Bound For Murder

Table of Contents

 

 

TEA SHOP MYSTERY
SERIES

 

“Tea lovers, mystery lovers, [this] is for you. Just the right blend of cozy fun and clever plotting.”

—Susan Wittig Albert, bestselling author of
Indigo Dying

 

“It’s delightful book!”

 

“Engages the audience from the start . . . Laura Childs provides the right combination between tidbits on tea and an amateur sleuth cozy that will send readers seeking a cup of
Death By Darjeeling,
the series’s previous novel.”

 

“Will warm readers the way a good cup of tea does. Laura Childs describes the genteel South in ways that invite readers in and make them feel welcomed . . . Theodosia and her friends are a warm bunch of characters . . . A delightful series that will leave readers feeling as if they have shared a warm cup of tea on Church Street in Charleston.”

 

“This mystery series could single-handedly propel the tea shop business in this country to the status of wine bars and bustling coffee houses.”

—
Buon Gusto,
Minneapolis, MN

 

“If you devoured Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden, this new series is right up your alley.”

—The Gazette,
Goose Creek, SC

 

“Gives the reader a sense of traveling through the streets and environs of the beautiful, historic city of Charleston.”

—Lakeshore Weekly News,
Wayzata, MN

KEEPSAKE CRIMES
PHOTO FINISHED
BOUND FOR MURDER

 

 

 

DEATH BY DARJEELING
GUNPOWDER GREEN
SHADES OF EARL GREY
THE ENGLISH BREAKFAST MURDER
THE JASMINE MOON MURDER

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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

BOUND FOR MURDER

 

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author.

 

PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime edition / November 2004

Copyright © 2004 by Gerry Schmitt.

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

Purchase only authorized editions. For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

 

eISBN : 978-1-101-11838-2

 

BERKLEY PRIME CRIME® Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. BERKLEY PRIME CRIME is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. The Berkley Prime Crime design is a trademark belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

 

 

Heartfelt thank-yous to my agent, Sam Pinkus; to Gary, for giving me an office at Mill City Marketing/Survey Value; to my husband, Bob, for his continued support; to the many scrapbook shops that carry my books and invite me in for book signings; to the tea shops that also carry my books and generously promote them via “scrapbook teas” (what fun!); to all the marvelous book sellers who not only stock my books, but recommend them to customers; and to all the wonderful writers, reviewers, web masters, crafts columnists, and editors who have been so kind and generous with their words.

“
H
AUNTED?” cried Carmela Bertrand as she and her friend Ava Grieux trundled their packages down a narrow hallway where sagging floorboards creaked and lamps with beaded shades cast a faint pinkish glow. “I don’t recall Quigg ever mentioning that Bon Tiempe was haunted.” With tall, narrow doors at every twist and turn and canted baroque mirrors that tossed back gilded reflections, the hallway felt more like a funhouse maze.

Putting her shoulder to the door at the far end of the hallway, Carmela nudged it open and the two of them stepped into a small, tastefully furnished business office that had been shoe-horned in where a butler’s pantry had once existed. Back when Bon Tiempe Restaurant had been a private New Orleans home.

Ava Grieux’s expressive brown eyes gave a languid sweep of the small office, taking in the slightly Gothic decor, the Tiffany lamp strewn with dancing dragonflies, and the moss-green velvet settee pushed up against one wall. The opposite wall was dominated by an antique roll-top desk with a laptop computer sitting atop it.

“
Feels
haunted,” said Ava, hunching her shawl-draped shoulders in a hopeful gesture.

Carmela uttered a soft laugh as she set her box of place cards down on a small marble-topped table, then grabbed the box containing the floral arrangement that Ava, her best friend and female confidante, had been carrying. “Haunted by ghosts of customers past, maybe,” Carmela told her, placing the oversized box on the desk. “Before Quigg turned this old Bywater mansion into a hoity-toity restaurant it was a costume shop.” Quigg Brevard was the rather dashing proprietor of the fabulously successful Bon Tiempe. A bit of a bon vivant, Quigg was also a man who found Carmela most enchanting, much to her consternation. Because fortunately or unfortunately for Carmela, she was already married. To Shamus Allan Meechum, professional cad, sweet talker, and the youngest of the Crescent City Bank Meechums.

Although Carmela and Shamus were most definitely separated—physically, spiritually, and in all manner of opinion concerning the commonly held definition of matrimonial harmony—they’d simply never gotten around to making their separation formal and legal. Even for a banker, Shamus wasn’t all that keen on formal and legal.

“Mmn,” said Ava, surveying her wavering image in yet another antique mirror and obviously liking what she saw. “Lots of so-called costumers in New Orleans.” Ava poufed her mass of auburn hair and pulled the front of her cocktail dress down to reveal a tad more of her luscious décolletage. Then, like a lazy, languid cat, Ava eased herself down onto the velvet settee, allowing Carmela an unobstructed view of the amber-tinted glass.

Carmela stared straight ahead as though confronting the lens of a camera. Not unlike she’d done for her fourth grade class picture when, geeky-looking and skinny, she’d probably taken the worst picture of her life.

Now the image that stared back at her was quite different. Mid-twenties, pretty veering toward stunning, Carmela possessed a unique blend of kinetic energy and quiet confidence. Her looks were further enhanced by her glowing, almost luminous complexion. Her lovely oval face was loosely framed by streaked blond hair. And many thought her grayish-blue eyes strikingly similar in color to the flat glint of the Gulf of Mexico.

That’s me?
Carmela asked herself, always surprised by her now-comely image. Then, suddenly startled, she frowned and peered into the mirror for a closer look. As she studied her image, she realized that the silvering or mercury or whatever you called that shiny stuff on the back of the mirror had either flaked off or been improperly redone. So a faint double image was reflected. A
ghost
image. Carmela gave a slight shiver.
Maybe Ava’s premonition wasn’t so far-fetched after all.

Ava dug eagerly into the box Carmela had brought along. “I haven’t seen your place card designs yet,
cher,
” she said, carefully pulling out a stack of deckled paper cards and studying them.

“Honey, that’s because my design isn’t
done
yet,” Carmela told her, letting loose a mighty sigh. “I ordered ribbon six weeks ago and it only just showed up on my doorstep late this afternoon!” Carmela pulled two spools of peach-colored ribbon from her purse and held them out for Ava’s inspection.