A Palette for Murder

by Sybil Johnson

  Praise for the Aurora Anderson Mystery Series

  “Plenty of charming characters, red herrings, labyrinthine twists and turns and brushes with death before you can even begin to guess whodunit. Paint the Town Dead is a cleverly crafted mystery full of secrets and intrigues that kept me guessing till the end.”

  – Connie Archer,

  Author of the Soup Lover’s Mystery Series

  “Johnson paints characters with a folksy charm that makes them feel like family…Color me a fan!”

  – Diane Vallere,

  Author of The Decorator Who Knew Too Much

  “Rory is definitely a quirky character; she has the ability to draw the readers in so that they want to follow her through her adventures.”

  – Suspense Magazine

  “The plot thickens and becomes more entangled as Rory pursues all and any possible angles [to catch the killer]. Many intriguing complications arise during this search for the truth. An easy to read mystery with an amateur female sleuth who is a very likeable and believable character.”

  – LibraryThing

  “Rory finds herself needing to uncover the truth of a friend’s shocking death as everyone else seems satisfied with the easy answer. She’s willing to risk friendships, and her own life, to chip away to reach the unvarnished truth. Paint the Town Dead is an engaging mystery set amidst a painting convention and showcases the complexity of relationships when a tragedy strikes.”

  – Christina Freeburn,

  Author of Masked to Death

  “Johnson has penned a charming mystery filled with colorful characters, clever plot twists and unexpected surprises that will keep you guessing whodunit right until the end. A rewarding read and a refreshing debut.”

  —Hannah Dennison,

  Author of the Vicky Hill Mysteries Mysteries

  “Johnson has an assured, steady hand in creating complex plotlines in Fatal Brushstroke. Readers will definitely want to revisit Vista Beach in Aurora’s next outing of investigating.”

  – Naomi Hirahara,

  Edgar Award-Winning Author of Murder on Bamboo Lane

  “A fun and fast-paced romp with plenty of suspense and intrigue, colorful characters, infidelity and family secrets. Fatal Brushstroke is sure to please cozy readers, especially those who love crafts mixed with murder.”

  – Sue Ann Jaffarian,

  Author of the Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery Series

  “Enjoyable, fun and entertaining…Aurora is a strong character you immediately feel like you have known her a lifetime…I love books that keep you reading late into the night and for me this is one of them great books.”

  – Shelley’s Book Case

  “The strength of the book, as in most good cozy mysteries, lies in the main character…The book really poses the question, within a well-written cozy, is nature or nurture more important in what a person becomes?…This underlying story makes this an interesting choice for book clubs to discuss.”

  – Examiner.com

  The Aurora Anderson Mystery Series

  by Sybil Johnson

  FATAL BRUSHSTROKE (#1)

  PAINT THE TOWN DEAD (#2)

  A PALETTE FOR MURDER (#3)

  DESIGNED FOR HAUNTING (#4)

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  Copyright

  A PALETTE FOR MURDER

  An Aurora Anderson Mystery

  Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection

  First Edition | January 2017

  Henery Press, LLC

  www.henerypress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, LLC, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Copyright © 2017 by Sybil Johnson

  Cover art by Stephanie Chontos

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-141-5

  Digital epub ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-142-2

  Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-143-9

  Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-144-6

  Printed in the United States of America

  To Project Egypt,

  for always being there.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  When you send your work out into the world, you never know what its reception is going to be like. A big thank you to everyone who has taken the time to tell me they enjoyed Rory’s previous adventures. It means the world to me.

  To Project Egypt, the greatest group of friends one could have, dw3 ntr n=tn. Your friendship and support over the years has meant a lot to me.

  To Erin George, Rachel Jackson and everyone else at Henery Press, thank you, thank you, thank you. Your advice and support are much appreciated. I’m proud to be one of the chicks in the hen house.

  To the talented Stephanie Chontos, thank you for the wonderful cover art that’s graced all three of my books. I raise my paintbrush to you.

  A special thank you goes to Lia Biscoe for starting me on my decorative painting journey all those years ago.

  And, finally, to my husband, Steve, thank you for supporting me in my writing endeavors.

  Chapter 1

  The sun beat down mercilessly on the residents of the quiet Los Angeles County city of Vista Beach, in the grips of an August heat wave that showed no signs of cooling off.

  Rory Anderson closed her eyes and sighed contentedly as cool air washed over her head. Just a few more seconds, she told herself, and she would be ready to get back to work.

  “What are you doing?” a voice behind her said.

  Rory took her head out of the freezer compartment of the side-by-side refrigerator and turned to face the back door, where Liz Dexter peered through the screen into the kitchen of the single-story stucco house.

  Rory unhooked the latch on the screen door and ushered her best friend inside. “It’s hot, and I’m desperate. I can only shed so many clothes. Go on, try it yourself.”

