Design on a Crime (Deadly Decor Mysteries Book #1)

Ginny Aiken

Description

Haley Farrell is taking a chance on herself. After receiving her interior design certificate, she quits her job at the local furniture store and decides to open her own interior decorating business. But with all the advantages of her new career-meeting new people, and decorating new and old homes-comes a huge pitfall. Her new job allows her access into her clients' homes and their lives . . . but also their deaths. When Haley's mentor, Marge Norwalk, is murdered, Haley becomes the prime suspect. Armed only with the confidence that Marge instilled in her, Haley sets out to find the real murderer. But as she sets forth, she has no idea what twists and turns will bring her face-to-face with her long-hidden past. Book one in the Deadly Décor Mysteries will keep both Ginny Aiken's established readership and new fans coming back for more.

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 01 septembre 2005
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781585587698
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

© 2005 by Ginny Aiken
Published by Revell a division of Baker Publishing Group P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287 www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
eISBN 978-1-5855-8769-8
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
Scripture is taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version ®. NIV ®. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.© Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com
Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, Colorado 80920.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Books by Author
He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.
Philippians 1:6
Wilmont, Washington
When geriatric oak floorboards whine, wheeze, and creak their objection to a woman’s presence, she should accept it as a sign that she’s in for a rough ride. I instead glared at the testy wood. “Don’t you dare give way...”
“Speaking to yourself?” Marge Norwalk asked.
I stumbled. The Gerrity mansion’s century-old floor griped again. “I didn’t hear you back there. You startled me.”
“Lucky for me you didn’t crouch and attack from one of your slice-and-dice martial arts positions.”
“Lucky for you but lousy for me. I’m surprised I was so distracted.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“You have to ask?”
Marge placed a well-manicured hand on my shoulder. “Relax. Noreen’s in the audience. She already signed for a bid paddle and even waved her checkbook at me. She intends hers to be the final bid ”
“That doesn’t mean she’ll hire me ”
“Stop.” Marge’s expression squashed further argument, so I let my mentor continue. “She assured me she would hire you because I endorsed your work. Over the years she’s bought enough antiques from me to know I won’t lead her astray on the choice of a decorator.”
“Even one whose membership in the American Society of Interior Designers isn’t dry on the books yet?”
“Even so.”
The butterflies in my stomach chose that moment to morph into buzzards. Without this high-visibility job, my new business, Haley Farrell’s Decorating $ense, didn’t stand a chance. How could it?
Up until last week, when I hung out my oh-so-tasteful, gilt-lettered shingle over the mailbox at the Wilmont River Church’s manse, I’d given away the fruits of my education in exchange for a lousy paycheck from a local furniture store. I consider the time I put in as a saleswoman at Rodgers and Faust Furnishings my requisite career purgatory. So do many others in my field.
But to go out on my own? Just on the encouragement of more like kick in the butt from Marge and the advice of the members of the church’s missionary society?
“I still can’t believe I let you badger me into quitting that job,” I said. “Unemployment’s a luxury I can’t afford, and you know it. Dad still has a stack of Mom’s medical bills to pay, and she’s been gone for a year now. I can’t make things harder for him.”
Marge wagged a plum-nailed finger. “Now, Haley, is that any way for Pastor Hale Farrell’s daughter to talk? Where’s your faith, lady?”
Loss emptied my heart; a sour sensation filled my gut. Then, with determination, and before the memories had a chance to return in full Technicolor, I beat them back and turned to my tried-and-true friend, humor. “Hey, I’m a preacher’s kid, don’t ya know? We’re the black sheep in the fold.”
A frown pleated Marge’s forehead. “More nightmares?”
Red rimmed the edge of my awareness. I shoved the bad stuff away again. “No more than usual. But let’s not talk about it, okay? I think what I really need is another application of your infamous hobnailed boots to the hind side of my wimpy courage.”
Marge’s shoulders relaxed. “For a woman who’s come as far as you have, I can’t believe a little thing like the launch of your own business can turn you into such a sissy. Where’s that killer instinct that made you a brown belt in...” She floundered for the name of a martial arts discipline. Then she waved. “A brown belt in whatever. If you can flip men three times your size onto their backs ”
“Only twice my size.”
