Invitation to Murder (Book 1 in the Candlemaking Mysteries) Read online

  INVITATION TO MURDER

  By Tim Myers

  writing as Elizabeth Bright

  Book 1 in the Cardmaking mysteries

  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

  Invitation to Murder

  by Tim Myers

  writing as Elizabeth Bright

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2005 Elizabeth Bright (Tim Myers)

  All rights reserved.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  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.

  To Serena Jones and Martha Bushko at NAL, and to my agent, John Talbot:

  Thank you all for believing.

  Chapter l

  “You’ve got to tell her I won’t stop it! She’ll believe you. Please, you’re the only one who can save me.”

  I frowned at the telephone, wondering if someone was having some fun at my expense. “Who is this?”

  “Don’t you know? Donna, you’re my last chance. She’s going to kill me if you don’t tell her the truth.”

  “I’m sorry, but my name’s not Donna. I’m Jennifer.”

  “Oh, no, she’s here.” There were a few choked sobs, and then she added in a whisper, “It’s too late for me, isn’t it?”

  Just before the line went dead, I heard a scream that will haunt me till the day I die.

  Earlier that Tuesday morning I’d been wondering if going into business for myself had been such a great idea after all. My name’s Jennifer Shane, and I own and operate Custom Card Creations, my very own handcrafted-card shop. My specialized store was recently born from the need to get out on my own and away from my big sister Sara Lynn’s scrapbooking store—aptly named Forever Memories—a place where I had worked after leaving my corporate sales job peddling pet food all over the Southeast. As much as I loved being around my sister, I knew I had to do something on my own when I’d tried to convince her that a handcrafted greeting card corner was a natural sideline for her business. Sara Lynn hadn’t been interested. Not because it wasn’t a good idea, mind you, but because her baby sister had come up with it and Sara Lynn hadn’t thought of it herself first. So I took a deep breath, withdrew every dime of my savings and my inheritance from the bank and opened my shop on the opposite end of Oakmont Avenue. We were bookends on the town’s main road where tourists browsed when they came to Rebel Forge, Virginia. Whether in the area for skiing in the winter or boating in the summer, there was a steady stream of shoppers most of the year. Scattered between our shops were old and charming buildings filled with crafters, antique dealers, an art gallery, a potter and a dozen other eclectic businesses that somehow felt just right to me. The first real chance I had to make a sale for my shop was one I nearly turned down. I wasn’t particularly interested in doing wedding invitations; that I wasn’t why I’d opened my handcrafted-card store, but the check Mrs. Albright waved under my nose convinced me otherwise.

  She’d walked into my shop earlier that morning with her nose in the air and a look of complete and utter disdain plastered on her sharp ferret features. I couldn’t see why her reaction had been so negative. The shop was in a quaint little tumbled-brick building with scarred hardwood floors and exposed oak beams in the ceiling. It had formerly housed a handbag boutique, but I hoped I had better luck than the last tenant. The poor woman had gone bankrupt, but before the bank could foreclose, she’d driven her car off the dam into Rebel Lake.

  “I’d like to speak with the owner,” my visitor said in a voice that dared me to comply. She had probably once been lovely, but the years hadn’t been kind to her. Without even knowing her, I was certain that she was in a constant battle to lose that last thirty pounds—a battle I was pretty sure she was never going to win.

  “You are,” I said, offering my brightest smile. “How may I help you?” I gestured to the
specialty areas I’d taken great pains to set up before I’d opened the shop for business. “I have handcrafted cards and stationery for sale up front, and if you’re interested, I offer everything you need to make your own cards, as well. I have specialty scissors, rubber stamps, cutouts, stickers, stencils, pressed flowers and a dozen other different ways to enhance the cards you make. I offer a variety of paper and envelopes in several textures, thicknesses and colors, and if you want something totally unique, I can design and fabricate a custom batch of paper just for you. I’ve even got a computer, if you’d like to design something yourself that way. Oh, and I offer classes in card making in the evenings, but if you’re already a card maker, we’ve got the Crafty Cut-Ups Club that meets here every Thursday night.” Okay, the last bit was a stretch, but I honestly did plan to start the club just as soon as I found at least two people who liked making cards as much as I did. I’d memorized my sales pitch a few days before, and I promised myself to pause for a few more breaths the next time I had the chance to give it. I’d nearly passed out trying to get everything out in one breath.

