Killer Shots Murder Mysteries - Books 1-3 Read online

  I sat cross-legged in the deep upholstered chair. Not very ladylike, but it was an old habit and hard to break. “I’m planning on opening up a photography studio. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do. I have no idea if I can make a living at it or not.”

  “What sort of photography?”

  “I’d love to make a living with fine art photography. Just me and the camera. The less I have to deal with people, the better. But I’m sure I’ll be shooting weddings and engagements and newborn babies. I’m willing to take anything I can get to pay the bills. If that means I have to shoot children’s birthday parties or crime scene photos for the newspaper, I’ll do it.”

  “Sounds like you have it all planned out.”

  “I don’t, not really. This could be my worst decision ever. But the little bit of research I did made me think there wasn’t much competition in the area, so that’s something.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t gotten engaged or married or had a newborn baby. You might want to talk to my sister, Nancy. She knows a lot about the local business scene.”

  “I wish I had a crystal ball or a psychic advisor or...my grandmother to tell me what to do.” I absently twirled the pearl ring on my right hand.

  “I’m sure you know what you are doing.”

  “Based on what? On my previous business endeavor that I hated or my latest in a series of failed relationships or—”

  Jake lowered his eyes and stared at his shoes.

  Wow. Of all the bad first impressions, this was the worst. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just tired.”

  “No worries. I should probably go.” He drained his bottle and set it on the table. “I want to stop by and check on Beverly.”

  “I’m sure she’d appreciate that. I hope she’s okay being in that house all alone after what her son-in-law told me.”

  “Dale? What did he say?”

  “He told me about Beverly’s dementia.”

  His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward as though he didn’t trust his hearing. “He said she has dementia? Are you sure?”

  “His words.”

  “I’ve spent time with Beverly and have never seen a single sign of it. My grandfather had Alzheimer’s, so I know what it’s like.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want to sound like a gossipy old hen.”

  “No, that’s okay.” He stood up and walked toward the door, stopping as though he’d just remembered an item to add to his shopping list. “Oh, are we still on for dinner this week?”

  The way he asked, as though he could take it or leave it, was disconcerting. Maybe Jake was thinking of just being friends after all. I couldn’t hardly say no to that. “Sure. How about Wednesday?”

  “Perfect. Do you like Mexican food?”

  “Duh. Doesn’t everyone?”

  “Great. I’ll take you to my favorite dive.” He opened the door. “You know, I’m not surprised you never noticed me in school. What does surprise me, though, is that you’re still single. I mean, I know you just broke up with that rich guy from Dallas...”

  I caught my breath. How would he know that?

  He must have read my mind. “The grapevine in Cascada is strong and has a long reach. I hope you’ll tell me about it at dinner. Maybe I can figure out what it takes to win the heart of a beauty queen.” He turned and left.

  I shut the door quickly, my heart pounding in my chest. What did he mean by that? Was I the beauty queen whose heart he wanted to win or was he just looking for tips to improve his love life?

  Beauty queen. I had grown to hate the title. Still, I found myself smiling.

  Maybe Mr. Luscious Eyes Dimple Chin wasn’t looking for a platonic relationship after all. Even though I wasn’t ready to start something new, it was always nice to feel wanted. My ego was on life support, and Jake might be just what the doctor ordered.

  Chapter 5

  The incessant ringing of the doorbell woke me from a deep sleep. I stumbled to the door. Beverly stood on my porch in a rhinestone-studded lavender ball gown, chandelier earrings, too much makeup, and heels.

  “Are you ready to get started?” She looked me up and down. “Why aren’t you dressed yet?”

  “Because it’s seven thirty in the morning.”

  She walked past me just as Cricket made her escape outside. “Let me see your house.”

  I followed her into the front room, wondering if I was actually in one of those weird mash-up dreams where different parts of your life collide. Maybe Beverly was a bride or the hostess of a charity gala and I was the event organizer. Yet I was in my grandmother’s house in my pajamas. I had forgotten about the event and she was here to ream me out and demand I repay the fee? My heart began to race as I rubbed my eyes, trying to grasp reality.

