lighthouse Inn Mysteries by Tim Myers
Innkeeping With Murder
Reservations For Murder
Murder Checks Inn
Room For Murder
Booked For Murder
The Candlemaking Mysteries by Tim Myers
At Wick’s End
Snuffed Out
Death Waxed Over
A Flicker Of Doubt
The Soapmaking Mysteries by Tim Myers
Dead Men Don’t Lye
A Pour Way To Dye
A Mold For Murder
The Cardmaking Mysteries by Tim Myers written as Elizabeth Bright
Invitation To Murder
Deadly Greetings
Murder And Salutations
Deadly Greetings
by Tim Myers
writing as Elizabeth Bright
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2006 Elizabeth Bright (Tim Myers)
All rights reserved.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Dedication
Alphabetically To Laura C., Nancy C., Elizabeth D.S., Earlene F., Nancy M., Rosemary M.S., Tamar M., Sarah S.,
and
to Carolyn H., Charlotte M. and Agatha C. for leading the way.
Chapter l
I never really believed in ghosts until Frances Coolridge tried to kill me two months after she died. I’ve made a ton of handcrafted greeting cards for hundreds of occasions, but never anything remotely like the one I wished I could create for her. I might head it “WISH YOU WERE STILL DEAD,” or maybe even “YOU’RE INVITED TO YOUR VERY OWN EXORCISM’ but I doubted either one would do much good. It was pretty apparent that Frances didn’t want me living in her apartment, and just as obvious I wasn’t about to move out. We were at a stalemate, and while it was true that I was going to have to get used to Frances’s presence, it also meant that she was going to have to get used to mine. I loved my new quarters at Whispering Oak, and it was going to take more than a scatterbrained poltergeist to make me pack up my stuff and leave.
My name’s Jennifer Shane, and I own Custom Card Creations, a small handcrafted-card shop in Rebel Forge, Virginia. My business is on one end of Oakmont Avenue—a road that runs through the heart of downtown—and my sister Sara Lynn’s scrapbooking store is on the other. I’d worked for her at Forever Memories before opening my card shop, but I loved being on my own, even if I was constantly just a sale or two away from putting up my very own going out of business sign. Though our parents died in a car accident years before, I’d never felt totally orphaned. After all, my brother, Bradford, is the sheriff for all of Rebel Forge, and my aunt Lillian helps me out at the card shop. Sometimes the pluses and minuses of living in a small town are one and the same. My family is close, both in proximity and in our hearts, but it can be stifling at times. As the youngest of our clan, I often find myself chafing against their desire to protect me, even though I know they are motivated out of love.
“What do you call that ghastly hue?” my aunt Lillian asked as she came into the card shop one morning the week before. I was displaying a new shade of paper I’d made in my small workshop in back, and I was proud of it.
Without glancing in her direction, I said, “Don’t you like it? It’s called ‘Lillian’s Dream.’”
“It’s more like one of my nightmares,” my aunt muttered under her breath as she waved a hand in the air to dismiss the topic. “But never mind that. You’ve got to close the shop and come with me at once.”
“Lillian, I’m barely making enough to feed Oggie and Nash, let alone myself. I can’t afford to shut the place down.” My cats, though not fancy eaters, were finicky in their preference of national brands over generic fare. Hoping to squeeze another nickel out of my budget, I’d tried them on Stylin’ Stew and Jumpy Cats, but they’d refused to touch either one.
Lillian flicked a strand of dyed henna hair out of her face as she said, “Jennifer, you still hate your apartment, don’t you?”
“You know I do,” I said, remembering what had happened there the month before that had completely robbed me of my sense of security. Someone had made a rather concerted effort to scare me, and they’d done a pretty good job of it. The memory of the threat at my door lingered every night as I tried to sleep.
Lillian nodded.
“Well then I’ve got just the place for you. We have to go now, though, before someone else grabs it.” My aunt was a woman of action, proved by a string of seven ex-husbands; she was only half teasing when she said that she was always on the lookout for number eight.
