A Flicker of Doubt - Tim Myers [77]
INVITATION TO MURDER
By Tim Myers
writing as Elizabeth Bright
Chapter 1
“You’ve got to tell her I won’t stop it! She’ll believe you. Please, you’re the only one who can save me.”
I frowned at the telephone, wondering if someone was having some fun at my expense. “Who is this?”
“Don’t you know? Donna, you’re my last chance. She’s going to kill me if you don’t tell her the truth.”
“I’m sorry, but my name’s not Donna. I’m Jennifer.”
“Oh, no, she’s here.” There were a few choked sobs, and then she added in a whisper, “It’s too late for me, isn’t it?”
Just before the line went dead, I heard a scream that will haunt me till the day I die.
Earlier that Tuesday morning I’d been wondering if going into business for myself had been such a great idea after all. My name’s Jennifer Shane, and I own and operate Custom Card Creations, my very own handcrafted-card shop. My specialized store was recently born from the need to get out on my own and away from my big sister Sara Lynn’s scrapbooking store—aptly named Forever Memories—a place where I had worked after leaving my corporate sales ob peddling pet food all over the Southeast As much as I loved being around my sister, I knew I had to do something on my own when I’d tried to convince her that a handcrafted greeting card corner was a natural
sideline for her business. Sara Lynn hadn’t been interested. Not because it wasn’t a good idea, mind you, but because her baby sister had come up with it and Sara Lynn hadn’t thought of it herself first. So I took J a deep breath, withdrew every dime of my savings and ; my inheritance from the bank and opened my shop on the opposite end of Oakmont Avenue. We were ‘ bookends on the town’s main road where tourists ; browsed when they came to Rebel Forge, Virginia. I Whether in the area for skiing in the winter or boating in the summer, there was a steady stream of shoppers most of the year. Scattered between our shops were I old and charming buildings filled with crafters, antique « dealers, an art gallery, a potter and a dozen other eclectic businesses that somehow felt just right to me. . The first real chance I had to make a sale for my ‘ shop was one I nearly turned down. I wasn’t particularly interested in doing wedding invitations; that I wasn’t why I’d opened my handcrafted-card store, but . | the check Mrs. Albright waved under my nose convinced me otherwise. I
She’d walked into my shop earlier that morning I with her nose in the air and a look of complete and I utter disdain plastered on her sharp ferret features. I | couldn’t see why her reaction had been so negative. The shop was in a quaint little tumbled-brick building with scarred hardwood floors and exposed oak beams in the ceiling. It had formerly housed a handbag boutique, but I hoped I had better luck than the last ten- { ant. The poor woman had gone bankrupt, but before , the bank could foreclose, she’d driven her car off the dam into Rebel Lake.
“I’d like to speak with the owner,” my visitor said in a voice that dared me to comply. She had probably once been lovely, but the years hadn’t been kind to her. Without even knowing her, I was certain that she was in a constant battle to lose that last thirty pounds—a battle I was pretty sure she was never going to win.
“You are,” I said, offering my brightest smile. “How may I help you?” I gestured to the specialty areas I’d taken great pains to set up before I’d opened the shop for business. “I have handcrafted cards and stationery for sale up front, and if you’re interested, I offer everything you need to make your own cards, as well. I have specialty scissors, rubber stamps, cutouts, stickers, stencils, pressed flowers and a dozen other different ways to enhance the cards you make. I offer a variety of paper and envelopes in several textures, thicknesses and colors, and if you want something totally unique, I can design and fabricate a custom batch of paper just for you. I’ve even got a computer, if you’d like to design something yourself that way. Oh, and I offer classes in card making in the evenings,