Designed to Death Read online

  Praise for the Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery Series

  DESIGNED TO DEATH

  “Battling scrapbook divas, secrets, jealousy, murder, and lots of glitter all make Designed to Death a charming and heartfelt mystery.”

  –Ellen Byerrum,

  Author of the Crime of Fashion Mysteries

  “Read this fun book and you will never think of Washi tape in in quite the same way again, I promise. Christina Freeburn’s second installment in her scrapbooking mystery series is full of small-town intrigue, twists and turns, and plenty of heart.”

  – Mollie Cox Bryan,

  Agatha Award Finalist, Scrapbook of Secrets

  “This is a fun series with very likable characters you will want to visit with again and again with every new book. Even if you are not a fan of scrapping (and I’m not – it’s about the only craft I never got into) you will enjoy the series as it is not heavy with information about the hobby – as some hobby series can be. And if you are into the hobby, there are hints at the back of the book.”

  – Kate Shannon,

  Rantin’ Ravin’ and Reading

  CROPPED TO DEATH

  “Christina’s characters shine, her knowledge of scrapbooking is spot on, and she weaves a mystery that simply cries out to be read in one delicious sitting!”

  — Pam Hanson,

  Multi-Published Women’s Fiction Author “This was a great read that had me reading non-stop from the moment I turned the first page. The author did a good job in keeping me in suspense with plenty of twists and turns and every time I thought I had it figured out, the author changed the direction in which the story was headed...The writing flowed easily and I liked the cast of characters in this charming whodunit!”

  – Dru Ann Love,

  Dru’s Book Musings

  “Witty, entertaining and fun with a side of murder…When murder hits Eden, West Virginia, Faith Hunter will stop at nothing to clear the name of her employee who has been accused of murder. Will she find the real killer before it is too late? Read this sensational read to find out!”

  –Shelley Giusti,

  Shelley’s Book Case

  “A cozy mystery that exceeds expectations….Freeburn has crafted a mystery that does not feel clichéd or cookie-cutter….it’s her sense of humor that shows up in the book, helping the story flow, making the characters real and keeping the reader interested.…And she promises more Faith Hunter books—I hope she writes fast!”

  — Cynthia McCloud,

  Scrapbooking is Heart Work Blog

  Books in the Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery Series

  by Christina Freeburn

  CROPPED TO DEATH (#1)

  DESIGNED TO DEATH (#2)

  EMBELLISHED TO DEATH (#3)

  (coming April 2014)

  Praise for the Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery Series

  Books in the Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery Series

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Faith’s Scrapbooking Tips

  About Christina Freeburn

  Henery Press Mystery Books

  DESIGNED TO DEATH

  A Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection

  First Edition

  Kindle edition | September 2013

  Henery Press

  www.henerypress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Copyright © 2013 by Christina Freeburn Cover art by Fayette Terlouw Author photograph by Megan Freeburn

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-938383-55-7

  Printed in the United States of America

  To my motherin-law, Cathy, who always believes

  the books I write should be on the bestseller lists.

  Having your support and encouragement

  means the world to me.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A big thank you to the people of West Virginia who’ve done what they could to help this become home. We moved here ten years ago and one of the first things I did when moving to WV was find a new CM consultant. I knew if I wanted to meet some new friends, I needed to find a crop to attend and finding a consultant was the first step.

  The next thing was looking for a writing group and/or organization. The internet is a wonderful tool as I stumbled across West Virginia Writers, Inc. Not only did I discover I could do things I didn’t think I had the knack for (accounting) but I also “found” kindred spirits and “my sister”.

  I also want to mention that while scrapbook message boards can be filled with drama and angst, these boards also build long-lasting friendship and allow a part of “home” to travel with you.

  A big thanks to all of those who participate on scrapbooking message boards...large and small...who not only share their life, projects, and musings but take time to share in the lives of others and offer words of encouragement and a hand of friendship when needed most.

  ONE

  I plucked a copy of the special issue of Making Legacies magazine from the stack on the cropping-turned-signing table. Introducing the New Divas was emblazed across the front in a bold, bubblegum pink font. The heavier cardboard style cover of the issue kept the magazine firm as it rested on my palm. I ran my hand over the slick surface and hoped having an official Life Artist Diva in residence would help bring fans to our store in Eden, West Virginia.

  A basket of black cats, witches, and ghouls of various sizes and levels of scary was shoved behind the table into the corner. I had spent the morning taking down all of the Halloween decorations from the walls and doors, rearranging products so the focus of the store was no longer Halloween, which was two weeks away, and instead had a general scrapbooking theme. We changed the decor so it didn’t compete with Belinda Watson’s signing...as requested by her mother, Hazel.