  Clad in shorts and a tank top, the petite woman gingerly poked her head in the freezer. A smile slowly spread across her face. “Wow. That is nice.”

  “Too bad it’s not a walk-in.” Rory glanced at the thermometer on the wall. Eleven thirty and already eighty-five inside. When it was this hot, her brain refused to function. She didn’t envision getting any more programming done right now. The final tweaks to her conferencing software would have to wait until right before the test run that evening. “I wish it would cool down. I can’t work in this heat. Not even an ocean breeze to cool off the house in two whole weeks. I’m almost at the point of installing central air.”

  “You’d be better off buying more fans or one of those portable units if you can find them. All the air conditioning companies in the area are booked solid. A lot of Vista Beach Realty’s clients are on waiting lists, including two of mine. By the time they get around to you, the temperature will
have dropped and you won’t need it anymore.”

  “It’s times like this I wish I had an air-conditioned office to go to instead of working at home.”

  “I’m practically living at mine these days.” Liz closed the freezer door. As she walked toward the kitchen table, her foot brushed against a small trash bag leaning against the legs of a chair. Empty soda cans spilled out onto the tile floor. She bent down and stuffed them back into the bag. “Looks like you have recycling to take in. Or are these for that homeless friend of yours, the one who hangs out near the pier? What’s his name?”

  “Kit. It’s about time for me to head downtown to give them to him. I promised I’d drop them by today.” Rory crinkled her face in worry. “I hope he’s doing okay in this heat. He seemed fine when I saw him three days ago, but it’s so hot in the sun.”

  “We can check on him on our way to the mall.”

  Rory blinked several times and stared blankly at her friend. “The mall?”

  Liz put her hands on her hips. “Did you forget about shopping for a new outfit? We’re still on for tomorrow night, right?” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to chicken out on me, are you?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll go out with this mystery man you’ve set me up with.” Rory glanced at the thermometer once again. The temperature had risen an entire degree in the short time they’d been talking. “It’s ridiculously hot in here. Let’s go. We can grab some lunch while we’re out.” Leaving the fan in the front room running and the windows in the back of the house open, Rory tucked her phone in the pocket of her khaki shorts and grabbed the bag full of cans before they headed out the door to her friend’s car.

  A block from the beach, Liz turned into a city parking lot and pulled into a space overlooking the ocean. They fed the meter and joined the throng headed down the hill toward the pier. A family pedaled by on the street beside them toward the bike path that ran along the beach, parents on a tandem followed by three helmeted kids on individual bikes.

  A head taller than her friend, Rory walked beside Liz as they looked both ways and crossed the path at the base of the pier before stopping to take in the scene before them. Trash bag filled with empty soda cans in one hand, Rory brushed beads of sweat off her face with the other as her gaze swept the area from the benches that lined the length of the pier, facing out toward the beach and ocean, to the nearby cafe that served drinks and snacks. Two people stood in line waiting to place their orders. All of the plastic chairs at the tables that surrounded the hut were filled with customers, none of them the man she was looking for.

  “I don’t see him. Now I’m really worried. He’s always here on Friday. He hangs out on a bench on the pier. That one right there.” Rory pointed to the concrete bench closest to them now occupied by a middle-aged couple watching a volleyball game in progress on the beach below.

  “He could be working. He picks up odd jobs now and then, doesn’t he?”

  “He said he would be here. He always keeps his word.”

  “Maybe it got too hot for him and he moved indoors. Isn’t there a cooling center near here?”

  “I forgot about that. Let’s check it out.”

  The two walked the short distance to the community center where two rooms had been reserved as a place where residents could escape the abnormally high temperatures and spend the day in an air-conditioned space. They entered the emergency cooling center, poked their heads inside one of the rooms, and scanned the tables and chairs scattered around the area, looking for Kit.

  “Granny G’s here.” Liz nodded toward a table on the far side where Rory’s seventy-five-year-old neighbor sat with three other gray-haired women, playing cards. “I guess she doesn’t have air conditioning at her place either.”

  Mrs. Griswold looked up from the cards in her hands and waved at the two of them. Rory waved back. “I don’t think anyone on my block does. It’s not very common.” She made a second pass over the tables and chairs in case she’d missed Kit the first time. “He’s not here.”

  After looking in the other room, they walked to the nearby library where the homeless man often hung out. When they couldn’t find him there either, they headed back to the beach. They were almost at the pier when frenzied barking reached their ears.

  “That bark sounds familiar. I think it’s Buddy, Kit’s dog. Sounds like he’s on the beach. That’s weird. Kit knows dogs aren’t allowed on the sand. He never takes Buddy there.” With long strides, Rory hurried toward the steep flight of stairs that led from street level down to the sand, forcing Liz to jog to keep up.

