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Series: Calendar Murder Mysteries, 6 |
Each novel in the series works as a standalone – begin with any book and be charmed by them all! Two years ago, Meredith Blake fled her old life in desperation, finding refuge in the charming mountain town of Calendar. With a new name and a fresh start, she opened a fashion boutique and began to heal. But her peace is shattered when Brad Van den Berg, the man she once ran from, shows up on her doorstep—stabbed to death. How did Brad find her, and why is someone trying to frame her for his murder? As whispers spread and the life she’s rebuilt hangs by a thread, Meredith must uncover the killer’s identity before it’s too late. With Detective Sam Logan on her side and a town full of strangers to navigate, she’s unsure who to trust in a place where friends and foes hide in plain sight. In this charming town, it seems murder is in fashion. |
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CHAPTER ONE
For the first time in a very long time, I didn't wake up in a panic, my legs bound together by the thin summer quilt, a sheen of perspiration coating my skin. Instead, I yawned lazily and took a few minutes to enjoy the soft sunrise peeking through a gap in the drapes. I had to stretch as I reached for my fluffy, gray cat. My cat. I didn't have a cat anymore. It wasn't the first time I reached out for her warm, little body only to remember Mabel was no longer with me. I hoped my sister was taking very good care of Mabel and not forgetting to give her the treats she ate at light speed. I imagined her basking in the sun that flooded my sister's patio every afternoon.
It was funny really. Of all the elements I missed about my old life, excluding my family, the thing I missed the most was my cat. Not the glamorous parties or the exotic vacations, but my cat. And Mabel was as fond of lap cuddles as I was of stroking her. She probably didn't miss her old life with me at all now, not if my nieces were in charge. Mabel was probably getting very spoiled. I hoped so, anyway.
Keep nothing from your old life, I'd been told, not even photos... but I could see Mabel clearly in my mind, fat and happy, her fur thick and luscious. I didn't need a photo to remember how lovely her warm body felt, or how she liked to curl up in my lap, her breath gradually deepening until she fell fast asleep.
Pushing that thought away before I got sad, I eased out of bed, walked around the foot board and stopped in front of the closet. Three potential outfits hung on the rack, part of the routine I dutifully retained despite my life being so vastly different now. I scanned the knee-length dress in a soft mauve with a ruff of lace at the collar; a pair of black pants and a simple, black, boat-neck sweater; and the red pencil skirt with a softer red blouse. I loved all the garments, thoughtfully purchased and carefully looked after, all designed for establishing the persona of Meredith Blake, fashion boutique owner. Even thinking about it made me smile. I'd always dreamt of having my own fashion label but owning a small fashion boutique was the next best thing. Of course, I always imagined it in one of the chic neighborhoods of a big city, but nothing could parallel the beauty of the picturesque mountain town of Calendar. I hesitated as I gazed at the three outfits. In order to attract a quality clientèle, I had to dress the part. In order to sell fashion, I had to love it too. Little did they know how much fashion shaped my life, bringing me enormous fame before it all disappeared, and I was suddenly no more than a fashion world footnote.
My phone chirped with an alarm, pulling me back to the moment. Quickly glancing at the screen, a reminder flashed that a delivery was due today. I forgot all about it, but now I remembered submitting the order, penciling in the delivery only for it to be delayed and later rebooked. I anticipated the excitement of my clients when their eyes beheld some of the gorgeous pieces I'd ordered for the summer lines. Several patrons were seeking new dresses for the program of summer events our town had planned, along with the usual weddings and parties. Of course, that meant I had to know who bought what and where they planned to wear it. None of my clients wanted to wear the same outfit as another, especially if the other looked better in it! It would be tricky to keep tabs on everyone but I'd done it before. Now that I'd been in town for quite some time, I had a much better grip on my clients’ preferences and taste. It would have been so much easier to confine my appeal to the plethora of tourists who roamed through town year-round, but I sought the patronage of the residents, the women who would soon become my repeat customers.
Since I expected to have several boxes to open and garments to steam and press before I could hang them, I opted for the pants and sweater ensemble. Paired with flat pumps, gold jewelry and a glam, red lipstick, I would look polished enough for the shop, but still be practical enough for the storeroom.
An hour later, I was dressed, made up, and my long blonde hair was blown-out. I held the loose strands back with a jeweled headband that I decided on at the last minute. Breakfast was a croissant and my usual latte. After a swift rummage through the refrigerator, I concluded it was a 'buy lunch from the café day. I already knew what I'd order from the Coffee Corner Café: a delicious hot cheese and tomato panini and maybe one of Candice's chocolate cupcakes.