Marge swatted my shoulder. “Whatever. If you can lob behemoths without breaking a sweat, success in the business world’s going to be a piece of cake. Remember, if I can do it, you can do it. Just picture difficult clients flat on their backs after you toss them.”
“If you say so.”
The sound system crackled to life. “Get going, Marge. Your adoring public awaits.”
Marge wrinkled her nose, her chic wire-framed glasses bobbed, and she stepped toward the mansion’s adjoining parlor and dining room, where the auction was set to take place. “You mean the status grubbers, don’t you?”
“I don’t think they all come to grub status. Tom and Gussie Stoker are here, and Gussie’s a sweetheart with a passion for the past. The others from the missionary society just love the excitement of the bidding and always hope they can score a bargain or two.”
Marge dipped her head. “You’re right. They’re not all bad just most of them. You watch.”
As Marge went to the podium, I scoured the room for Noreen Daventry’s distinctive raven head. My I hoped future client is an attractive woman, one blessed with not only good looks but also a family fortune and a late husband whose death had made a generous contribution to the original kitty.
I found Noreen in the middle of the second row. She’d chosen the best seat in the house, the house she expected to own by the end of the day. The aisles were clotted with attendees scoping out the best seats before the sale. I excused myself to those already seated and, with the folds of my long green cotton dress clutched in one fist, I scooted toward my quarry.
Noreen turned up the power of her blue eyes in response to my hello. “I saved you a seat.”
As I sat, I noticed the man to her left. I swallowed a groan.
Noreen draped an arm around the hunk’s shoulders. “You know Dutch Merrill, don’t you?”
“Not personally.” I bent and tucked my black leather backpack purse under the chair to hide my reaction to Dutch.
None of what I know commends the guy. He graced the pages of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer on a regular basis over the last two years. A general contractor, he was taken to court when a house he built slid down one of Seattle’s many hills in an extended heavy rain. Shoddy workmanship and substandard materials were alleged. The jury found him not guilty, but the verdict hasn’t restored his reputation.
“Dutch,” Noreen said in her lush, fudgy voice, “this is Haley Farrell, the interior designer Marge recommended. I’m glad you two can meet today, since I want you to work together on the remodel of my glorious new home.” Her blue gaze touched every corner of the room.
Dutch nodded at me, then said to Noreen, “Aren’t you counting unhatched chickens?”
“Not at all. I want this house.”
As if that said it all. But since Noreen Daventry said it, I suppose it does say it all.
Dutch sat back, humming.
I choked down a laugh when I recognized the Rolling Stones’ “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.” Maybe the shady builder wouldn’t be so bad to work with. He had a sense of humor.
Just then, Marge clapped her gavel on the podium. “I can feel everyone’s excitement this morning.”
If she hadn’t described the audience as status grubbers only minutes earlier, I’d never suspect that the elegant, thirty-nine-year-old businesswoman at the podium held anything but warm affection for them. I know where I stand with Marge; everyone who knows her does. Marge doesn’t suffer fools, and she lets them know it.
The chatter died down to a low rumble. Marge went on. “Let’s get started, shall we? We have a marvelous collection for sale today, and we begin with this turn of the century...”
When Marge’s rapid-fire patter became pure gibberish, I gave up hope of following the bids. Paddles rose and fell at a furious pace. And the money some people will pay for pieces of... well, to be honest, junk? I can’t believe it.
A couple of choice items did sell at a bargain, and I wished I had seed money to buy them. I can see the Gustav Stickley table as the focal point in a family room, and an excellent jewel-toned Kirman rug went for a song.
Noreen seemed to appreciate the advice I gave her on the dining room suite for twenty. The walnut table boasts an exquisite patina, developed over a century’s application of rich oils, and the chairs, in spite of their hundred-plus years, still wear their original handworked tapestry. The sideboard and china cabinet are just as desirable. Noreen hovered around seventh heaven after her purchase.
That’s when I took the time to check out the room. The six-foot-wide sideboard would look perfect against the dining room’s left-hand wall, across from the Carrara marble fireplace. Placement of the massive china cupboard, though, would need more thought. The room’s six windows eat up wall space, but I can’t wait to dress them in dupioni silks
Noreen’s nails dug into my arm. “What do you think of that desk?”
Startled from my premature designs, I skimmed my auction catalog for the blurb beneath the photo of the piece. “I imagine it stood for years in the library. I see no reason to take it away, unless you don’t win the house after... all...”
I let my voice die a slow d