  Tonight, I’d have to put all our decorations back up and shuffle the inventory again. If we didn’t get the new Halloween lines sold in the next few weeks, we’d end up discounting them when Christmas came. We couldn’t keep money tied up in old inventory. Customers expected the latest and greatest at all times and seeing “stale” merchandise would have them turning to online sites for their scrapbook shopping needs.

  “Pick up the pace, Faith.” Grandma Hope scooted behind me and placed an array of acid-free markers on the table. “Restlessness is settling in.”

  The women with tickets for the class, and those who had pre-purchased books, waited in the store while the rest of the customers snaked down the sidewalk in front of Scrap This, stomping their feet and huddling together to ward off the chill. The line extended from our store all the way past Ho
me Brewed.

  I watched Dianne and an employee of hers walk down the line to take orders. Grandma Cheryl hustled outside with a calculator and her credit card ready iPhone to ring up purchases for the special issue of Making Legacies.

  “Isn’t this thrilling?” A woman sidled up to me.

  “Absolutely. I can’t wait for Belinda to start teaching.”

  Leslie Amtower’s, editor-in-chief of Making Legacies, blue eyes shined as she gazed at the women clamoring for her magazine. She looked every inch the part of a creative vision. She wore a nicely tailored suit in grays and creams, the current color trend, and her long blonde hair was arranged on top of her head in artistic curling tendrils. A gray and cream scarf, shot through with a bold pink fuzzy fiber, completed the outfit.

  “Am I mistaken...” Leslie pointed toward the cash register, her pink-tinted lips twisting unattractively, “or isn’t that the murderer?”

  No sound could be heard but the whoosh of all the women’s necks rotating from Leslie, to Marilyn Kane, and back to me. Not this. We had finally shaken off, or at least I thought, the store’s recent scandalous past and now Leslie lobbed it at us.

  Marilyn froze with a finger above the total key.

  I dropped a stack of books onto the table and reminded myself I didn’t use the particular words bouncing around in my head. At least not out loud, and in front of my grandmothers. “No. Her husband was a murder victim.”

  Leslie flipped the ends of her scarf over her shoulder. “I could’ve sworn I saw her picture in the paper.”

  “Being suspected of something doesn’t make a person guilty,” I said. “The police found the real murderer.” With my help. I kept that tidbit to myself, not just from not wanting to seem like a braggart, but to keep Leslie from remembering my picture had been in the paper for the same crime but for aiding and abetting the accused. I called it reluctant amateur sleuthing.

  Scrap This had gained some notoriety because of the murder. I had hoped having a Diva in our midst would get our reputation back to revolving around scrapbooking.

  A woman in line used her cell to snap a picture of Marilyn Kane. “Can I get one of us together?”

  “Today’s focus should be on Belinda. Not your employee.” Leslie crossed her arms and glared at Marilyn.

  I remembered my manners, refraining from pointing out she was the one who brought it to the customers’ attention.

  Marilyn yanked her purse from under the counter.

  “Trust me, Marilyn doesn’t want any of this attention,” I said.

  Grandma Hope raced over to the register. I hoped she planned on smacking the “paparazzi” lady, and convinced Marilyn to stay. We needed all employees on deck today. We didn’t need shoppers to decide to look here then buy online because of long lines.

  “Just make sure Belinda is the focus of this day.” Leslie glided into the crowd, soaking up the hero worship bestowed on her by the croppers who recognized her from the picture included on the “Letter from the Editor” page.

  Women squealed and reached out to stroke their fingertips on the scarf floating behind her, as if one touch transferred the “greatness” from her to them.

  A camera flash went off. I turned around and saw reporter extraordinaire Karen England, looking very bored, standing in a corner while a man snapped shots with a Nikon D800.

  My heart pitter-pattered and I felt a swoon coming on. I was in love. One day I hoped to afford the “love of my life.” Until then, I’d covet from afar. The ruggedly attractive photographer in his forties saw me looking at him and brought the camera down, a mix of confusion and concern flashed on his face.

  I pointed at the camera, then placed my hand over my heart.

  He grinned and raised the camera up like a mock salute.

  He understood the love affair I wished to have with his camera.

  Karen narrow-eyed me and jabbed her elbow into his side. The photographer got back to work.

  “I’ll finish up here.” Grandma Hope shooed me toward the classroom tables. “You go make sure everything is ready for the class.”

  “I’m on it.” I scurried the few feet from the signing area to the class area.

  I morphed into my role of special events coordinator. Who would’ve thought Belinda Watson, local Edenite would become a L.A.D.—a Life Artist Diva—on her first try. Scrapbook designers from all over considered being named a L.A.D. as “the shining moment” and first step of launching a design career. Belinda had never shown an interest in it, though her cousin Darlene had.