The last thing I did before I left the house was check every single window and door, ensuring they were just as securely locked as they were when I came downstairs. Of course they were, but it never hurt to check one last time. Finally, I grabbed my purse, activated the alarm and stepped outside onto the porch under the watchful lens of my security camera. I enjoyed the fragrant blooms and soft tendrils of purple wisteria, where I kept my bicycle.
“Good morning, Meredith!” called my neighbor, Jerry. He lived across the road, all alone, and made a habit of knowing everyone's business. At first, I found it annoying. Now, however, I tried to think of him as a living, breathing, home surveillance system.
“Hi, Jerry,” I called back, waving.
“Nice bicycle. Is it new?”
“It is. Pretty, isn’t it?” The bicycle was my latest indulgence. It was pale pink with a curved Dutch frame and a basket on the front, exactly the kind of thing I'd never have thought about buying in my previous life. Yet, I loved it. I felt great riding such a cute bike around the pretty mountain town where I'd made my home.
“Very. Is it practical for winter?”
“It's still June, Jerry,” I pointed out, motioning to the cloudless, blue sky and the abundance of green gardens that edged our properties. I folded my light summer jacket and placed it and my purse in the basket. “Plus, I still have my car. It’s parked around back.”
“You know I remember now who you remind me of,” he continued. “Arden. The supermodel.”
I stilled, a tsunami of panic flooding me. “Who?” I managed to say without squeaking, although I did turn away, pretending to examine the chain on my bicycle. I never expected to hear that name again.
“She was very famous, oh… about a decade ago now. She wore a blunt bob hairstyle, not as long as yours. She wasn't as blonde as you either but you’re the same height, Meredith.”
“If I were a supermodel, why would I be here in Calendar?” I asked, arching one eyebrow to convey that I thought his theory was crazy!
“Well, I suppose…” he said. “Anyway, she's in rehab. Or maybe that was another supermodel? They all seem to have plenty of problems, don't they? The rich and famous, that is.”
“How sad,” I said, checking my watch. “Duty calls! Nice to see you!” I wheeled my bicycle along the path, squeezing out the gate and passing Jerry on the road where I stopped and fitted my helmet.
“You could have been a model,” continued Jerry as I felt for the pedal with my foot.
“I think I'll stick to selling clothes the old-fashioned way.” I shot him a brief smile. “From my hangers to their hands.”
“You should think about using social media. Everyone has their own website these days. I use Instagram. You should follow me.”
“Social media isn't for me,” I said. I pushed off from the road, rolling my bicycle forwards while raising a hand and waving behind me. Jerry might have been a slightly overbearing neighbor but he was always pleasant. I didn't want to alienate him anymore than I wanted to spend all day chatting with him. What he really needed was a time-consuming hobby and a job that demanded more hours. I never managed to ascertain what he did for a living, but he wasn't old enough to be retired. “Have a nice day, Jerry!”
“You too!” Jerry called back, standing and watching me cycle away. I didn't dare risk a single glance back in case he took that as invitation to trot along next to me and continue chatting. Jerry was a nice man, but too much of a busybody for me. Plus, his insistence in recognizing me kept gnawing at me uncomfortably for the past couple weeks. Unfortunately, he wasn't guessing, and he wasn't wrong.
Calendar, like my long hair and boutique, was another aspect completely different from my previous life. Calendar was the epitome of a quaint town. It was as far from the exotic Caribbean resorts and glittering European enclaves as I could get… which made it irresistibly appealing. Nestled at the foot of snow-capped mountains that attracted barrages of skiers in the winter and hikers in the summer, the town itself was a charming mix of Victorian homes and broad streets lined with magnolias. The hub of the town was Main Street and the square. Delicious restaurants, delis and inviting boutiques attracted plenty of tourists and many of the town's main events kicked off in the square. In keeping with its name, the townspeople loved celebrating festivities from New Year’s, Valentine’s Day and the Fourth of July, on which the town was draped in red, white and blue, to weekend events and the twinkling, light-wrapped trees that preceded Christmas. My first Christmas here, I wrapped myself up in my big, down coat and braved the cold to watch a parade, all alone. I was impressed as any citizen would have been and very proud of my new home. It even featured their very own horse-drawn sleigh to carry Santa.
The town was big enough to still be anonymous, yet small enough to develop relationships with the residents, something I'd been doing slowly once I felt settled. Knowing I'd lived here for more than a year already blew my mind. I found a great little house to rent from a home owner who spent the past few years overseas and was unlikely to return anytime soon. Then I established a burgeoning fashion boutique. Fashion was my bailiwick and both locals and tourists alike quickly flocked to my revolving collections of casualwear, party dresses and stylish accessories. I even hosted a few small events to entice customers, which proved a big success. Things were going so well, I intended to hire a full-time assistant soon. My weekend assistant, Sacha, was a great asset but I needed someone to help me during the days too. Sacha was only available after school to help me out.