  “Oh my.” Beverly pulled off her fur cape. “I feel like I just stepped into a magazine spread. Wherever did you find all this wonderful stuff?”

  “What?”

  “Your house, dear. I love the décor.”

  I folded my arms. “Beverly, why are you here and why are you dressed like a Disney princess?”

  “For our photo session, of course. Remember?” She started toward the den, muttering, “And they call me forgetful.”

  Even in my twilight state, I was certain I hadn’t scheduled a photo shoot with Beverly. That’s something I would have remembered. But here she was, dressed and pressed, expecting to have her picture taken.

  After a quick self-tour of all the living spaces, she gave me a final evaluation. “I love it. This is what I should do in my house. I wish Penelope were here to see this; then maybe she would understand why I want to redecorate.”

  “But I thought Dale said...”

  “Fiddlesticks what Dale says. It’s my house. Do you have coffee?”

  “Not made.”

  “Fine. I can make us some while you get dressed.”

  Apparently, this was happening. “Okay. The pods are in the rack next to the coffeemaker.”

  “Pods? Oh, you have one of those space-age machines like Penelope. I think I can remember how it works.”

  I pulled on some yoga pants and a sweatshirt. Was Beverly planning to pay me for this work? Regardless, if all went well, maybe she could tell her friends and help me drum up business.

  When I got to the kitchen, she was filling a bowl with water for Cricket. “I hope this is okay. She cried until I let her back in. Maybe you should get a litter box if she’s going to be staying here with you.”

  “Um...I...I thought she was a neighborhood cat. I wasn’t planning on—”

  “This is the first time I’ve ever seen her go inside a house. It looks like she’s adopted you.”

  “That’s strange. I’ve always been a dog person, not that I have anything against cats. Gran always had cats.”

  “Oh yes. I used to love those old yellow barn cats. I sure do miss her.” Tears glistened in her eyes.

  “Why don’t we sit a minute while I get my bearings.” I led her to the den. “What do you think of this idea for the room? I want to paint the vaulted ceiling white just to make it more airy in here. I’ll paint the walls a light gray—it goes with everything. Then I want to remove this wall to the kitchen and put in a bar with barstools.”

  “That sounds lovely. I can’t wait to see it all finished. Are you going to hire someone or do it yourself? I have a great handyman.”

  “I’ll do most of it myself, but I’ll have to get a carpenter to do the wall and bar. There’s electrical work to be done, too.”

  “Andy can do it all. Whatever you need. He and Harold were friends.”

  A friend of Harold’s? For all I knew he was pushing seventy. Not wanting to commit, I just nodded and sipped my coffee.

  “I have to warn you, I may want to have another sitting to try a different outfit. Also, I might want one with my hair up. Let’s head to my house before I spoil my dress.”

  I lugged my portrait equipment and tripod across the yard. Cricket ra
n ahead of us. Beverly walked down the stone path to the street, holding the hem of her dress nearly waist high. Hopefully, none of the neighbors were watching.

  “By the way,” I asked, “did Jake stop by last night?”

  “Jake? Maybe. No. I don’t remember. He was at the party, though.”

  There was that word “party” again. “Did you know Jake very well? He and I went to school together.”

  “It seems like he may have mentioned that some time ago when Dottie passed. He wanted to go to the funeral but had to be out of town. He’s a dear boy.”

  Beverly opened her front door, and we stepped into the hideous foyer. “Speaking of Andy,” she said, “he painted those angels on the ceiling.”

  “I see.” I held my tongue, trying to be polite. What I wanted to say was if heaven really looked like that, people wouldn’t be so anxious to get there.

  Beverly sneered. “I hate it. You see, Harold always said ‘a man’s house is his castle’ and wanted to decorate it like one. Look at this ridiculous furniture and rugs.”

  “Did he know how you felt?”

