Deadly Greetings (Book 2 in the Cardmaking Mysteries)

DEADLY GREETINGS

By Tim Myers

writing as Elizabeth Bright

Book 2 in the Cardmaking
Mystery Series

Praise for the Cardmaking
Mysteries written by Tim Myers as Elizabeth Bright

“
Independent-minded sleuth
Jennifer Shane tracks a murderer, crafts cards, and resists her
overprotective family with panache and good humor.”

--Carolyn Hart, Award winning author of
Death of the Party

“
Elizabeth Bright shines in
this crafty new series.”

Nancy Martin, author of the Blackbird
Sisters Mysteries

“
Elizabeth Bright writes an
engaging and fast read and incorporates interesting information
about card making while solving the murders.”

Armchair Interviews

Praise for the Lighthouse
Mystery series by Tim Myers

“
Entertaining ... authentic
... fun ... a wonderful regional mystery that will have readers
rebooking for future stays at the Hatteras West Inn and
Lighthouse.”

—
BookBrowser

“
Myers cultivates the North
Carolina scenery with aplomb and shows a flair for
character.”

 —
Fort Lauderdale
Sun-Sentinel

“
Tim Myers proves that he is
no one-book wonder... A shrewdly crafted puzzle.”

—
Midwest Book
Review

“
Colorful... picturesque ...
light and entertaining.”

—
The Best
Reviews

Praise for the Candlemaking
Mystery series by Tim Myers

“
Excellent storytelling that
makes for a good reading experience…Myers is a talented writer who
deserves to hit the bestseller lists.”

 
---The Best
Reviews

“
A sure winner.”

---Carolyn Hart, author of the Death on
Demand series

“
An interesting mystery, a
large cast of characters, and an engaging amateur sleuth make this
series a winner.”

---The Romance Reader’s Connection four
daggers

“
A smashing, successful
debut.”

---Midwest Book Review

“
I greatly enjoyed this
terrific mystery. The main character…will make you laugh. Don’t
miss this thrilling read.”

---Rendezvous

The Lighthouse Inn
Mysteries by Tim Myers

Innkeeping With Murder

Reservations For Murder

Murder Checks Inn

Room For Murder

Booked For Murder

The Candlemaking Mysteries
by Tim Myers

At Wick’s End

Snuffed Out

Death Waxed Over

A Flicker Of Doubt

The Soapmaking Mysteries by
Tim Myers

Dead Men Don’t Lye

A Pour Way To Dye

A Mold For Murder

The Cardmaking Mysteries by
Tim Myers written as Elizabeth Bright

Invitation To Murder

Deadly Greetings

Murder And Salutations

Deadly Greetings

by Tim Myers

writing as Elizabeth Bright

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2006 Elizabeth Bright (Tim
Myers)

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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of this author.

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.

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 piracy of
copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. 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.

.

Dedication

Alphabetically To Laura C., Nancy C.,
Elizabeth D.S., Earlene F., Nancy M., Rosemary M.S., Tamar M.,
Sarah S.,

and

to Carolyn H., Charlotte M. and Agatha C. for
leading the way.

Chapter l

I never really believed in ghosts until
Frances Coolridge tried to kill me two months after she died. I’ve
made a ton of handcrafted greeting cards for hundreds of occasions,
but never anything remotely like the one I wished I could create
for her. I might head it “WISH YOU WERE STILL DEAD,” or maybe even
“YOU’RE INVITED TO YOUR VERY OWN EXORCISM’ but I doubted either one
would do much good. It was pretty apparent that Frances didn’t want
me living in her apartment, and just as obvious I wasn’t about to
move out. We were at a stalemate, and while it was true that I was
going to have to get used to Frances’s presence, it also meant that
she was going to have to get used to mine. I loved my new quarters
at Whispering Oak, and it was going to take more than a
scatterbrained poltergeist to make me pack up my stuff and
leave.

My name’s Jennifer Shane,
and I own Custom Card Creations, a small handcrafted-card shop in
Rebel Forge, Virginia. My business is on one end of Oakmont
Avenue—a road that runs through the heart of downtown—and my sister
Sara Lynn’s scrapbooking store is on the other. I’d worked for her
at Forever Memories before opening my card shop, but I loved being
on my own, even if I was constantly just a sale or two away from
putting up my very own
going out of
business
sign. Though our parents died in
a car accident years before, I’d never felt totally orphaned. After
all, my brother, Bradford, is the sheriff for all of Rebel Forge,
and my aunt Lillian helps me out at the card shop. Sometimes the
pluses and minuses of living in a small town are one and the same.
My family is close, both in proximity and in our hearts, but it can
be stifling at times. As the youngest of our clan, I often find
myself chafing against their desire to protect me, even though I
know they are motivated out of love.

“
What do you call that
ghastly hue?” my aunt Lillian asked as she came into the card shop
one morning the week before. I was displaying a new shade of paper
I’d made in my small workshop in back, and I was proud of
it.

Without glancing in her direction, I said,
“Don’t you like it? It’s called ‘Lillian’s Dream.’”

“
It’s more like one of my
nightmares,” my aunt muttered under her breath as she waved a hand
in the air to dismiss the topic. “But never mind that. You’ve got
to close the shop and come with me at once.”