  I shuddered. I hoped I didn’t just Beetlejuice the woman by thinking her name. Darlene had been scary quiet the last few months since Belinda’s name was announced. You would’ve thought she’d exhibit a little happiness for her cousin. Then again, she was Darlene so not much of a surprise.

  I counted the chairs, then the class kits. I double checked my list. One cancellation. Not a problem. It would be snapped up once I made it known.

  Someone cleared their throat.

  I carefully flipped through the magazine, trying to find the page which showcased the layout using the technique Belinda planned on teaching today. It wasn’t every day when a teacher requested we order pounds of glitter, pink boas, nails, hot glue sticks, cardboard, and hammers.

  The person repeated the grating noise.

  Holding in a sigh, I closed the magazine and looked toward the sound.

  Annette Holland stood in front of me, a sheet of paper clutched in one hand. The other hand patted the back of her infant son who was attached to her front with a backpack style holder. The strap of a green fabric tote with Eden County Library screen printed on it slipped from her shoulder and now hung from the crock of her elbow.

  Some customers shot an irritated glance her way. If there was one thing mothers didn’t like it was for other mothers to bring their children to an event when they found a sitter for theirs.

  “Going to start scrapbooking?” I smiled at Annette.

  The paper trembled in her hand. This wasn’t the strong, confident young lady I met a few months back. Then again, her life had changed drastically since she had an affair with Marilyn’s husband Michael. She’d been a suspect in his murder, the grieving girlfriend, the town’s black sheep, and now a single mother trying to raise her child on her own.

  “You aren’t letting children in the class, are you?” A customer glared at me from her place in line.

  Behind Annette, Sierra clutched a stack of promotional flyers and leveled a hard stare at me. She switched her gaze to Annette and shook her head.

  My co-worker and friend Sierra, or former friend if you asked her, glared at me. Sierra wanted the mom and baby gone before a mutiny happened. I felt myself digging in my proverbial heels. I had no intention of letting Annette into the class, but I couldn’t remember if I specifically stated no children.

  Sierra tucked the flyers under one arm then scribbled in the class book. “I’ve been dying to take this class. I hope it’s okay I’m signing up. I didn’t want to do it early as I figured we should give our customers a chance first. Unless you have a problem...”

  I heard the sighs of relief from the customers who waited for the arrival of the diva. The book signing was scheduled first but the class attendees had arrived also, each hoping to get one of the three coveted chairs in the front row.

  Annette thrust the paper at me. “Could I sign up for this?”

  It was a print out of our Halloween crop. I checked out the last lines. Relief swept through me. I did mention no children at the crop. At least I wouldn’t have to wage that battle after the fact.

  “Sure.”

  Annette pointed at the salutation and then a section in the middle of the email. “I wasn’t sure because of this and this.”

  I read the email I thought I knew by heart.

  Hello wonderful croppers! Get those calendars out and mark this date! As a thank you to our wonderful customers, we’re having an Eve Before Halloween Crop. This is a free crop
for all of you! So get those sitters lined up or have those hubbies at home and come join us for an evening of cropping, snacks and special scrapping treats (no tricks, we promise).

  From your friendly Scrap This employees and owners!

  I cringed. Wow, a little exclamation point happy. Besides that, I didn’t see any problems.

  “I’m not a wonderful cropper, nor have I shopped here.” The baby fussed. Annette bounced up and down. “So, I wasn’t sure if you meant me. I figured you must or you wouldn’t have sent me the email...”

  Here I thought I did a good job in conveying our message. I spent two hours composing it. Just what I needed in my life...an email analyzer.

  “If you received the email, you’re invited.” I handed the printout back.

  “Oliver said the invitation was specific.” Annette tried hoisting the library bag back up her arm.

  I lifted the strap and placed it on her shoulder, spotting a book about beginning scrapbooking. We needed a less nosy librarian. “Oliver didn’t write the email, so what does he know.”

  “He knows that invitations specifically worded are meant for the ones invited not just anyone.” Oliver White’s know-it-all voice broke into the conversation.

  I wanted to smack the guy. The county hired Oliver White as the new library director a few months ago. He was the straight out of college nephew of the retiring library director, and seemed to be following in his aunt’s footsteps of becoming the town’s Miss Manners. Originally, he had wanted to be a police officer. Some medical issues made it hard for him to pass the physical so he turned his interest in policing onto a different path.

  “You’re invited, Annette. I can’t wait to see pictures of your little cutie. If you need help with your layouts, pick a spot by Gussie. She doesn’t do much scrapbooking but loves baby pictures.”