Cut, Crop & Die
Authors: Joanna Campbell Slan
OTHER BOOKS BY JOANNA CAMPBELL SLAN
Paper, Scissors, Death
, the first
“Scrapbookers will love the whole idea of forensic scrapbooking and will relish the tips on the craft sprinkled throughout the story.”—
Booklist
“With plotting as tight as the seal of a decompression chamber and a flow to the narrative that is as smooth as silk, this is a wonderful read.”—
Crimespree Magazine
“A proper pacy mystery with plenty of tension (and red herrings) that kept me guessing to the end.”—
ScrapBook inspirations Magazine
(U.K.)
“An engaging mystery.”—Donna Andrews, Agatha and Anthony award-winning author of the Meg Langslow and Turing Hopper series
“Charming, funny and very enjoyable!”—J. A. Konrath, author of
Whiskey Sour
“Clever, witty, and exciting—with a cliffhanger at the end!”—Monica Ferris, author of
Knitting Bones
“You’ll love Kiki Lowenstein! A spunky, down-on-her luck widow with a young daughter to raise, she’s not going to let a murderer get away with, well … murder!”—Shirley Damsgaard, author of
Witch Way to Murder
“A page turner, who-done-it, filled with colorful characters and scrapbooking tips. The plot line races along as Kiki, a personable if unlikely heroine, struggles to take care of both herself and her daughter while dealing with death, betrayal, and injustices. Along the way the story is filled with insightful glimpses into the heart of a true scrapbooker and a touch of romance.”—Rebecca Ludens, Scrapbooking Guide for [http://About.com] About.com
“Joanna Slan’s
Paper, Scissors, Death
should be required reading for any scrapbooker who loves to dive into a good mystery. Liberally spiced with plenty of local St. Louis flavor, and generously sprinkled with insider’s insights into the world of scrapbooking,
Paper, Scissors, Death
is rich with details … If you like mysteries, quirky characters, and scrapbooking, you will love this book.”—Angie Pedersen, The Scrappy Marketer, [http://ScrapbookMarketing.com] ScrapbookMarketing.com
“What a treat to find a plucky new heroine in Kiki Lowenstein, who dispenses advice on scrapbooking along with solving her faithless husband’s death in Joanna Slan’s debut novel,
Paper, Scissors, Death.
This is an author to watch!”—Eleanor Sullivan, author of
Twice Dead
“A rare gem … [and] creative scrapbooking tips are woven expertly throughout!”—Jess Lourey, author of
June Bug
“Sign me up for Tough Tamales U.
Paper, Scissors, Death
is a fun and charming read with a scrappy heroine.”—Terri Thayer, author of
Wild Goose Chase
“Ms. Slan’s debut mystery has a bit of a cliffhanger at the end, sure to keep readers coming back for the next book. Pick this one up if you love scrapbooking or cozies.”—
Fresh Fiction
“Fun to read, with laugh-out-loud humor along with tensions and true friendships.”—
Mysterious Women
© 2009 by Joanna Campbell Slan. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Midnight Ink except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
For my gorgeous and talented son, Michael Harrison Slan. I’m going to miss you, sweetheart, while you’re off at college. Please call me! Love, Mom.
“ALL WE’RE MISSING IS a corpse.” I hadn’t realized I was thinking out loud until Mert Chambers, my best friend, stopped in her tracks. She turned and nearly crashed into me. We were both carrying heavy cardboard boxes of supplies, so our inept maneuver had a Keystone Cop clumsiness.
“Why, Kiki Lowenstein, I can’t believe you said that! I think all these flowers are beautiful,” said Mert, as we continued our trek down the short flight of stairs into a church basement. She smiled at the big pots of day lilies we’d purchased to give away as door prizes.
“It’s the smell,” I explained. “When my eyes are closed, all I see are caskets and corpses. Plus, I haven’t been in a church since my father died.” The slightly dank basement brought back horrible memories.
That said, I had to admit we’d been lucky Mert was able to find us a place so close to the Missouri Botanical Garden and willing to let us hold a crop—a scrapbooking event—in their basement for a small donation.
Our boss, Dodie Goldfader, wagged a finger at me. “Knock it off with the morbid talk. We can’t risk customers hearing you.”
Dodie owns Time in a Bottle, nicknamed TinaB by those in the know. At six feet tall, she towers over Mert and me and walks like that cartoon version of the Abominable Snowman.
After shushing me, Dodie glanced pointedly over her shoulder. Women were filing in, towing their picnic coolers and Cropper Hoppers, rolling suitcases full of papercrafting materials. “The shuttle bus from the Botanical Garden has arrived!” Dodie sang out with delight. “Ladies, did you enjoy your tours?”
Women nodded and chattered happily. They staked out places at long tables covered with white butcher paper to create a clean surface. Some opened their supplies and started to work on pages immediately. Others shared the photos they’d just taken by handing around their digital cameras. Many of our guests had never seen the Jenkins Daylily Garden in full flower. The women were chatting happily about the glorious sight of all 1,350 different varieties of Hemerocallis (Greek for “beauty for a day”) spreading their luxe petals toward the sun.
Nicknamed “Shaw’s Garden” after Henry Shaw, the English-man who in 1859 opened his personal place of refuge to the public, the Missouri Botanical Garden is considered one of the three great gardens of the world. It’s the oldest continuously operating display conservatory in the United States. Part of my prep for this outing was spending an entire day roaming the grounds last week. I familiarized myself with what was blooming, taking photos to help me design page layouts, some of the best work I’d ever done.
I should have been in a great mood, but I wasn’t.
Dodie pulled me aside and whispered, “This is a prime money-making event for us. Don’t you dare spoil it! I’ve worked all year to be included in the Crop Around Missouri Program. When these scrappers think special events, I want Time in a Bottle to be the first name that pops into their heads.”
“I know, I know. Sorry.” I grumbled. I’d had a rough morning with my pre-teen daughter. Lately I couldn’t do anything right. Her hormones must be going bonkers because Anya had become increasingly moody. I was trying to stay calm, but geez, she was wearing me down.
And yes, I was sleep-deprived. Everyone associated with TinaB—Mert, Dodie, our new hire Bama, and I—had baked dozens of goodies for this gathering. I personally had contributed three dozen Snickerdoodles. We’d all delivered our treats to Mert’s house the night before. Because she’s such an early riser and because she had room in her truck, Mert offered to bring over our food, pick up more groceries, and with the help of her son, set up tables before the rest of us showed up.
That freed Dodie and me to concentrate on paper, supplies, and tools. Bama was in charge of working with the caterer. Scrapbookers are a hungry group, so relying on the caterer for the more complicated food items such as breakfast sandwiches, quiches, and crepes, would keep our costs down. In an effort to be “green,” we’d also arranged to rent glasses and plates rather than produce more paper waste.
Mert had seen Dodie corner me. She figured I’d been chastised. She came over and worked beside me. In a cheery voice she preached, “You know, they call it the present ’cause every day is a gift.”
“Thank you, Dr. Phil-lis.” She was right—but then, isn’t she always? It’s a quality both endearing and exasperating.
Despite the hormonal harpy living in my house, life was good, and so was business. Since coming to work at TinaB, I’d “grown” a small but dedicated following of customers. If things went well, this outing would bring more scrappers into the fold. My notepad listed the names of nearly fifty patrons—many new to our business. I’d designed papercraft kits—“make and takes”—for each of our guests to turn into dazzling pages.