by Krista Davis
Praise for Krista Davis’s New York Times
Bestselling Domestic Diva series
“Reader alert: Tasty descriptions may spark intense cupcake cravings.”
—The Washington Post
“Davis . . . again combines food and felonies in this tasty whodunit.”
—Richmond Times-Dispatch
“Loaded with atmosphere and charm.”
—Library Journal
“A mouthwatering mix of murder, mirth, and mayhem.”
—Mary Jane Maffini, author of The Busy Woman’s Guide to Murder
“Raucous humor, affectionate characters, and delectable recipes highlight this unpredictable mystery that entertains during any season.”
—Kings River Life Magazine
Praise for Krista Davis’s New York Times Bestselling Paws & Claws Mysteries
“Wagtail Mountain will appeal to animal lovers and mystery lovers, alike.”
—Kate Carlisle, New York Times bestselling author of the Bibliophile Mysteries
“Davis has created another charming series.”
—Sofie Kelly, New York Times bestselling author of the Magical Cats Mysteries
Please turn the page for more praise for Krista Davis.
“Davis has created a town that any pet would love—as much as their owners do. And they won’t let a little thing like murder spoil their enjoyment.”
—Sheila Connolly, New York Times bestselling author of the County Cork, Museum, and Orchard Mysteries
“Murder, mystery, a bit of romance and seriously PETS!! Who could ask for anything more?”
—Open Book Society
“Touches all the bases of the cozy mystery—including a bit of romance—and does so with style.”
—Richmond Times-Dispatch
“A beautifully written, cleverly crafted mystery sure to please pet-lovers and fair-play-mystery fans, alike.”
—Smitten By Books
Krista Davis is the author of
The Pen & Ink Mysteries:
Color Me Murder
The Domestic Diva Mysteries:
The Diva Cooks Up a Storm
Color Me Murder
KRISTA
DAVIS
KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
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Table of Contents
Praise
Krista Davis is the author of
Title Page
Color It Yourself Cover
Copyright Page
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CAST OF CHARACTERS
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
RECIPES
Teaser chapter
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2018 by Krista Davis
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1641-5
eISBN-10: 1-4967-1641-8
First Kensington Electronic Edition: March 2018
ISBN: 978-1-4967-1640-8
ISBN-10: 1-4967-1640-X
Dedicated to
The Cake and Dagger Club
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to my editor, Wendy McCurdy, and my agent, Jessica Faust, for giving me the opportunity to write this book. I can only hope that this story is what they imagined.
Huge thanks also to Ritu Ghatourey, who so kindly gave me permission to begin this book with her wonderful quote about people and crayons. It couldn’t be more perfect.
When I was doing some research I landed upon The House History Man blog (http://househistoryman.blogspot.com). Paul K. Williams researches old homes, creating a genealogy for the house. It was from his blog that I learned the fascinating information that Emily Branscom shares at her book signing. My heartfelt thanks to Mr. Williams for allowing me to use this information in Color Me Murder. Any mistakes are my own.
And finally, I need to thank my family and friends for always being so supportive.
Sometimes you have to see people as a crayon. They may not be your favorite color, but you need them to complete the picture.
—Ritu Ghatourey
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Florrie Fox
Mike Fox—Florrie’s dad
Linda Fox—Florrie’s mom
Veronica Fox—Florrie’s sister
Peaches—Florrie’s tabby cat
Frodo—Mike and Linda’s golden retriever
Professor John Maxwell—adventurer and Florrie’s boss
Delbert Woodley—Professor Maxwell’s nephew
Liddy Woodley—Professor Maxwell’s sister
Mr. DuBois—Professor Maxwell’s butler
Helen Osgood—Color Me Read employee
Bob Turpin—Color Me Read employee
Regular Patrons of Color Me Read
Professor Goldblum
Professor Bankhouse
Professor Zsazsa Rosca
Norman Spratt—crazy about Florrie
Jim—homeless man
Jacquie Liebhaber—Professor Maxwell’s second wife
Lance Devereoux—Delbert’s roommate
Scott Southworth—Delbert’s roommate
Sergeant Eric Jonquille
Detective-Sergeant Guy Zielony
Cody Williamson—security expert
Chapter 1
“Florrie? Is that you?”