“
Lillian, I’m barely making
enough to feed Oggie and Nash, let alone myself. I can’t afford to
shut the place down.” My cats, though not fancy eaters, were
finicky in their preference of national brands over generic fare.
Hoping to squeeze another nickel out of my budget, I’d tried them
on Stylin’ Stew and Jumpy Cats, but they’d refused to touch either
one.

Lillian flicked a strand of dyed henna hair
out of her face as she said, “Jennifer, you still hate your
apartment, don’t you?”

“
You know I do,” I said,
remembering what had happened there the month before that had
completely robbed me of my sense of security. Someone had made a
rather concerted effort to scare me, and they’d done a pretty good
job of it. The memory of the threat at my door lingered every night
as I tried to sleep.

Lillian nodded. “Well then I’ve got just the
place for you. We have to go now, though, before someone else grabs
it.” My aunt was a woman of action, proved by a string of seven
ex-husbands; she was only half teasing when she said that she was
always on the lookout for number eight.

“
Do they allow cats?” I
asked as I slid the rest of the paper onto the display.

“
My dear, they embrace them.
Now let’s go.”

After grabbing my coat, I
flipped the sign on the door to
back in
fifteen minutes
and locked up. Honestly, I
had no idea how long we’d be gone, but I was hoping whoever saw it
would hang around, since I couldn’t afford to alienate the few
customers I had.

“
So where are we headed?” I
asked as we hustled toward her car, a classic candy-apple-red
Mustang in mint condition.

“
Have you ever heard of
Whispering Oak?”

I thought about it a second before answering
her. “Wasn’t he an Indian guide around here two hundred years
ago?”

Lillian shot me one of those looks that
spoke volumes about her thoughts on my sanity, but I was being
serious.

She explained, “Whispering Oak is a fine old
house on the outskirts of town. There’s even a path from your
doorstep to the lake. It’s wonderful.”

“
If it’s so wonderful, why
is it vacant?”

Lillian took a curve sharp enough to fling
the paint off her car, and by the time I caught my breath she had
shot down a side road at the edge of town that I’d never noticed
before. I’ve lived in Rebel Forge nearly all my life, and I’d
always assumed the graveled path was a driveway to the house facing
the road. Instead of pulling into the Jackson place though, we
followed it on through the woods until we came to an ancient
Victorian home, replete with fancy shingle siding, gingerbread trim
adorning the porch and a pastel palette that belonged on a greeting
card.

“
This place is for rent?” I
asked, knowing full well I couldn’t afford to live there on my
modest income.

“
Not the entire house,
Jennifer,” she said. “However, there is a free room upstairs that
would be perfect for you.”

“
If it’s free, then I guess
I’m willing to look at it,” I said. “That’s about all I can
afford.”

“
You know perfectly well I
meant it was available, not without cost.” She bit her lower lip,
then said, “It is reasonable, though, less than you’re paying now,
I’ll wager.”

“
I’ll take that bet,” I
said. One of the few advantages of my current apartment was that
the rent was within my means, though just barely.

Lillian parked, then I followed her as she
walked to the front door with a purposeful stride. I was expecting
her to knock, but she strolled right in like she owned the papers
to the place. There wasn’t much for me to do but follow. The foyer
had been divided into a vestibule with two doors that were
obviously later additions. “Which one are we going to look at?”

“
Neither one of these,”
Lillian said as she pointed to a narrow staircase in back that I’d
missed at first. “We’re going up.”

I eyed the tight passage suspiciously. “I’m
not sure I’ll fit, let alone the cat carriers.”

“
Jennifer, can you really
choose to be that particular, given your budget?”

“
Okay, fine, I’ll look at
it,” I said, doubtful it would suit even my meager
needs.

The stairs went on and on, but we finally
made it to the top. There was a narrow door there, perched on a
landing barely big enough for the two of us.

I was getting claustrophobic without even
going inside. “What is it, the attic?”

“
Certainly it was at one
time, but it’s a perfectly delightful space now.” Lillian reached
under the rug and pulled out a key. As she slid it in the lock, I
said,

“
I just love these modern
security features, don’t you?”

Lillian ignored my comment as she unlocked
the door and flung it open. I moved past her as we stepped inside,
finally having enough room to stand without her imprinting her
elbow into my side.

I thought I’d hate it. In fact, I was
already planning a few choice words that involved chasing wild
geese and hunting snipes.

Then I looked around. It was nothing short
of charming. While it had been an ordinary attic in another
incarnation, it was now the perfect studio apartment. The bead
board walls enchanted me, painted a pastel green that reminded me
of springtime. Light bounced around the room, filtering in from
large windows on either end while two dormers also served to
illuminate the place, making it bright and airy, nothing like what
I’d expected when I’d realized it was a converted attic space. It
was fully furnished with antiques built in the Shaker style, and
while some folks would find the clean design rather plain, I adored
it. A handcrafted quilt covered the queen-sized bed, and a faded
Oriental rug adorned much of the open floor, leaving just enough of
the honey-toned heartwood pine beneath it to make me want to roll
back the rug.

“
I don’t have to share a
bathroom with anyone, do I?” I asked, searching for any flaw I
could find.

“
No, the middle dormer has
been outfitted as one. Granted, it’s not all that large, but you
live alone. There should be plenty of room for you and your cats
here.”