by Gayle Leeson
Killer Wedding Cake
Myrtle Crumb Mystery Series (Written as Gayle Trent)
The Party Line (short story/prequel)
Between A Clutch and a Hard Place
When Good Bras Go Bad
Claus of Death
Soup...Er...Myrtle!
Perp and Circumstance
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Gayle Leeson is known for her cozy mysteries. She also writes as Gayle Trent and Amanda Lee. To eliminate confusion going forward, Gayle is writing under the name Gayle Leeson only. She and her family live in Southwest Virginia with Cooper, the Great Pyrenees in the photograph with Gayle, and a small pride of lions (cats, really, but humor them).
If you enjoyed this book, Gayle would appreciate your leaving a review. If you don’t know what to say, there is a handy book review guide at her site (https://www.gayleleeson.com/book-review-form). Gayle invites you to sign up for her newsletter and receive excerpts of some of her books: https://forms.aweber.com/form/14/1780369214.htm
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Have You Met Max, the Ghostly Fashionista?
Excerpt from Designs on Murder
Chapter One
A
flash of brilliant light burst from the lower righthand window of Shops on Main, drawing my attention to the For Lease sign. I’d always loved the building and couldn’t resist going inside to see the space available.
I opened the front door to the charming old mansion, which had started life as a private home in the late 1800s and had had many incarnations since then. I turned right to open another door to go into the vacant office.
“Why so glum, chum?” asked a tall, attractive woman with a dark brown bob and an impish grin. She stood near the window wearing a rather fancy mauve gown for the middle of the day. She was also wearing a headband with a peacock feather, making her look like a flapper from the 1920s. I wondered if she might be going to some sort of party after work. Either that, or this woman was quite the eccentric.
“I just came from a job interview,” I said.
“Ah. Don’t think it went well, huh?”
“Actually, I think it did. But I’m not sure I want to be doing that kind of work for...well...forever.”
“Nothing’s forever, darling. But you’ve come to the right place. My name’s Max, by the way. Maxine, actually, but I hate that stuffy old name. Maxine Englebright. Isn’t that a mouthful? You can see why I prefer Max.”
I chuckled. “It’s nice to meet you, Max. I’m Amanda Tucker.”
“So, Amanda Tucker,” Max said, moving over to the middle of the room, “what’s your dream job?”
“I know it’ll sound stupid. I shouldn’t have even wandered in here—”
“Stop that please. Negativity gets us nowhere.”
Max sounded like a school teacher then, and I tried to assess her age. Although she somehow seemed older, she didn’t look much more than my twenty-four years. I’d put her at about thirty...if that. Since she was looking at me expectantly, I tried to give a better answer to her question.
“I want to fill a niche...to make some sort of difference,” I said. “I want to do something fun, exciting...something I’d look forward to doing every day.”
“And you’re considering starting your own business?”
“That was my initial thought upon seeing that this space is for lease. I love this building...always have.”
“What sort of business are you thinking you’d like to put here?” Max asked.
“I enjoy fashion design, but my parents discouraged me because—they said—it was as hard to break into as professional sports. I told them there are a lot of people in professional sports, but they said, ‘Only the best, Mandy.’”
Max gave an indignant little bark. “Oh, that’s hooey! But I can identify. My folks never thought I’d amount to much. Come to think of it, I guess I didn’t.” She threw back her head and laughed.
“Oh, well, I wish I could see some of your designs.”
“You can. I have a couple of my latest right here on my phone.” I took my cell phone from my purse and pulled up the two designs I’d photographed the day before. The first dress had a small pink and green floral print on a navy background, shawl collar, three-quarter length sleeves, and A-line skirt. “I love vintage styles.”
“This is gorgeous! I’d love to have a dress like this.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. What else ya got?” Max asked.
My other design was an emerald 1930s-style bias cut evening gown with a plunging halter neckline and a back panel with pearl buttons that began at the middle of the back on each side and went to the waist.
Max caught her breath. “That’s the berries, kid!”
“Thanks.” I could feel the color rising in my cheeks. Max might throw out some odd phrases, but I could tell she liked the dress. “Mom and Dad are probably right, though. Despite the fact that I use modern fabrics—some with quirky, unusual patterns—how could I be sure I’d have the clientele to actually support a business?”
“Are you kidding me? People would love to have their very own fashion designer here in little ol’ Abingdon.”
“You really think so? Is it the kind of place you’d visit?” I asked.
“Visit?” Max laughed. “Darling, I’d practically live in it.”
“All right. I’ll think about it.”
“Think quickly please. There was someone in here earlier today looking at the space. He wants to sell cigars and tobacco products. Pew. The smell would drive me screwy. I’d much rather have you here.”
Hmm...the lady had her sales pitch down. I had to give her that. “How much is the rent?”
“Oh, I have no idea. You’ll find Mrs. Meacham at the top of the stairs, last door on your left. It’s marked OFFICE.”
“Okay. I’ll go up and talk with her.”
“Good luck, buttercup!”