I had just stepped inside the front door of Color Me Read, the bookstore I managed. The owner, Professor John Maxwell, bounded down the stairs. During the four years I had worked at the store, Professor Maxwell had arrived early to contemplate curious matters of history and missing treasures. Sometimes he slept in his office or arrived in the dead of night to pursue some theory in his vast library of uncommon books.
He rubbed his salt-and-pepper beard with one hand. Along his sideburns, his hair turned snowy white. But black pepper crept back in and nearly took over on the top of his head. I guessed him to be about sixty-five. His bronzed skin was as wrinkled as the old maps he constantly perused. I had tried to sketch his face at home, but he would have t
o model for me to get those creases exactly right. The skin just under his eyebrows had drooped, covering the outer edges of his upper eyelids. The effect was enchanting. His violet eyes were spirited but kind, as though he had discovered secrets as yet unknown to mankind, like a wizard. I had seen a photo of him as a young man and there was no doubt that women must have chased him. Even now, he exuded a powerful presence.
“Florrie! My little artiste. Have you found a place to live yet?”
For years I had rented a tiny apartment in Reston, Virginia, but I longed to live closer to work in the Georgetown neighborhood of Washington, DC. I had looked around but rent in the city was high, and I had blown past my roommate years. I looked at every miserable, tiny studio as it came on the market but the dark, dreary holes in the wall were expensive and far too depressing for me. “No. Do you have a lead?”
“How would you like to live in my carriage house? It’s an easy walk to work and quite private.”
I didn’t know what to say. “That, that would be great,” I stammered. But a cloud of doubt descended on me fast. “How much is the rent?” Georgetown prices were well beyond my means.
Professor Maxwell’s mouth shifted, and he scratched his head. “My sister is pressing me to let her son live in the carriage house behind our family home. I am very sorry to say that her son is a thoroughly odious young man whom I detest. I won’t charge you so much as one penny of rent if you’ll do me this favor.”
Sold! Professor Maxwell had taught history for several decades. I assumed he had interacted with enough young men to know whereof he spoke. But I couldn’t quite believe my good luck. “Are you sure? It doesn’t seem right to freeload.”
“Nonsense. It would be a personal favor to me. And frankly, it would be better for all of us if you lived closer to the store. Snow days, late events, and such, you know.”
“I have a cat,” I said doubtfully. Peaches was like a baby to me. I wouldn’t dream of moving without her.
“No problem.”
“Okay!” How could I pass up an offer like that?
“Wonderful.” He smiled, clearly pleased, and turned to go. He didn’t even take one step before he turned back to me and raised his forefinger. “But there is one caveat.”
Uh-oh.
“You must have it looking like you live there by six this afternoon.”
It was nine thirty on a Saturday morning, and I was scheduled to work until five.
As though he read my thoughts, he said, “I’ll cover for you. Get going!”
I rushed out the door before he could change his mind. It wasn’t until I was on Interstate 66 frantically calling my sister and parents for their assistance that it dawned on me that I had never seen the carriage house. It could be as dreary as the other rentals I had hated.
My father offered to procure a small U-Haul. My mother and sister agreed to meet me at the apartment. By noon, it looked like my home had been ransacked. We sat on the floor to eat Chinese takeout.
My father, who usually approved of my life decisions, shook his head. “I can’t believe you would take the place without seeing it first. It must be a dump. Maybe I should check it out before we go to the trouble of hauling everything over there.”
My sister, Veronica, protested vehemently. “This is so exciting. It’s just like Florrie to move into a home she has never seen. No one else would ever do that. She’s such a free spirit.”
I had never understood how Veronica and I came out of the same gene pool. A long-legged natural blonde, my sister looked just like my mother had in her youth. Mom was pudgier now but they were both energetic, long-legged extroverts. They had been homecoming queens and popular cheerleaders. I, on the other hand, was quiet and had been accused by my mother more than once of being retiring. I much preferred to pull out my sketch pad and draw, or curl up with a good mystery. I wasn’t anti-social but some days I liked my cat, Peaches, more than most people. Unlike Mom and Veronica, I had long brown hair and could reach five feet two inches if I tried to stretch a bit.
“I don’t know, Mike,” said Mom. “The Maxwell family goes back generations in Washington and the house in which the professor lives is on the historic register.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“Everyone who grew up in Washington back then knew about the Maxwell family. John was quite dashing and frequently in the news. I remember when his little girl was kidnapped. It was huge news in Washington. Such a sad story.”
“Did they find her?” I helped myself to more lo mein.
