by Tim Myers
To begin, I like to coordinate my embellishments with my card stock. For example, a white wedding dress will disappear on plain card stock, but a pastel green or pink background makes it jump off the card. After I’ve got my components, it’s simply a matter of laying out the card first before I peel a single adhesive strip or drop that first touch of glue. Now is the best time to play with your design. Don’t be afraid to try something unorthodox. At this point, nothing is permanent. After I’m satisfied with my layout, I do a rough sketch of the card’s front, especially if it’s a complex design. This way I know exactly where everything goes. I like to place my lettering first, since the paper is still flat at this point and nothing gets in my way. When that’s done, I add my embellishments and the front is complete. Inside, I add whatever message I’d like. If it’s an invitation, I like to print these out on my computer before I do anything else, but they can be hand-lettered, as well.
It’s a true delight giving these cards that you’ve crafted yourself, and I’m willing to wager that soon you’ll be looking for excuses to make your next card.
And now here’s a peek at the first chapter of the next card-making mystery by Elizabeth Bright
Deadly Greetings
By Tim Myers
Writing as Elizabeth Bright
Chapter 1
I never really believed in ghosts until Francis Coolridge tried to kill me two months after she died. I’ve made a ton of handcrafted greeting cards for hundreds of occasions, but never anything remotely like the one. I wished I could create for her. I might head it wish YOU were still dead, or maybe even you’re invited to your very own exorcism, but I doubted either one would do much good. It was pretty apparent that Francis didn’t want me living in her apartment, and just as obvious I wasn’t about to move out. We were at a stalemate, and while it was true that I was going to have to get used to Francis’s presence, it also meant that she was going to have to get used to mine. I loved my new quarters at Whispering Oak, and it was going to take more than a scatterbrained poltergeist to make me pack up my stuff and leave.
My name’s Jennifer Shane, and I own Custom Card Creations, a small handcrafted-card shop in Rebel Forge, Virginia. My business is on one end of Oakmont Avenue—a road that runs through the heart of downtown—and my sister Sara Lynn’s scrapbooking store is on the other. I’d worked for her at Forever Memories before opening my card shop, but I loved being on my own, even if I was just a sale or two away from the brink of bankruptcy. Our brother, Bradford, is the sheriff for all of Rebel Forge, and my aunt Lillian helps me out at the card shop. Sometimes the pluses and minuses of living in a small town are one and the same. My family is close, both in proximity and in our hearts, but it can be stifling at times As the youngest of our clan, I often find myself chafing against their desire to protect me, even though I know they are motivated out of love.
“What do you call that ghastly hue?” my aunt Lillian asked as she came into the card shop one morning. I was displaying a new shade of paper I’d made in my small workshop in back, and I was proud of it.
Without glancing in her direction, I said, “Don’t you like it? It’s called “Lillian’s Dream.”
“It’s more like a nightmare,” my aunt muttered under her breath; then she waved a hand in the air to dismiss the topic. “But never mind that. You’ve got to close the shop and come with me at once.”
“Lillian, I’m barely making enough to feed Oggie and Nash, let alone myself. I can’t afford to shut the place down.” My cats, though not fancy eaters, were finicky in their preference of national brands over generic fare. Hoping to squeeze another nickel out of my budget, I’d tried them on Stylin’ Stew and Jumpy Cats, but they’d refused to eat either one.
Lillian flicked a strand of dyed henna hair out of her face as she said, “You still hate your apartment, don’t you?”
“You know I do,” I said, remembering what had happened there the month before that had completely robbed me of my sense of security. Someone had made a rather concerted effort to scare me, and they’d done a pretty good job of it. The memory of the threat at my door lingered every night as I tried to sleep.
Lillian nodded. “Well, I’ve got just the place for you. We have to go now, though, before someone else grabs it.” My aunt was a woman of action, proved by a string of seven ex-husbands; she was only partially teasing when she said that she was always on the look- out for number eight.
“Do they allow cats?” I asked as I slid the rest of the paper onto the display.
“My dear, they embrace them. Now let’s go.” After grabbing my coat, I flipped the sign on the door to back in fifteen minutes and locked up. Honestly, I had no idea how long we’d be gone, but I was hoping whoever saw it would hang around, since I couldn’t afford to alienate the few customers I had. “So where are we headed?” I asked as we hustled toward her car, a classic candy-apple-red Mustang in mint condition.
“Have you ever heard of Whispering Oak?” I thought about it a second before answering her. “Wasn’t he an Indian guide around here two hundred years ago?”
Lillian shot me one of those looks that spoke volumes about her thoughts on my sanity, but I was being serious.
She explained, “Whispering Oak is a fine old house on the outskirts of town. There’s even a path from your doorstep to the lake. It’s wonderful.”