  The woman’s disapproval was readily apparent. She studied me with her querulous gaze, and it was all I could do not to stoop down. I’m just a few inches short of six feet tall, and when my long brown hair’s up in a knot like it was nearly all the time, I knew I could be an imposing figure. Maybe if I was one of those rail-thin nymphs that weighed next to nothing I could still get away with my height, but I was solid—at least ten pounds overweight even for my frame—and that was saying a lot.

  She sniffed the air, and then said, “No, I’m afraid you won’t be able to help me after all.”

  “Come on, its way too soon for you to give up on me. If it involves cards, believe me, I can do it.”

  “I’m sorry, but I suppose I’ll have to use a printing business in a larger city. I had hoped to offer something at least a little above the ordinary to our guests and friends.”

  As she started for the door, I said, “Why don’t you tell me what you want? Then I’ll let you know if I can do it or not.”

  She paused, which was a good thing, because I was getting ready to tackle her before she could get out of my shop. I’d only been open two days, but in that time I’d had three people come in to ask me for directions to other businesses along Oakmont, and a spry little old man had wanted change for a single so he could buy a newspaper. I hadn’t sold a card yet, not a single piece of card stock or stationery, or even a stamp for that matter, and my sister’s prediction of doom kept echoing through my empty store.

  “I need wedding invitations, but they have to be different something bold, yet dignified; daring, yet classic.”

  I wanted a pony myself, or at least a way to make my first month’s rent. “How many invitations are you going to need?”

  “This is a very exclusive event,” she said. “We’re holding the guest list down to our four hundred closest friends.” She looked around my small store, then said, “Perhaps I’d better see if someone in Charlottesville can help me. Thank you for your time.”

  As her hand touched the doorknob, I said, “Actually, that might be for the best. After all, I’m certain my designs would be too outré for you.”

  As I’d hoped, she looked intrigued for the first time since she’d walked into my shop. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Let me get some samples for you.” I raced to my workroom, a small space in back where I made the customized cards and papers I hoped to sell. I’d just finished a fresh batch of handmade paper, and I’d included some glitter and tinsel in the mix on a lark. I took a few sheets from the drying rack, grabbed a handful of my more experimental selections and hurried back before she could get away. If I’d been thinking straight, I would have dead bolted the front door to keep her there until I could make my pitch.

  “Here are a few possibilities,” I said as I laid the sheets out on the counter in front of her.

  She studied the selection, paused over my latest effort and picked it up. “But it’s still wet.”

  “Of course it is,” I said as if it were the most common thing in the world to handle brand-new paper. “As I said, this is all cutting-edge. The textures are amazing, aren’t they? I can create whatever paper we decide to use, based on your needs and tastes. There are lots of variations.”

  She looked around my shop again, then stared at me for a moment before speaking. “And you’re certain you can handle this?”

  “I can honestly say that I haven’t had a single dissatisfied customer since I’ve been in business.” Well, it was the truth. The man I’d made change for had been extremely grateful, and if there had been anything wrong with the directions I’d given, no one had come back to complain. That made it a perfect score, in my opinion.

  “Then let’s do this. I’ll be in touch sometime in the next few days about the details.” That’s when she waved a check for the deposit under my nose. If I could pull it off, my business would be on its way. It surprised me that a woman who seemed to be such a control freak wouldn’t want to settle the details on the spot, but Mrs. Albright seemed rushed, no doubt already late for her next appointment. After she was gone, I was still admiring the amount—afraid to put the check in my cash register lest it disappear—when my big brother, Bradford, walked in, decked out in his sheriff’s uniform. He was two inches over six feet, and standing next to him, I somehow managed to feel svelte.