“It was so long ago. Seems like they didn’t. She was with another little girl at a birthday party. The kind of safe place where parents drop off their children all the time. Parents all over Washington were having second thoughts about where they left their children.”
“Weren’t original carriage houses for horses?” my father asked, clearly not listening to Mom’s story.
Mom cringed a little when she said, “I suppose it could be like an old stable.”
My father, the sensible one, offered again to check it out and report back. “It’s probably a studio above a garage.”
There really wasn’t time for that, though, and we needed Dad to help us move the bulkier items like the sofa and mattress. In the end, it took longer to pack my art supplies than my clothes.
At three o’clock, with Peaches secure in her carrier, our motley caravan set off for my new home.
A uniformed butler met us at the driveway to the white brick Maxwell mansion. He gestured for us to drive through and past the main house to a one-and-a-half-story building painted vibrant Key West pink.
When we stepped out of our vehicles, the butler introduced himself as Mr. DuBois. A petite man, he appeared older than Professor Maxwell, but he stood quite straight and held his chin high. A man with dignity. He shook each of our hands and welcomed me. “Thank you for rescuing us, Miss Florrie. I fear Delbert, the dreaded nephew, would likely have slit our throats as we slept.”
My mother gasped.
The excitement drained out of me. What had I done? Mostly, I was angry with Professor Maxwell for not having mentioned that his nephew might be violent. It wasn’t too late to turn around and go back to Reston and the security of my old apartment. Or I could sleep over at my parents’ house.
My father wrapped a protective arm around my shoulder. “I hope you jest.”
Mr. DuBois did not smile. “I would sooner have the Joker living in the carriage house.” He cast a scowling glance at Peaches in her carrier. “I abhor felines, yet I’m willing to deal with yours in order to avoid Delbert the devil. Take care to keep your cat in your quarters.”
Mr. DuBois led us to a white door flanked by bluish-green shutters. A brass mail slot reminded me of a mouth in the middle of the door and two small quarter round windows peered at us like eyes.
My dad whispered to me, “I’ll stay over with you until we straighten out this Delbert problem.”
“Dad! I’m sure that was an exaggeration.” At least I hoped it was. Any fears I had burst like overfilled balloons as soon as I stepped inside.
The living room and kitchen had been combined into one large space. On the side away from the main house, the wall was fitted with six sets of eight-foot-tall French doors. A stone fireplace was flanked by what appeared to be ancient and perhaps original columns crafted from finely hewn giant tree trunks so big that I wouldn’t have been able to circle one with my arms. The ceiling over the living area was lofted and held up by wooden beams of the same bleached pine shade as the columns and the hardwood floor. I turned slowly, taking in the built-in bookcases that surrounded the fireplace and lined the long wall that faced the main house. The kitchen had been updated with silver-white granite countertops and a substantial refrigerator. The baker in me noted the exquisite oven and cooktop.
Beyond the French doors lay the most amazing part of all. I drifted toward them for a better look. The property had been enclosed with a high wooden fence that barely peeke
d through a carefully planted forest. Trees, bushes, and flowering vines had grown together so tightly that it was like a private garden in the woods. Slate stones formed a dining patio and a pergola offered shade over it. Narrow slate paths led to far corners and in the middle of it all, the sun caught flashes of goldfish as they swam in a pond.
“I’m sorry, Mr. DuBois,” I choked. “There must be a mistake.”
“Not at all. Now, may I lend a hand with unpacking so you will be settled before Delbert and his mother arrive? It would be best if the U-Haul were not here then. Professor Maxwell’s sister can be quite disagreeable.”
By five in the afternoon, the living room and kitchen brimmed with my belongings. The bookshelves had been filled, a bit haphazardly because of our hurry, but my art collection punctuated the spaces between books nicely. My bed had been set up in the single bedroom upstairs over the kitchen, and we had even tossed some clothes into a hamper to make it look lived in.
My father and Veronica took off to return the U-Haul. I had just put on water for tea when my mom screamed.
Chapter 2
I looked up just in time to see a portly woman and a man retreat from the French doors and disappear around the side of the carriage house.
Mom’s face had gone pasty. “Did you see them? They cupped their hands against the glass and peered in here. Oh, Florrie.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what kind of mess is going on in Professor Maxwell’s family, but maybe you should make other arrangements. I won’t sleep a wink knowing that you’re here by yourself.”