“If it’s so wonderful, why is it vacant?” Lillian took a curve sharp enough to fling the paint off her car, and by the time I caught my breath she had shot down a side road at the edge of town that I’d never noticed before. I’ve lived in Rebel Forge nearly all my life, and I’d always assumed the graveled path was a driveway to the house facing the road. Instead of taking us to the Jackson place, though, it led on through the woods until we came to an ancient Victorian home, replete with fancy shingle siding, gingerbread trim adorning the porch and a pastel palette that belonged on a greeting card.
“This place is for rent?” I asked, knowing full well I couldn’t afford to live there on my modest income. “Not the entire house, Jennifer,” she said. “However, there is a free room upstairs that would be perfect for you.”
“If it’s free, then I guess I’m willing to look at it,” I said. “That’s about all I can afford.”
“You know perfectly well I meant it was available, not without cost.” She bit her lower lip, then said, “It is reasonable, though—less than you’re paying now, I’ll wager.”
“I’ll take that bet,” I said. One of the few advantages of my current apartment was that the rent was within my means, though just barely.
Lillian parked; then I followed her as she walked to the front door with a purposeful stride. I was expecting her to knock, but she strolled right in like she owned the papers to the place. There wasn’t much for me to do but follow. The foyer had been divided into a vestibule with two doors that were obviously later additions. “Which one are we going to look at?”
“Neither one of these,” Lillian said as she shook her head. Then she pointed to a narrow staircase in back that I’d missed at first. “We’re going up.”
I eyed the tight passage suspiciously. “I’m not sure I’ll fit, let alone the cat carriers.”
“Jennifer, can you really choose to be that particular on your budget?”
“Okay, fine, I’ll look at it,” I said, doubtful it would suit even my meager needs.
The stairs went on and on, but we finally made it to the top. There was a narrow door there, perched on a landing barely big enough for both of us to stand on at the same time.
I was getting claustrophobic without even going inside. “What is it, the attic?”
“Certainly it was at one time, but it’s a perfectly delightful space now.” Lillian reached under the rug and pulled out a key.
As she slid it in the lock, I said, “I just love these modern security features, don’t you?”
Lillian ignored my comment, unlocked the door and flung it open. As she stepped inside, I moved p
ast her, finally having enough room to stand without her imprinting her elbow into my side.
I thought I’d hate it. In fact, I was already planning a few choice words that involved chasing wild geese and hunting snipes.
Then I looked around. It was nothing short of charming. While it had been an ordinary attic in another incarnation, it was now the perfect studio apartment. The bead board walls enchanted me, painted a pastel green that reminded me of springtime. Light bounced around the room, filtering in from large windows on either end while two dormers also served to illuminate the place, making it bright and airy, nothing like what I’d expected the second I’d realized it was a converted attic space. It was fully furnished with antiques built in the Shaker style, and while some folks found the clean design rather plain, I adored it. A handcrafted quilt covered the queen-sized bed, and a faded Oriental rug adorned much of the open floor, leaving just enough of the honey-toned heartwood pine beneath it to make me want to roll back the rug. “I don’t have to share a bathroom with anyone else, do I?” I asked, searching for any flaw I could find in its charm.
“No, the north dormer has been outfitted as one. It’s not all that large, but you live alone. There should be plenty of room for you and your cats here.”
I shrugged, not willing to commit to it yet. “So what’s the catch?”
Instead of answering my question, Lillian said, “Look out that window.”
I walked to the window she’d pointed to, and looked out A small deck beckoned just outside the window, replete with an iron chair and side table. For a finale, Lillian pointed through the canopy of leaves beyond. “The lake is just a few steps away. Autumn is nearly here, and you’ll soon have a glorious view, isn’t it delightful?”
I thought it was, but I realized Lillian must have misunderstood the price. “I can’t imagine how I can come anywhere near to affording this place.”
When she told me the rent, I didn’t need to know anything else. “Where do we go to sign the lease?
Lillian smiled in approval. “I took the liberty of acquiring one from Hester Taylor.” Hester was one of Lillian’s best friends, operating a combination cop store-apartment rental agency-ice cream shop in town ever since her husband had disappeared one day ten years ago. The rumor was that he’d taken their cash their savings and their dog with him when he vanished. Hester claimed besides the cash, the only thing she really missed was the dog.
“So where do I sign?” I asked.
Lillian gestured to the places Hester had marked then took the document from me. “Don’t worry about the deposit or the first and last months’ rents. I’ve got those covered.”
When I started to protest, Lillian said, “Think of them as house warming gifts.”
“I’d rather think of them as paid by me,” I said. “I’m not letting you do this.”
“It’s too late,” Lillian said. “You already signed the lease.”
“Then I’ll default,” I said. “Or you will. I mean it.” I’d learned early on that if I didn’t stand my ground with her, I’d be stampeded.
She huffed out, “Blast it all, child, do you always have to get your way?”
“Think of it as a character defect I inherited from my favorite aunt,” I said.