  “Oh sure, but he didn’t care. He said I owed him.”

  That was the second time she had told me that. “Owed him for what?”

  “You see, Penelope—” She snapped her mouth closed. “Never mind. Where would you suggest I pose?”

  Anywhere but in this house. “Well, I don’t have my light kit, and this room is definitely too dark.”

  “There’s better light in the den. Follow me.”

  I squinted my eyes and tried to look past the Medieval Times décor to find a spot suitable for framing.

  “How about here in front of the fireplace. Gladys Nelson has one like that and I’ve always admired it.”

  “That would work, but it would be weird to take a picture of yourself standing in front of the fireplace and hang it over the fireplace, unless you’re intentionally trying to be ironic.”

  “Huh? Fiddlesticks. This is where I want it,” she said. “Maybe it will go in the front room or the dining room.” She struck a pose. “How about something like this?”

  “Sure, but give me a minute to get set up.”

  “Can you be sure these brackets don’t show in the picture? I’d rather not have any reminder of Harold if possible. Who knows, I could even remarry someday.”

  I nodded as I extended the legs of the tripod. “What about the missing golf club? Did you find it?”

  “Actually, no. Not that I really looked. I certainly hope it wasn’t stolen. There were so many people here at the party someone could have walked off with it.”

  I tilted my head. “Now, Beverly. Who would steal a man’s golf club at his own funeral?”

  “You don’t think all those people were friends, do you? Harold had enemies, believe me. You don’t run three successful businesses in a small town like this and not make enemies.”

  I started to ask her what business Harold was in when Cricket cried at the back window.

  “That’s funny,” Beverly said, sliding open the glass door. “She’s never done that before.”

  “She likes me, what can I say.” I attached the 85mm lens I used for portraits to the camera. Cricket brushed against my legs. I picked her up and went into my photography zone. “The light is coming in from this direction, so I suggest you stand on that side. Don’t rest your arm on the mantel. It makes you look like a cowboy leaning against the bar. I think you should leave the gloves off and hold them in your hand. It will give the shot casual elegance as though you often dress up in a formal gown and hang out in your plaid-washed den.”

  Beverly stared at me with a peculiar half-smile.

  Oops. Had I overstepped my bounds? I hadn’t meant to insult her. “I’m sorry. It was a joke.”

  “Oh, not at all. I love your ideas. It’s just that—just now—you reminded me so much of your grandmother when she was younger. Standing there, holding the cat. It was like she was here with us.”

  I relaxed and stroked Cricket’s back. She looked up at me with her muddy-green eyes. But then, something happened. Her eyes seemed to change color from green to blue. Was it the light or was I hallucinating? I gasped and dropped her to the ground.

  She jumped up onto the back of the sofa and sat staring at me.

  “What is it, dear? Did she scratch you?”

  “No, I...” I couldn’t tell her the cat’s eyes had changed colors. It would look like I was the one losing her mind. “It’s nothing.” I looked back at Cricket. Her eyes seemed back to normal.

  “So what about this rug? Won’t it clash with my dress? I want the train to circle around on the floor.”

  I heard Beverly talking, but it was like her voice was far away. Cricket licked at her paw. Maybe I was just sleep deprived. It was probably just my imagination. I snapped back to reality. “Let me see. Yes, the rug, the burgundy rug has to go. The tile floor underneath is prettier anyway.”

  I lifted one corner and began to roll the carpet back out of the way, revealing a dark, reddish-brown stain on the tile. “What’s this?”

  Beverly walked over to look. “Oh dear. It looks like someone must have spilled something on the floor and it soaked through. Probably spaghetti sauce from the party. I’m sure it will clean up.”

  I moved the tripod so I could pull the rug back from the fireplace. When I did, I uncovered a similar stain next to the edge of the hearth. Someone had definitely tried to clean it, but the dark substance had soaked into the grout. “Looks like you had some messy guests.”

