by Patti Larsen
She wrinkled her nose, freckles coming together under her blue-gray eyes. Not many people I knew looked that good without makeup, her naturally dark lashes so thick I felt envy every time I looked at her. “Wish I could join that club,” Jill said. “But it’s all hands on deck this weekend.”
I wasn’t surprised. “Has Olivia been driving Crew nuts?” Ever since the weather turned and our tourist numbers with it our dear Mayor Walker had been slowly losing her mind. Her push to attract visitors had, so far, created a wave of new business for Reading and I was frankly impressed by her determination. While the whole grow or die mentality gave me the creeps, I couldn’t complain about the benefits to my bank account.
But, as I looked around the busy main street of the place she’d coined as the “cutest town in America,” I wondered if these past few weeks of quiet weren’t a good thing. It had been nice to relax a little, put my feet up, get to some projects requiring my attention without feeling like I had to hurry or scurry or fudge the edges because I just didn’t have time.
There was something to be said for a break in the crazy, especially with summer coming. And this weekend’s activities were bound to stir things up again.
“Have Willow and Skip arrived yet?” The focal points of today’s parade, Reading’s most famous citizens, lived in Hollywood full time. But that didn’t stop Olivia from shamelessly badgering the A-list star and her football hero husband to promote our town. Which, I thought, they’d done so far with grace and thoughtfulness, part of the reason Olivia’s campaign to increase tourism had worked out so well. But this weekend’s commercial filming following the pomp of a parade for the happy couple was just a bit much for my stomach.
Thus hiding in the garden in the sunshine and letting the rest of Reading deal.
“I think so,” Jill said. “The sheriff and the mayor were driving to the airport to meet them at 9AM, so I assume they’re back by now.” Likely staying at the White Valley Ski Lodge in the penthouse suite. I personally preferred to avoid the place since almost dying on Valentine’s Day and helping solve two murders. But it was a beautiful spot and the perfect refuge for the famous pair.
“Have fun,” I said, waving to Jill and tossing my long, auburn hair at Robert who snarled back.
Petunia grumbled about walking as she always did, pausing now and then the two and a half blocks to the B&B just to see if I’d stop and pick her up. Which I refused to do.
“Maybe we both need more exercise,” I said. Refused, of course, to believe Robert’s cruel comment was anything but crap while a tiny part of me whispered I had been enjoying Betty’s cooking a lot lately, not to mention my mother’s amazing fare and hadn’t I spent the winter working but not working out…? “That’s it. We both need to shift our habits. What do you say?” Whether true or not—suck it, Robert—I missed my daily runs in the city. Time to take that up again.
Petunia didn’t seem all that enthusiastic. I should have adopted a Labrador.
I looked up as I rounded the corner of Booker Street, heart stuttering while my smile faded and my lovely day of nothing but puttering in the garden took a massive turn for the oh crap now what. My normally quiet street, the odd car lining the sidewalks even when we were fully booked, now looked like a war zone. By the time I forced my sneakered feet past the stretch limo and the giant white van with the camera equipment, cables and lights and other things I couldn’t comprehend snaking and looming their intrusion on my life and the three hulking men in dark suits and earbuds with plastic wires running into their collars, I had a horrible, horrible feeling I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.
Nope, I was in Reading, Vermont. Cutest town in America.
My desperate need to explain this mess away disappeared with the sudden appearance of Olivia bustling from my front door, hurrying down the steps and to my side where she stopped with a deep scowl and a determined look on her face. One hand lifted to grasp my elbow as she leaned in and hissed the following.
“The Lodge has a gas leak and you’re all I have. So live with it.” She beamed then, leaning away, voice rising to politician volume while I gaped at her. “Petunia’s is the perfect place to house our special guests and staging ground for our parade. Historic and distinctly Reading, it’s been a landmark in our sweet little town for decades. I just know our visitors will love it here.” She tucked one arm around my shoulders, her dark red suit making me think of blood while I tried desperately to come up with something to say to stop this train wreck from happening. “Thank you so much to Fiona Fleming for being our most gracious host.”
Wait, that sounded like a speech, didn’t it? I looked away from her to find she’d been speaking to a camera. Of course she had and I stood there and stared at it like an idiot struck by lightning.
I knew then, like it or not, I was now a part of whatever Olivia had planned.
***
Author Notes
I’m enamored with murder. But not the gory kind that makes you go “Ew” and scrunch your nose and feel sick. No, I’m totally and utterly wrapped up in the kind of slaying that gives me a detective curiosity thrill I’m only now uncovering after all this time.
Who knew I’d fall in love with killing people?
Writers are odd folk.
I honestly had no idea what to expect from writing cozy mysteries, but the more I explore the genre, the more at home I feel. In fact, I was meant to write book two of another series after finishing Chocolate Hearts and Murder and, instead, when I penned chapter one of Fame and Fortune and Murder and realized just how tied to Fiona I’d become, I begged for you, the reader, to be patient and let me stay in Reading for just one more book.
I’ll get back to Ethie and Syd and Miriam and the Hayle Coven Universe in short order. In about a week, actually. But it’s been such a delight to spend time in the cutest town in America I just can’t bring myself to leave yet.
That being said, while originally I thought there were twelve (and then thirteen) books in the Fiona Fleming Cozy Mystery series, I’m realizing just how much more she has to say. So, we’ll see. For now, I’m going to hang out at Petunia’s, put up with pug farts and help Fee figure out, yet again, whodunit.
All my best in murder and mayhem,
Patti
***
About the Author
Everything you need to know about me is in this one statement: I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was a little girl, and now I’m doing it. How cool is that, being able to follow your dream and make it reality? I’ve tried everything from university to college, graduating the second with a journalism diploma (I sucked at telling real stories), was in an all-girl improv troupe for five glorious years (if you’ve never tried it, I highly recommend making things up as you go along as often as possible). I’ve even been in a Celtic girl band (some of our stuff is on YouTube!) and was an independent film maker. My life has been one creative thing after another—all leading me here, to writing books for a living.
Now with multiple series in happy publication, I live on beautiful and magical Prince Edward Island (I know you’ve heard of Anne of Green Gables) with my very patient husband and six massive cats.
I love-love-love hearing from you! You can reach me (and I promise I’ll message back) at [email protected]. And if you’re eager for your next dose of Patti Larsen books (usually about one release a month) come join my mailing list! All the best up and coming, giveaways, contests and, of course, my observations on the world (aren’t you just dying to know what I think about everything?) all in one place: http://smarturl.it/PattiLarsenEmail.
Last—but not least!—I hope you enjoyed what you read! Your happiness is my happiness. And I’d love to hear just what you thought. A review where you found this book would mean the world to me—reviews feed writers more than you will ever know. So, loved it (or not so much), your honest review would make my day. Thank you!