I was smiling and shaking my head as I mounted the stairs. Max was a character. I thought she’d be a fun person to have around.
Since the office wasn’t a retail space like the other rooms in the building, I knocked and waited for a response before entering.
Mrs. Meacham was a plump, prim woman with short, curly white hair and sharp blue eyes. She looked at me over the top of her reading glasses. “How may I help you?”
“I’m interested in the space for rent downstairs,” I said.
“You are? Oh, my! I thought you were here selling cookies or something. You look so young.” Mrs. Meacham laughed at her own joke, so I faked a chortle to be polite. “What type of shop are you considering?”
“A fashion boutique.”
“Fashion?”
“Yes, I design and create retro-style fashions.”
“Hmm. I never picked up sewing myself. I’ve never been big on crafts.” She stood and opened a file cabinet to the left of her desk, and I could see she was wearing a navy suit. “Canning and baking were more my strengths. I suppose you could say I prefer the kitchen to the hearth.” She laughed again, and I chuckled along with her.
She turned and handed me an application. “Just read this over and call me back if you have any questions. If you’re interested in the space, please let me know as soon as possible. There’s a gentleman interested in opening a cigar store there.” She tapped a pen on her desk blotter. “But even if he gets here before you do, we’ll have another opening by the first of the month. The web designer across the hall is leaving. Would you like to take a look at his place before you decide?”
“No, I’d really prefer the shop on the ground floor,” I said.
“All right. Well, I hope to hear from you soon.”
I left then. I stopped back by the space for lease to say goodbye to Max, but she was gone.
I WENT HOME—MY PARENTS’ home actually, but they moved to Florida for Dad’s job more than two years ago, so it was basically mine...until they wanted it back. I made popcorn for lunch, read over Mrs. Meacham’s contract, and started crunching the numbers.
I’d graduated in May with a bachelor’s degree in business administration with a concentration in marketing and entrepreneurship but just couldn’t find a position that sparked any sort of passion in me. This morning I’d had yet another interview where I’d been overqualified for the position but felt I had a good chance of getting an offer...a low offer...for work I couldn’t see myself investing decades doing.
Jasmine, my cat, wandered into the room. She’d eaten some kibble from her bowl in the kitchen and was now interested in what I was having. She hopped onto the coffee table, peeped into the popcorn bowl, and turned away dismissively to clean her paws. She was a beautiful gray and white striped tabby. Her feet were white, and she looked as if she were wearing socks of varying lengths—crew socks on the back, anklets on the front.
“What do you think, Jazzy?” I asked. “Should I open a fashion boutique?”
She looked over her shoulder at me for a second before resuming her paw-licking. I didn’t know if that was a yes or a no.
Even though I’d gone to school for four years to learn all about how to open, manage, and provide inventory for a small business, I researched for the remainder of the afternoon. I checked out the stats on independent designers in the United States and fashion boutiques in Virginia. There weren’t many in the Southwest Virginia region, so I knew I’d have something unique to offer my clientele.
Finally, Jazzy let me know that she’d been napping long enough and that we needed to do something. Mainly, I needed to feed her again, and she wanted to eat. But I had other ideas.
“Jazzy, let’s get your carrier. You and I are going to see Grandpa Dave.”
Grandpa Dave was my favorite person on the planet, and Jazzy thought pretty highly of him herself. He lived only about ten minutes away from us. He was farther out in the country and had a bigger home than we did. Jazzy and I were happy in our little three-bedroom, one bath ranch. We secretly hoped Dad wouldn’t lose the job that had taken him and Mom to Florida and that they’d love it too much to leave when he retired because we’d gotten used to having the extra space.
I put the carrier on the backseat of my green sedan. It was a cute car that I’d worked the summer between high school and college to get enough money to make the down payment on, but it felt kinda ironic to be driving a cat around in a car that reminded people of a hamster cage.
Sometimes, I wished my Mom and Dad’s house was a bit farther from town. It was so peaceful out here in the country. Fences, pastureland, and cows bordered each side of the road. There were a few houses here and there, but most of the land was still farmland. The farmhouses were back off the road and closer to the barns.
When we pulled into Grandpa Dave’s long driveway, Jazzy meowed.
“Yes,” I told her. “We’re here.”
Grandpa Dave lived about fifty yards off the road, and his property was fenced, but he didn’t keep any animals. He’d turned the barn that had been on the land when he and Grandma Jodie bought it into a workshop where he liked to “piddle.”
I pulled around to the side of the house and was happy to see that, rather than piddling in the workshop, Grandpa was sitting on one of the white rocking chairs on the porch. I parked and got out, opened the door to both the car and the carrier for Jazzy, and she ran straight to hop onto his lap.
“Well, there’s my girls!” Grandpa Dave laughed.
It seemed to me that Grandpa was almost always laughing. He’d lost a little of that laughter after Grandma Jodie had died. But that was five years ago, and, except for some moments of misty remembrance, he was back to his old self.
I gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek before settling onto the swing.
“I was sorta expecting you today,” he said. “How’d the interview go?”
