Announcing Book #2 in the series!
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Print $16.99 (March 1, 2019)
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A Dead Reporter Found In A
Foyer. Can Ivy Solve This Mystery Before Her Wedding Day
Ivy Preston has waited a long time to get married. This time she plans to do more than make it to the altar. But when Ivy tries to do a good deed and stumbles over a body, she and her former fiancé, Stanley, are accused of the crime. Ivy hopes she's not the only one who believes in their innocence.
Worse than being framed for murder, when one of her beloved kittens falls ill, Ivy must face her greatest fears. How will she ever parent a child if she can't even take care of a cat. . .and for that matter, how will she be the type of wife her devoted fiancé needs?
Through the love and support of her mom, fiancé, and friends, Ivy is determined to clear Stanley's good name, and her own. With nuptials looming, Ivy hopes not only to find a killer, but to make it to her own wedding.
“This is Ivanna in
the morning,” the throaty voice from my car radio chanted. “Ready to sign off.
Remember, North Star Candies…the way to enjoy the day. Who doesn’t adore North
Star mocha fudge? Treats so light they’ll take you beyond the moon!”
“Hmm, North Star
might have been the best around here,” I told my car radio. “Before
Featherlight Confectioneries made caramel cashew with sea salt.” I pulled into
my driveway, the cool sunny breeze whipping my hair when I opened the car door.
Yippee! Not only was March arriving like a lamb, I had presents. My mail
carrier Janie knew I’d stop in at home at lunchtime to check on the kittens, so
she’d left the beautiful box from Emblem Paper Works on my front stoop next to
my still tightly budded tulips. Sigh.
I put my hand over
my fluttering heart and drooled once again over the wonderful, fabulous hunk of
man who was going to marry me. The box of wedding invitations sitting there
pushed me one step closer to the altar, which I vowed I was actually going to
make stick this time. When I could touch the scrumptious, thick, silky paper
and read the words, I was sure the wedding would finally feel real, and
everything would be perfect this time. Adam Truegood Thompson, the man who
loved cats and children, fed me gourmet coffee and chocolate, would take me,
Ivy Amanda Preston, as his lawfully wedded wife. Mmhmm.
OK, quit dawdling,
grab the box of invites, which technically wasn’t a present since I paid for
them, and check on the man’s kittens which were currently in residence at my
house so their father wouldn’t be tempted to harm a hair on their little heads.
Sadly, the darling fluffballs broke the line of pure-bred Egyptian Mau cats
when my silver, Memnet, got to, um, know his cat Isis, a smoke, a little better
than we’d anticipated last fall. Mem and Adam were currently batching it at his
place downtown.
I called “kitty,
kitty,” as I dumped the box on my kitchen table, even though Isis always gave
me the eye, like what was this crazy woman doing? when I tried to get her to
come. She would appear when she needed me. Which was rarely. The four kittens,
on the other hand, bumbled over. I squatted to play with them.
The invitations
called to me during the time I created a peanut butter and rhubarb jam sandwich
and ate. I studied the siren carton while I jingled my car keys and dithered
whether to open it now or wait for Adam so we could look at them together.
Guess which side
won?
I used the
handy-dandy key I happened to be holding to slice through the packing tape.
Uh-oh, that color blue edging wasn’t what I remembered in my order. Flutter
went thunk in my chest. I reached with a quivering hand and matching lip to
lift out the sample invitation left open on top of the neatly sealed packages.
“You are cordially
invited to attend the nuptials of Miss Ivanna Lynn Pressman and Mr. Jason
Albert Carter…”
Oh, no.
I double-checked the
address on the box. Yup, my name, Ivy Preston, and my address, 312 Marigold
Street, Apple Grove, Illinois.
I picked up the
sealed package of invitations and turned it over. From the outside they looked
the same as the open one. I guessed our names were close enough to confuse, but
I still felt wounded and anonymous. Ivanna, hmm? Exotic, nothing like me. It
couldn’t be…seriously? Ivanna from the radio show? I looked again at the
invitation. Their wedding was the weekend before mine. Ours. At Ethereal Events,
the same venue Adam and I had booked for the last Sunday in June. I know, a
Sunday, but it was the closest we could get to the end of May, Mother’s
preferred date.