  Beverly waved her white gloves. “Oh, that one’s not spaghetti sauce. It’s blood from where Harold had his accident. He fell and hit his head on the corner of the fireplace. That’s how he died, you know.”

  I dropped the rug and stumbled backward. “Eww!” I had almost touched it. Where was my hand sanitizer when I needed it?

  “Don’t worry. I had a cleaning service come in. They got my house ready for the party.”

  Clean? This was blood, not marinara sauce. If it were my house, I’d tear out the floor, or drown it in Clorox, or move. A sudden urge to get out of there came sweeping over me. I felt as though I’d stumbled into a haunted house. I wanted to go home.

  Here I was in this strange woman’s house—a woman I hardly knew. We were standing where her husband had died barely a week earlier, and she had absolutely no trepidation at looking at his blood. Her son-in-law implied she was losing it, and I had a feeling he was right.

  Before I could come up with a good excuse to leave, Beverly walked over to the fireplace and turned slowly to face me. “I’m ready.” She stared off into the distance.

  Ready for what? I took a step back.

  “Take my picture.”

  Anything to get me out of there faster. I moved the camera into position and snapped repeatedly.

  When she had completed five or six poses, she declared herself done and excused herself to go change.

  I grabbed my equipment and hurried home, Cricket running ahead. Once inside, I locked the door behind me. What had just happened back there? It seemed obvious that a large amount of blood had been in two places in that room. Someone may have clobbered Harold in one spot and then moved his body over to the fireplace. How could it have been an accident? Dead men don’t move. Could I have stumbled upon evidence of a murder?

  Cricket flipped over onto her back and lay paws up like a corpse. Was that something cats even do? I was beginning to think they should rename this place Crazy Town. One thing I knew for sure, if there were ghosts in the background of the pictures I just took, I was definitely finding a new place to live.

  Chapter 6

  I had set up the third bedroom as my home office, complete with my desk and file cabinets from my old warehouse. I needed an internet connection to start searching for a location for my studio. Luckily, the cable guy was right on time. He got right to work.

  Still rattled from what I had seen at Beverly’s house, I set about organizing my desk to take m
y mind off it.

  That didn’t work. The picture of those two bloodstains was burned in my mind. I’d seen enough TV and read enough mysteries to know that two crime scenes meant hanky-panky with the body. Okay, not hanky-panky—that would be gross—I meant some kind of shenanigans. I tried to think about it rationally. Maybe the paramedics had moved Harold’s body and that’s why there were two areas of blood. But wouldn’t Beverly have known that? She had referred to one of the spots as spaghetti sauce. Surely if she was a murderer—or murderess—she wouldn’t have let me move that rug. Unless she had forgotten...

  “Ms. Fairmont?”

  I jumped at the sound of a man’s voice behind me. It was the cable installer. “There’s a guy here to see you.”

  When I walked into the den, Curtis Meeks from next door seemed to be sizing up my house like a prospective buyer. His navy-blue dress pants were perfectly creased and his black loafers practically glowed. “I hope it’s okay I stopped by. I just wanted to give you my card.”

  I took it from him and read, “Southwest Citizens Bank.”

  “That’s right. I’m the bank manager. I hope you’ll come by and open an account. I can hook you up with a low-interest business loan. I hear you’re opening up a photography studio of some sort.”

  “Um...yeah, but how did you know?”

  “Jake mentioned you were setting up a new business, so I assumed you’d need start-up capital.”

  Man, news traveled fast around there. What did they have, a phone chain? I stared at the card. “Well, actually, I might.”

  “Great. Why don’t you come by the house this evening, and you can tell me your plans. Lana is anxious to meet you.”

  “That would be great. I appreciate it.”

  He started for the door. “One more thing,” he said. “I don’t want this to sound wrong, but you might want to keep your distance from Beverly Attwood. She’s a little...off.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She and Harold—I mean, Harold was a real jerk. And Beverly, I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I get around her. Just take it for what it’s worth. A little neighborly advice.”