“Do they allow cats?” I asked as I slid the rest of the paper onto the display.
“My dear, they embrace them. Now let’s go.”
After grabbing my coat, I flipped the sign on the door to back in fifteen minutes and locked up. Honestly, I had no idea how long we’d be gone, but I was hoping whoever saw it would hang around, since I couldn’t afford to alienate the few customers I had.
“So where are we headed?” I asked as we hustled toward her car, a classic candy-apple-red Mustang in mint condition.
“Have you ever heard of Whispering Oak?”
I thought about it a second before answering her. “Wasn’t he an Indian guide around here two hundred years ago?”
Lillian shot me one of those looks that spoke volumes about her thoughts on my sanity, but I was being serious.
She explained, “Whispering Oak is a fine old house on the outskirts of town. There’s even a path from your doorstep to the lake. It’s wonderful.”
“If it’s so wonderful, why is it vacant?”
Lillian took a curve sharp enough to fling the paint off her car, and by the time I caught my breath she had shot down a side road at the edge of town that I’d never noticed before. I’ve lived in Rebel Forge nearly all my life, and I’d always assumed the graveled path was a driveway to the house facing the road. Instead of pulling into the Jackson place though, we followed it on through the woods until we came to an ancient Victorian home, replete with fancy shingle siding, gingerbread trim adorning the porch and a pastel palette that belonged on a greeting card.
“This place is for rent?” I asked, knowing full well I couldn’t afford to live there on my modest income.
“Not the entire house, Jennifer,” she said. “However, there is a free room upstairs that would be perfect for you.”
“If it’s free, then I guess I’m willing to look at it,” I said. “That’s about all I can afford.”
“You know perfectly well I meant it was available, not without cost.” She bit her lower lip, then said, “It is reasonable, though, less than you’re paying now, I’ll wager.”
“I’ll take that bet,” I said. One of the few advantages of my current apartment was that the rent was within my means, though just barely.
Lillian parked, then I followed her as she walked to the front door with a purposeful stride. I was expecting her to knock, but she strolled right in like she owned the papers to the place. There wasn’t much for me to do but follow. The foyer had been divided into a vestibule with two doors that were obviously later additions. “Which one are we going to look at?”
“Neither one of these,” Lillian said as she pointed to a narrow staircase in back that I’d missed at first. “We’re going up.”
I eyed the tight passage suspiciously. “I’m not sure I’ll fit, let alone the cat carriers.”
“Jennifer, can you really choose to be that particular, given your budget?”
“Okay, fine, I’ll look at it,” I said, doubtful it would suit even my meager needs.
The stairs went on and on, but we finally made it to the top. There was a narrow door there, perched on a landing barely big enough for the two of us.
I was getting claustrophobic without even going inside. “What is it, the attic?”
“Certainly it was at one time, but it’s a perfectly delightful space now.” Lillian reached under the rug and pulled out a key. As she slid it in the lock, I said,
“I just love these modern security features, don’t you?”
Lillian ignored my comment as she unlocked the door and flung it open. I moved past her as we stepped inside, finally having enough room to stand without her imprinting her elbow into my side.
I thought I’d hate it. In fact, I was already planning a few choice words that involved chasing wild geese and hunting snipes.
Then I looked around. It was nothing short of charming. While it had been an ordinary attic in another incarnation, it was now the perfect studio apartment. The bead board walls enchanted me, painted a pastel green that reminded me of springtime. Light bounced around the room, filtering in from large windows on either end while two dormers also served to illuminate the place, making it bright and airy, nothing like what I’d expected when I’d realized it was a converted attic space. It was fully furnished with antiques built in the Shaker style, and while some folks would find the clean design rather plain, I adored it. A handcrafted quilt covered the queen-sized bed, and a faded Oriental rug adorned much of the open floor, leaving just enough of the honey-toned heartwood pine beneath it to make me want to roll back the rug.
“I don’t have to share a bathroom with anyone, do I?” I asked, searching for any flaw I could find.