  From the top of the steps, Rory stared down at the crowded beach where a golden retriever, leash trailing behind, was running back and forth between the water and a group of sun worshippers lying on beach towels. As she watched, a man dressed in a white polo shirt and red swim trunks hurried over and tried to grab the leash, but the dog evaded him, growling when the lifeguard got within three feet.

  Rory and Liz ran down the stairs, kicking off their flip-flops at the bottom, and headed toward Buddy and the man. Rory’s feet burned as she walked as fast as she could across the scorching sand, heels sinking in with every step, making progress slow. Halfway to the water’s edge, she called out the dog’s name.

  As soon as the retriever heard her voice, he stopped barking and ran toward her.

  “This dog yours?” the lifeguard said when she was within earshot.

  “He belongs to a friend. I’m worried about him. If Buddy’s here, he must be close by.” Rory bent down and addressed the dog. “Where’s Kit, Buddy? Is he in trouble? Show me.”

  Seeming to understand, the dog raced toward the water, leading them to the shady area underneath the pier. As they followed, making faster progress once they reached the packed sand, Rory spotted a bicycle leaning against one of the rough concrete posts that supported the pier. White plastic bags full of belongings dangled from every available space on the bike, obstructing her view of the area in front of the post. As she got closer, she spotted bare legs on the sand.

  The three of them hurried forward and found a man with a closely cropped beard wearing shorts and a t-shirt sitting against a post, his sandal-clad legs extended out in front of him, waves lapping onto the nearby shore. A sizable lump on his head and a gash on his forearm, he didn’t respond when Rory called out to him. With his nose, Buddy nudged his companion’s right arm.

  While Rory and Liz stood nearby, concerned looks on their faces, the lifeguard knelt down next to Kit, placing his hand on the other man’s arm.

  “Sir, can you hear me? Are you all right? Can you tell me what happened?”

  At the lifeguard’s touch, Kit batted his hands as if he thought he was being attacked. Rory released her hold on the trash bag filled with cans and dropped down onto her knees on the sand on the other side of him, next to the dog. She held Kit’s flailing arms until he quieted down.

  In her gentlest voice, she said, “It’s me, Rory. We won’t hurt you. We’re here to help. Can you tell us what happened? Who did this to you?”

  With his last bit of energy, Kit mumbled something, but even when she put her ear close to his lips, all she could make out was “Zoe” followed by a long pause and “find.” Then he slumped down and closed his eyes.

  Unable to get any further response out of Kit, the lifeguard borrowed Rory’s cell phone to call for help, then directed Liz to wait near the steps down to the beach for the ambulance to guide the paramedics to the spot underneath the pier.

  “Help will be here soon, but we need to cool him down now,” the lifeguard said to Rory.

  Under his direction, she borrowed towels from nearby sunbathers and dipped them in the ocean water. She’d barely placed them on Kit’s overheated body when a bright yellow truck with the word “Lifeguard” written on the side in red lettering drove across the sand and stopped halfway between the water and the steps. Its two occupants
leapt out and, after consulting with their colleague, cleared a path from the stairs to the water’s edge, holding back the group of curious onlookers who had gathered on the sand. People leaned over the railing on the pier and stared down at the commotion on the beach below them.

  An ambulance screeched to a halt in the parking lot at the base of the pier moments later, and Liz led the EMTs to Kit. Before long, the man was strapped to a board in the back of the truck and driven across the sand to the base of the steps. Between the paramedics and lifeguards, they hauled him up the steep stairs to the waiting ambulance. A uniformed police officer spoke briefly to the two groups before Kit was whisked away.

  Buddy tried to follow, but Rory held tightly onto his leash and spoke soothingly to the retriever.

  The uniformed officer headed across the sand toward Rory and Liz. After introductions had been made, Officer Carr said, “Are you the ones who found him?”

  Rory nodded. “How is he? What did the paramedics say?”

  “Did someone hit him?” Liz asked.

  “Looks like he was in a fight, all right. He has a pretty nasty bump on his head. I’d say it happened fairly recently. Plus he’s dehydrated.” The officer looked sympathetically at the two women. “Don’t worry, your friend’s in good hands,” he said in a reassuring voice. “They’ll do everything they can for him. What can you tell me about him? We didn’t find any ID in his pockets.”

  “I don’t know his full name,” Rory said. “Everyone calls him Kit. He never wanted to talk about his past, and I didn’t want to pry.”

  Carr made a notation in his notebook. “How did you two meet?”

  “He pushed me out of the way of a car that ran a red light and almost hit me. That was about a month and a half ago.” Rory shuddered when she thought back to the SUV that had come within inches of mowing her down in the middle of a crosswalk. “We started talking afterward. I’ve seen him at least once a week since.”