“It went fine, I guess, but I’m not sure Integrated Manufacturing Technologies is for me. The boss was nice, and the offices are beautiful, but...I don’t know.”
“What ain’t she telling me, Jazzy?”
The cat looked up at him adoringly before butting her head against his chin.
“I’m...um...I’m thinking about starting my own business.” I didn’t venture a glance at Grandpa Dave right away. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what he was thinking. I figured he was thinking I’d come to ask for money—which I had, money and advice—but I was emphatic it was going to be a loan.
Grandpa had already insisted on paying my college tuition and wouldn’t hear of my paying him back. This time, I was giving him no choice in the matter. Either he’d lend me the money, and sign the loan agreement I’d drafted, or I wouldn’t take it.
I finally raised my eyes to look at his face, and he was looking pensive.
“Tell me what brought this on,” he said.
I told him about wandering into Shops on Main after my interview and meeting Maxine Englebright. “She loved the designs I showed her and seemed to think I could do well if I opened a boutique there. I went upstairs and got an application from the building manager, and then I went home and did some research. I’d never seriously considered opening my own business before—at least, not at this stage of my career—but I’d like to try.”
Another glance at Grandpa Dave told me he was still listening but might take more convincing.
“I realize I’m young, and I’m aware that more than half of all small businesses fail in the first four years. But I’ve got a degree that says I’m qualified to manage a business. Why not manage my own?”
He remained quiet.
“I know that opening a fashion boutique might seem frivolous, but there aren’t a lot of designers in this region. I believe I could fill a need...or at least a niche.”
Grandpa sat Jazzy onto the porch and stood. Without a word, he went into the house.
Jazzy looked up at me. Meow? She went over to the door to see where Grandpa Dave went. Meow? She stood on her hind legs and peered through the door.
“Watch out, Jasmine,” he said, waiting for her to hop down and back away before he opened the door. He was carrying his checkbook. “How much do you need?”
“Well, I have some savings, and—”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Okay. Now, this will be a loan, Grandpa Dave, not a gift.”
“If you don’t tell me how much, I’m taking this checkbook back into the house, and we won’t discuss it any further.”
“Ten thousand dollars,” I blurted.
As he was writing the check, he asked, “Have you and Jazzy had your dinner yet?”
We were such frequent guests that he kept her favorite cat food on hand.
“We haven’t. Do you have the ingredients to make a pizza?”
He scoffed. “Like I’m ever without pizza-makings.” He handed me the check. “By the way, how old is this Max you met today? She sounds like quite a gal.”
“She doesn’t look all that much older than me. But she seems more worldly...or something. I think you’d like her,” I said. “But wait, aren’t you still seeing Betsy?”
He shrugged. “Betsy is all right to take to Bingo...but this Max sounds like she could be someone special.”
FIRST THING THE NEXT morning, I went to the bank to set up a business account for Designs on You. That’s what I decided to name my shop. Then I went to Shops on Main and gave Mrs. Meacham my application. After she made sure everything was in order, she took my check for the first month’s rent and then took me around to meet the rest of the shop owners.
She introduced me to the upstairs tenants first. There was Janice, who owned Janice’s Jewelry. She was of average height but she wore stilettos, had tawny hair with blonde highli
ghts, wore a shirt that was way too tight, and was a big fan of dermal fillers, given her expressionless face.
“Janice, I’d like you to meet Amanda,” said Mrs. Meacham. “She’s going to be opening a fashion boutique downstairs.”
“Fashion? You and I should talk, Amanda. You dress them, and I’ll accessorize them.” She giggled before turning to pick up a pendant with a large, light green stone. “With your coloring, you’d look lovely in one of these Amazonite necklace and earring sets.”
“I’ll have to check them out later,” I said. “It was nice meeting you.”
Janice grabbed a stack of her business cards and pressed them into my hand. “Here. For your clients. I’ll be glad to return the favor.”
“Great. Thanks.”
Next, Mrs. Meacham took me to meet Mark, a web site designer. Everything about Mark screamed thin. The young man didn’t appear to have an ounce of fat on his body. He had thinning black hair. He wore a thin crocheted tie. He held out a thin hand for me to shake. His handshake was surprisingly firm.
“Hello. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Amanda.” He handed me a card from the holder on his desk. “Should you need any web design help or marketing expertise, please call on me. I can work on a flat fee or monthly fee basis, depending on your needs.”
“Thank you, but—”
“Are you aware that fifty percent of fledgling businesses fail within the first year?” he asked.
I started to correct his stats, but I didn’t want to alienate someone I was going to be working near. I thanked him again and told him I appreciated his offer. It dawned on me as Mrs. Meacham and I were moving on to the next tenant that she’d said the web designer was leaving at the end of the month...which was only a week away. I wondered where he was taking his business.
The other upstairs shop was a bookstore called Antiquated Editions. The owner was a burly, bearded man who’d have looked more at home in a motorcycle shop than selling rare books, but, hey, you can’t judge a book by its cover, right?