“No, the middle dormer has been outfitted as one. Granted, it’s not all that large, but you live alone. There should be plenty of room for you and your cats here.”
I shrugged, not willing to commit to it yet. “So what’s the catch?”
Instead of answering my question, Lillian said, “Jennifer, look through that window.”
I did as I was asked and peered out. To my surprise, I found a small deck just outside, replete with an iron chair and a charming little table. For a finale, Lillian pointed through the canopy of leaves beyond. “The lake is just a few steps away. Autumn is nearly here, and you’ll soon have a glorious view of the lake. Isn’t it delightful?”
I couldn’t have agreed with her more, but I realized Lillian must have misunderstood the price. “I can’t imagine how I can come anywhere near to affording this place.”
When she told me the rent, I didn’t need to know anything else. “Where do we go to sign the lease?”
Lillian smiled in approval. “I took the liberty of acquiring one from Hester Taylor.” Hester was one of Lillian’s best friends, operating a combination copy store/apartment/rental agency/ice cream shop in town ever since her husband had disappeared one day ten years ago. The rumor was that he’d taken their cash, their car, and their dog with him when he vanished. Hester claimed that besides the cash, the only thing she really missed was the dog.
“So where do I sign?” I asked.
Lillian gestured to the places Hester had marked, then took the document from me. “Don’t worry about the deposit or the first and last months’ rents. I’ve got those covered.”
When I started to protest, Lillian said, “Think of them as house warming gifts.”
“I’d rather think of them as paid by me,” I said. “I’m not letting you do this.”
“It’s too late,” Lillian said, laughing. “You already signed the lease.”
“Then I’ll default,” I said. “Or you will. I mean it.” I’d learned early on that if I didn’t stand my ground with her, I’d be stampeded.
She huffed out, “Blast it all, child, do you always have to get your way?”
“Think of it as a character defect I inherited from my favorite aunt,” I said.
Lillian thought about it a few moments, then said, “Let’s compromise. You can pay me back, but only after your store makes a profit two months in a row.”
“Are you sure you can wait that long?”
She scolded, “Have faith in your card shop, Jennifer. I do.”
I knew better than to push her any more than I had. There was only one thing left I could do, and that was to accept as graciously as I could. “Okay, thanks, I can live with that.”
“You’re most welcome,” she said as she hugged me. We were downstairs, ready to go back to the card shop, when one of the tenants on the main floor came out into the foyer. “Who are you?” an elderly man with a black cane asked us fiercely.
“I just rented the apartment upstairs,” I said. “I’m Jennifer Shane,” I added as I offered my hand.
He refused it, then took a step back from us. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why? What’s wrong with it?” I was beginning to think that there might be something I’d failed to ask.
The man shook his head. “You really don’t know?” He lifted his cane and shook it in Lillian’s direction. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Madam.”
Lillian laughed. “I often have reason to, but I rarely am. Now go away.”
With a grunt, the man retreated back into his apartment, slamming the door in our faces.
“Gee thanks, Lillian, it is so sweet of you to make such an effort to get me accepted by my neighbors.”
“Pooh, he’ll come around. Give him time.”
An odd-looking tiny woman with blue hair and a nose like an ice pick was standing on the porch when we walked outside. I’d seen her around town from time to time, but we’d never really spoken to each other.
Lillian said, “Hester, what are you doing here? I told you I’d take care of this.”
The woman fluttered her fingers in the air like a hummingbird’s wings. “I just thought ... I was nearby. . . . Did she sign it?”
“I’m standing right here. Ask me yourself,” I said.
Hester continued to ignore me. “Do you have the lease agreement?” she asked Lillian.
“It’s right here, Hester. Now calm down before you have a heart attack or, worse yet, give me one.”
Hester grabbed the lease Lillian held out and without another word she bolted for her parked car, a Cadillac that was tinted the most unpleasant shade of green I’d ever seen in my life.
I turned to Lillian and asked, “What in the world was that all about?”