Lillian thought about it a few moments, then said, “Let’s compromise. You can pay me back, but after your shop makes a profit two months in a row.”
“Are you sure you can wait that long?”
She scolded, “Have faith in your store, Jennifer, I do.”
I knew better than to push her any more than I had. There was only one thing left I could do. “Okay, thanks, I can live with that.”
“You’re most welcome,” she said as she hugged me.
We were downstairs, ready to go back to the card shop, when one of the tenants on the main floor came out into the foyer. “Who are you?” an elderly man with a black cane asked us fiercely. “I just rented the apartment upstairs,” I said. “I’m Jennifer Shane,” I added as I offered my hand. He refused it, then took a step back from us. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why? What’s wrong with it?” I was beginning to think that there might be something I’d failed to ask.
The man shook his head. “You really don’t know?” He lifted his cane and shook it in Lillian’s direction, “You should be ashamed of yourself, madam.” Lillian laughed. “I often have reason to, but I rarely am. Now go away.”
With a grunt, the man retreated back into his apartment, slamming the door in our faces.
“Gee, thanks, Lillian, it’s sweet of you to make such an effort to get me accepted by my neighbors.”
“Pooh, he’ll come around. Give him time.”
An odd-looking tiny woman with blue hair and a nose like an ice pick was standing outside when we walked onto the porch.
Lillian said, “Hester, what are you doing here? I told you I’d take care of this.”
The woman fluttered her fingers in the air like a hummingbird’s wings. “I just thought ... I was nearby. . . . Did she sign it?”
“I’m standing right here. Ask me yourself,” I said.
Hester continued to ignore me. “Do you have the lease agreement?” she asked Lillian.
“It’s right here, Hester. Now calm down before you have a heart attack or, worse yet, give me one.”
Hester grabbed the lease Lillian held out and without another word she bolted for her parked car, a Cadillac that was tinted the most unpleasant shade of green.
I turned to Lillian and asked, “What in the world was that all about?”
“Hester always was a tad high-strung.”
I touched my aunt’s arm. “Lillian, stop dodging. There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?
“Jennifer, I knew if I said anything, you’d miss out on a wonderful opportunity. It’s all nonsense anyway.
“I wish I’d had a choice, but I’m already committed. So what is it you haven’t been telling me?”
She frowned a moment, then admitted, “There’s just one thing I neglected to mention. Honestly, it shouldn’t matter one bit.”
“Come on, Lillian, out with it.”
My aunt scowled at the ground, then finally said, “Very well, if you must know, some folks think the place is haunted.”
“What, the entire place?” Great, that was just what I needed, moving into Amityville.
Lillian shook her head. “No, the rest of the house is fine. It’s just your apartment that’s said to house a ghost.”
And that was the first time I’d ever heard of Francis Coolridge’s demise.
“So now I’m living in a haunted house?” I tried to keep my voice from shrieking, but it was tough to do.
“It’s all nonsense, Jennifer. Honestly, I expected you to be more levelheaded about the whole thing.”
“Well, I expected my aunt to look after my best interests. The world’s just full of disappointments today, isn’t it?”
Lillian took a deep breath. “Let’s discuss this as we walk by the lake. The air has such a soothing quality to it.”
I stood my ground. “I’m not taking another step until you tell me what this is all about.”
Lillian frowned, then said, “I know you; you won’t quit until I tell you, so you might as well hear it all at once.”
I planned to stand right there until she told me, but Lillian had other ideas. If I wanted to hear why my new apartment was haunted, I was going to have to follow her as she walked down the path toward the lake.
“Jennifer, first of all, you must know that I would never put you in harm’s way. Will you at least give me that much credit?”
I wasn’t ready to give her anything, but I knew until I threw her some kind of bone, I was going to be I doing laps around the lake until my shoes wore out. “I realize you wouldn’t do it knowingly,” I said grudgingly.
She paused, glanced at me for a second, then nodded. “Fine.” Lillian’s step faltered a moment. Then she said, “Francis
Coolridge was a friend of mine in another lifetime.”
“Oh, please don’t tell me you’re going to say you shared a past life. Who were you, Cleopatra?”
Some folks around town thought my aunt was eccentric, but I’d always stood up for her. It was starting to look like I’d been a tad hasty in my support.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “Do you want to hear this or not?”
I was beginning to wonder that myself. Maybe I should trot over to the library and look it up on the microfilm. Then again, the newspaper would report just the facts, and I knew I could count on Lillian to apply the backstory, and that was often more telling than what found its way into print. “Sorry, I’ll try not to interrupt, but I’m not making any promises.”
“As I was saying,” Lillian continued, “Francis and I knew each other a lifetime ago. We were lockermates in high school, and the very best of friends.”
“Then how come I never heard of her until today?” I asked. “You’d think I would have, if the two of you were so close.” Okay, I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I couldn’t help myself.
