Murder of a Small-Town Honey—August 2000
Murder of a Sweet Old Lady—March 2001
Murder of a Sleeping Beauty—April 2002
Murder of a Snake in the Grass—August 2002
Murder of a Barbie and Ken—November 2002
Murder of a Pink Elephant—February 2003
Murder of a Smart Cookie—June 2003
Murder of a Real Bad Boy—September 2003
Murder of a Botoxed Blonde—November 2003
Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry—April 2004
Murder of a Royal Pain—October 2004
Murder of a Wedding Belle—June 2005
Murder of a Bookstore Babe—September 2005
The Scumble River short story and novella take place:
“Not a Monster of a Chance” from And the Dying Is Easy—June 2001
“Dead Blondes Tell No Tales” from Drop-Dead Blonde—March 2003
Scumble River is not a real town. The characters and events portrayed in these pages are entirely fictional, and any resemblance to living persons is pure coincidence.
CHAPTER 1
For Whom the Bell Tolls
When Skye Denison saw an ad in the local newspaper announcing Tales and Treats’ grand opening that weekend, she was thrilled. For a voracious reader like Skye, the luxury of having shelves and shelves of new, used, and rare books for sale just five minutes from home was nirvana. And the promise of specialty coffees, gourmet teas, and yummy pastries just added to her elation.
What she didn’t realize was that the store had already managed to ruffle the fur of several of Scumble River’s most vocal citizens. She should have known there’d be some kind of fuss about any new business that set up shop in her prickly hometown.
Like cats, the inhabitants of the small tight-knit community weren’t partial to change, and they often showed their displeasure in spiteful and destructive ways. While the old-timers probably wouldn’t pee in the interlopers’ shoes, they might very well produce some obscure law that made their kind of footwear taboo.
Skye got her first inkling of the unrest on Friday afternoon in the high school’s break room. Normally she didn’t frequent the lounge because the main form of entertainment there was gossip. The confidential nature of her job as the school psychologist meant she couldn’t contribute, and this seriously ticked off many of the teachers. To forestall the problem, Skye usually ate at her desk.
Today, however, was different. Today, there was cake. And not just any kind of cake. It was Skye’s favorite: chocolate with vanilla buttercream icing. What a shame that it was Pru Cormorant’s birthday cake, and that Pru was the person Skye liked least of all her colleagues.
Still, Skye refused to let that deter her. When her conscience insisted it was wrong to eat cake honoring someone she detested, and who detested her, she promised the annoying little voice a pink-frosting rose to shut up. Once she had quieted that troublemaker, Skye continued on her quest for the delectable confection.
Since the lounge was crowded during the two lunch periods, and she didn’t want to get in the way of the staff—who had only twenty minutes to wolf down their food—Skye waited until they had finished and were back in class before making her move. Her plan was to zip in, grab a piece of cake, and savor it back in her office while she started on all the special-education paperwork connected with the beginning of the school year.
Slipping through the doorway, Skye scanned the room, then darted forward. There it was, in the exact middle of the three metal tables that ran end to end down the center of the room. Intent on the double-layered hunk of ecstasy, half of which was already gone, she pushed aside one of the orange molded-plastic chairs that lined both sides of the tables and reached for the knife lying on the crumb-filled serving platter.
Just as her fingers closed around the handle, an ominous voice, the last in the universe she wanted to hear, said, “Having a late lunch?”
Skye whirled around. Pru Cormorant sat on the sofa, her arms along the back and a derisive look on her face. How could Skye have missed seeing her there? She didn’t exactly blend into the surroundings. Pru’s stick-like limbs stuck out at awkward angles from her egg-shaped body, and her too-small head appeared in danger of tumbling off her neck if she made any sudden moves.
“It’s not late for me.” Reluctantly putting down the knife, Skye felt a guilty flush creeping up her neck. “I often see kids during the regular lunch hours.” Not that she had today, but Pru didn’t need to know that.
The English teacher trailed a finger along the top of the couch, which was covered in a prickly plaid fabric that Skye suspected could withstand a direct nuclear hit. “We don’t see you in here very often.”
“No.” Skye pasted a fake smile on her face. “I guess not.”
“Then you must have stopped by especially to wish me a happy birthday. How sweet of you.” Pru gave a malicious little laugh. “I’m sure it wasn’t just for the cake.” She lasered a look at the two-carat diamond on Skye’s left hand. “Particularly since you’re almost certainly on a diet for your wedding.”
Skye’s engagement to Wally Boyd, the Scumble River police chief, had been the talk of the town since June, when she had accepted his proposal and begun wearing his ring. That her ex-boyfriend, Simon Reid, was doing everything in his power to change her mind about marrying the chief wasn’t helping to quell the chatter.
Simon’s plea last week had been delivered in the middle of the school parking lot by a white knight on horseback, which had really stirred up the rumor mill. Skye had always liked her ex’s quirky sense of humor, but she was starting to rethink that opinion. Especially since he had promised that next time he would send a fire-breathing-dragon-gram.
“I couldn’t let such a big day go by without wishing you the best,” Skye managed to say with false sincerity before putting her hands on her hips and staring at Pru. “But why would I be on a diet?”
Skye was well aware that ever since she’d decided she wasn’t willing to eat fewer than eight hundred calories a day in order to stay a size six, a lot of people thought she was too fat. But she didn’t allow veiled insults to go unchallenged. If someone had something to say about her weight, let them come right out and say it.
“It’s just that most brides-to-be want to look extra-good for their wedding pictures,” Pru said, then ruined it by adding, “And you have such a pretty face.”
“For someone who needs to lose a few pounds?” Skye wasn’t about to let the older woman off the hook that easily.
“Of course not.” Pru’s tone was completely insincere as she added, “I’m sorry if you took what I said the wrong way. I certainly never meant to offend you.”