When I first moved here, I threw myself into the business side of things, which also filled my evening hours; but lately, I'd been craving the company of friends and longing to discover new hobbies. A few weeks ago, I enrolled in a cookery class at the Belle Rose restaurant. After learning a few skills and some sessions of practice, I was surprised to find how good I was at following a more complicated recipe. I even splurged on a few things for my kitchen: a fancy pepper and salt grinder set, scales, and some nice serving ware. I was imagining how nice it would be to cook for other people, especially now that the weather was warm and sunny and the evenings were light and bright. My friend, Sara and her boyfriend, Jason, would be my first guests. With a spurt of excitement, I pedaled my bike harder, then freewheeled around the corner, enjoying the breeze when it lifted my hair.
“Morning, Grace!” I called out as I cycled past a woman walking in the direction I rode.
“Hi, Meredith!” Grace called back, waving. She worked on Main Street too and looked around my age. I hoped to get to know her better. Being friendly was a good start.
The bike ride took less than twenty minutes. I reveled in waving to the people I saw working in their yards, the friendly mailman who always greeted me, and the dogwalker who managed several leashes with the cheeriest disposition. Compared to the days when it was rainy and everyone stayed inside or quickly went about their business with their heads down and their umbrellas up, the good weather days like this never failed to put me in a great mood. By the time I dismounted and wheeled my bicycle around the back of the boutique, I felt terrific. I locked my bike up, even though I probably didn't need to — Calendar was a trusting sort of town — and unlocked the back door. Pulling it shut behind me, I automatically listened for the lock to click, a habit I was sure I’d keep for a lifetime. Then my phone trilled from my purse but by the time I found it tucked away at the bottom it had stopped and the caller was unknown.
The back of the shop was my office and work area, although some of the floor space was given over to storage. Along with a small desk and chair, there was a stack of fashion magazines for inspiration, a few items hung on the racks that I didn't have space for in the shop yet, along with a box of accessories delivered the previous week. The artist was a local hobby jeweler that I stumbled on at a weekend market in town. I quickly suggested we meet to discuss stocking her jewelry exclusively in my shop since I knew I could easily sell the delicate pieces. I even bought a necklace for myself: a cluster of feathers wrought from fine gold and suspended on a long chain. I fingered it now around my neck, over my black outfit, ensuring it stood out, and made as much of a style statement as an invitation to purchase something similar.
Since I didn't need to open the shop yet, and the delivery was due around nine, I turned on the radio. I had some time to reorganize a couple of racks and check the display cabinet's stock levels, before tidying the boxes below the cash register desk. The small vase of pink blooms could last another day before I had to pick some flowers from my garden for a fresh posy. Sacha came yesterday evening and tidied the desk, leaving me a note with a couple of inquiries that she couldn’t answer. The last item on the list made me frown: a man asked for me but declined to leave his name or any message. I shrugged. That wasn't unusual. Sometimes customers recommended me to their friends, who occasionally wanted help, especially when picking out a gift. Whoever asked for me probably needed my assistance in choosing a present. I expected he would be back.
Checking my watch, I had enough time to open the box of jewelry and sort through the pieces before I flipped the Open sign on the door and waited for the delivery. I slipped into the back, humming along to the song that was playing.
Opening the box, I pulled out the plastic-wrapped jewelry and unloaded the smart card boxes I suggested the jeweler make to showcase her items. They were good quality and I was pleased she'd taken my advice. Plus, I could make a nice display by stacking the cases in the glass cabinet. The rest would fit in the storage area under the cash register. I switched the radio off and selected an easy listening playlist to pipe subtly into the shop. Then I carried a few items with me before fussing with one of the shelves to display the lovely trinkets.
I was in the back when I heard knocking on the shop door. “Coming!” I called, grabbing some lingerie to restock the table near the back. Instead of arranging the pretty items carefully, I draped them over the top of the display table, intending to return in a few minutes. A large delivery van was parked in front of the shop and I was pleased to see they arrived so early. I wouldn't be distracted from customers later in the morning. That was another reason why I needed to advertise for an assistant! I couldn't be in two places at once.
When the knocking sounded a second time, I called, “I'll be right there!” as I hurried to the door.
I turned the wooden Open sign over, drew back the deadbolt and turned the lock, pulling the door open wide with a broad smile on my face. But instead of finding the delivery man holding a stack of boxes, I was greeted with a huge spray of peonies in the deepest, glossiest red, and my fear instantly overwhelmed me.
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