Fortunately, the
invoice had Ivanna’s correct address—on the south edge of Apple Grove—and I
thought I’d do the neighborly thing and take them over to her after work rather
than waste time sending them back through the mail. Besides, ouch, those things
were expensive enough already. I grabbed some tape from the drawer and quickly
slapped it across my key slash, called “farewell and behave” to the cats and
rushed back out the door.
As I started my
car’s engine, I reached for the radio button, ready to catch a little of the
afternoon show on WWAG, Apple’s Grove’s little radio station. Ivanna could be
home when I went there. Hmm…I might get to meet a celebrity. Anticipation would
make the afternoon wing by.
I drove the few
blocks downtown to Mea Cuppa, the coffee and book store Adam owned and at which
I now helped. The Apple Grove store was one of a small chain based in Chicago.
Pushing the back door open, I called, “Martha, I’m back,” to our shop assistant
and my neighbor who worked three days a week. “Anything exciting happen?”
She was a bouncy mom
of twin kindergarteners who was overjoyed to let her mother and her husband’s
parents share grandparent duties while she earned some needed money.
“When does anything
exciting happen around here?” she said with a little toss of her reddish-blond
hair nicely shaped to her head. I envied anyone who had such control of her
hair. Mine tended toward the wild musk ox side. “Just that new order from the
book distributor. I had them set it by the office door.”
“Thanks! I had a
special delivery at home, too.”
“Do tell!” She
rubbed her hands together.
“Of course! Be right
back.” I went to put my purse away in my office desk and returned to the wide
open, high-ceilinged room with narrow creaky wooden floorboards to help her
prep for the afternoon coffee rush. Today’s coffee special was mocha mint, and
of course I needed to sample some so I could eagerly explain its engaging
qualities to our clientele. The hot mugful went down smoothly and I regretfully
decided against seconds. I told Martha about the invitations instead, to keep
my mouth too busy to stuff in more calories. “So, if that’s OK with your
schedule, I want to take off fifteen minutes early so I can still meet Adam at
Tiny’s for a quick supper after I drop off the box at Ivanna’s house. Can you
lock up?”
“Sure, boss.” Martha
grinned and popped a square of chocolate fudge from Featherlight
Confectionaries in her mouth. “I’ll just ask Mom if she can get supper ready.”
I ordered myself to
stop mentally drooling over fudge and a mom who would cook dinner at the drop
of a hat and think of my upcoming wedding dress fitting. “I can’t imagine what
it would be like, having parents so close.”
The bell on the door
played, “Oh what a beautiful morning, Oh what a beautiful day,” as customers
entered. Much as I wished my mom lived physically closer, having a two-hour warning,
the drive from Maplewood where I’d grown up in northern Illinois south to Apple
Grove, was a relief before her tornadic visits. Adam’s father had passed away
years ago and his mother had Alzheimer’s. Sad.
At five forty-five,
Colleen Bailey, our after-school helper, and Martha were ably handling
customers so I breezed back into the late afternoon light. Sunset was five
minutes away and would be romantic by the time Adam and I held hands at the
buffet for our too-brief connection of the day. He had an evening meeting—when
didn’t he?—with some committee or other of the city council. Part time mayor
was really time and a half, but he was happy and I was proud of him.
I needed sunglasses
for the drive west and south, the approximate direction of Ivanna’s neighborhood.
New townhouses clashed with the gentility of Apple Grove’s historic center.
Progress, though, trumped desperate clinging to the past, something Adam was
attempting to work on by bringing new businesses and life to our little adopted
city.
There it
was—Ivanna’s address, the right hand of a two-story dark-sided and
narrow-windowed building. I supposed it was modern classic, but I frowned at
its bleakness. The tree in the front yard was spindly, with its “I’m new and
insured the first year” store tag fluttering in the breeze. I knocked and rang
the bell before depositing the box on the rubber welcome mat. Weatherman Bob at
WWAG reported possible showers in the early morning hours, so I hesitated
leaving it exposed. As I reached to test the knob, I noticed the interior door
was ajar. Maybe I should push it open and shove the box inside. I didn’t even
have to set foot in the entry.
With a peek up and
down the street, deserted for the dinner hour, I gingerly eased the glass storm
door toward me, then tentatively pushed the black-painted interior door inward.
Not even a squeak added to the spooky tension. I grinned. I’d been reading way
too many mysteries and detective dramas lately. “Hello! Just dropping this
off!” I called as I slid the box forward, though I was certain no one was home.
Except the
outstretched fingers on the floor I happened to see looked too real to spring
from an overactive imagination.
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