  Before I could even say hello, he snapped, “When are you going to get over your pigheaded stubbornness and start talking to Sara Lynn again?”

  “Hello, brother dear, it’s nice to see you, too. Did you come in to buy a card?”

  He snorted. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass. Seriously, Jen, what’s going on between the two of you?” Bradford was the middle child of our family, the consummate peacemaker when it came to his sisters’ squabbles. I liked to think that all those years of maintaining harmony in our house had carried over into his career choice. Bradford was the sheriff for our resort community, keeping the peace now on an entirely different level. I just hoped he had more luck with the residents of Rebel Forge than he had with me and Sara Lynn.

  “Talk to her if you don’t like what’s going on between us,” I said. “I offered her a truce, and she blew me off.”

  “You did kind of step on her turf,” Bradford said.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Listen, if you’re not going to buy anything, why don’t you just go?” Then I realized that I was letting him off way too easy, especially since he’d just taken Sara Lynn’s side instead of mine. “Hey Bradford, since you’re here, you should buy something nice for your wife.”

  “If I walk in my door at home with a card for Cindy, she’s going to think I’m up to something.”

  “If you don’t, she’s going to be even more suspicious, especially after I call and tell her you were in here shopping today and bought something romantic from my store.” I scanned the room. “Let’s see, what did you buy again? Oh, yes, that stationery and envelope set. You have excellent taste, Bradford. It’s the very best I carry.”

  He knew when he was beaten—I had to give him that. “Give me a break, Jennifer. I’ve got two kids who will eat anything that’s not nailed down. I’m having a tough time making it on a cop’s salary, even with Cindy’s income from the library.”

  I relented, as I almost always did when my big brother pleaded his case. “Okay, how about one of these, then? I just made them.” I handed him one of my newest creations, a soft-violet-shaded card that sported pressed wildflowers embossed in the paper and the envelope. On the front of the card, it said in my best calligraphy, “Just Because . . . ,” and inside, simply, “I Care.”

  “How much is this going to set me back?”

  “You know,” I said, snatching the card from his hand, “suddenly I’m not sure it’s going to be enough. You didn’t say a word about how pretty my new design is.”

  “It’s gorgeous, an absolute work of art. Whatever it
costs, I’m sure it’s worth a lot more than you’re charging me.” He gave me his brightest grin, the same one I’m sure had won Cindy’s heart. My brother, despite his Neanderthal leanings, could be quite charming when he put his mind to it.

  “Okay, don’t show too much enthusiasm. It’s out of character.” I rang the sale up, slid his card and envelope into a bag, then gave Bradford his change.

  As he took the money, he said, “Now are you going to talk to Sara Lynn?”

  “Hey, she knows where I am. It’s completely up to her.”

  He shook his head. “You two are more alike than either one of you will ever admit.”

  I smiled at him. “That was smart of you.”

  “What, my powers of observation?”

  “No, saving that crack until after I rang up your sale.”

  He tapped his temple. “Hey, nine years of police work pays off from time to time. Be good, Jen.”

  “You, too. Watch your back.”

  “Always.”

  After Bradford was gone, I realized I hadn’t told him about the Albright wedding. But then again, he’d probably known about it before the bride. Our dear sheriff prided himself on being up-to-the-minute on the happenings and events in our town before they occurred.

  I was feeling pretty good about my day, happy about the invitation order and my first actual sale, despite my general lack of customers. Then the telephone rang and I heard that desperate cry for help.

  I stood there staring at the telephone in my hand long after the woman on the other end had been cut off. I was pretty convinced that the call was no prank. Nobody could scream like that unless her life was in serious jeopardy.