Dead Man's Carve (A Tickled to Death Mystery Book 1) Read online

  Dead Man’s Carve

  A

  Tickled to Death

  Mystery

  Kym Roberts

  COPYRIGHT 2014 Kym Roberts

  Published by: Kym Roberts

  ISBN

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Acknowledgements

  Cover Art

  Susan Coils of Custom Covers

  www.coverkicks.com

  Editing

  Pam Dougherty

  www.thewriteactor.com/

  Formatting

  Top-ePublishing Services

  In memory of Bob, my father and master carver,

  at least in my book.

  SPECIAL THANKS

  There are so many people who took part in the creation of this book, The Lit Girls: Jessica Davidson, Mary Duncanson, Kimberly Quinton and her lovely husband for his expertise, Misa Ramirez, Rebekah Reed, Beatriz Terrazas, and Tracy Ward who have helped me in countless ways and especially Marty Tidwell and Wendy Watson for introducing me to our wonderful agent Kim.

  To the women of Chick Swagger who walked with me on this journey of self-publishing, to Jerrie Alexander who made this book possible, and to all the members of NTRWA for your continued support, to Book Partners in Crime Promotions who donated their time, and all the women of Kym’s Crew a warm hug and Thank You!

  And to my family and friends who support me day in and day out, through long hours, fast food and missed events—you made my dreams possible. I love you.

  Chapter One

  He was perfect. Blessed with classic good looks. Tall, dark and handsome with a strong build and an angular cut accentuating his masculine jaw. Everything a woman could want in a midnight-black tux. Everything his blond, elegant bride needed standing next to her. I couldn’t resist running my fingers down his arm one last time, reveling in its muscular contours. His bride glowed with love, and the sparkle of anticipation in his eyes had nothing to do with my caress.

  Letting go sucked — because he was my first. The first man to make me study the male anatomy like never before. I knew every muscle. Every dimple. Every flaw on his body. And I loved running my hands across every inch of him.

  But I had to let go.

  The larger than normal commission I was making had to be enough. I took one last look at the object of my obsession. He was about to take his place with his bride — on top of a wedding cake. Carved out of northern basswood, he was my best work ever, the better half of a couple that now belonged to my customer, the real groom who stood at the counter in front of me.

  “Missy is going to love these.” He beamed, his brown eyes twinkling with happiness, and I knew I’d somehow captured the essence of the man behind the good looks.

  Pride seeped into my voice as I began packing the wooden sculptures. “I’m glad you like them, Ryan. I wasn’t sure how they’d turn out. They’re my first bride and groom.”

  “So they’re virgins on their wedding night?”

  A cocky brow lifted on the sandy blond standing next to my customer. He was the typical beach bum, if a beach bum wore the latest Polo fashion trend.

  “Steve.” Ryan glared at his best man and gave him a perfectly placed elbow to his gut, before turning back to me. “They’re just what we need for an outdoor wedding on Mount Hood. Missy is going to die when she sees them on the cake.”

  “She doesn’t know about them?” Suddenly unsure of my work, I could imagine the shock a carved piece of wood might cause a bride on her wedding day. Especially on her cake. My sculptures were somewhere between folk art and knick-knack dust collectors. The country club crowd might find them less than classy. Fear of the effect they’d have on Ryan’s bride-to-be made me break out in a sweat.

  What if she became one of those dreaded bridezillas, because of me?

  “Don’t worry,” the groom soothed, “Missy will love them.” He must have seen the concern on my face, or maybe he’d heard similar bouts of skepticism from his best man, who probably thought my work would make great kindling in a fireplace — while he got lucky on the floor in front of it. Whatever the cause, Ryan seemed compelled to explain his bride. “Her parents were avid environmentalists. They had a log cabin in the woods on Mount Hood, but they died a few years back in a fire.”

  Thlump.

  Good God, my stomach fell to my knees, threatening to knock me off my feet. Ryan’s voice became muffled through my wall of grief. Only one couple had died in a fire on Mount Hood in the last decade. And their deaths had changed ... everything. My husband had gone after them. Tried to save them ... but failed. Could fate bring me face-to-face with their family?

  No. It wouldn’t, couldn’t be that cruel.

  “…Missy and her mom always wanted to plan an outdoor wedding. So when Missy asked me to handle the cake, I knew your work would be perfect.”

  I forced myself back to the present, and suddenly I envied Ryan’s bride. She was getting a man who wasn’t afraid to step up and help with the wedding. Even my Jacob hadn’t been that good.

  Rubbing his ribs, the best man butted in once again, saving me from my thoughts. “We’ve got more important plans to make, like the bachelor party!” Steve’s hip thrusts defined the type of celebration he had in mind. And explained why he reminded me of a beach bum. His fashion sense and behavior clashed like the odd couple.

  Ryan glared at the clueless playboy, his eyes trying to signal my presence as they shot back and forth.

  “What?” Stopping mid-thrust, Steve stared blankly at Ryan.

  Laughing to ease the tension, I hoped my voice didn’t sound completely false as I interjected, “It’s fine. Really.”

  “I suppose you’ve seen it all, what with Woody’s next door.” Ryan’s cheeks actually pinkened at the mention of the gentleman’s club located on the other side of my parking lot. Once again, I appreciated the character of the man in front of me.

  Woody’s sported neon boobs between the letters W and D. The business tended to either entice people or piss them off. For me, they existed. Nothing more. For guys like Steve, the sign was better than the pearly gates.

  “Woody’s has definitely added a certain flavor to Tickle Creek,” I confessed. In the last two years our little town had gone from a quaint, crafty, bed and breakfast village at the base of Mount Hood, Oregon, to a bawdy place most tourists avoided after sunset.

  “This is the perfect bachelor town.” Mr. Party put his arm around Ryan’s neck in a brotherly hug, grinning the sly smirk of a man who was clearly aiming to guide his friend into the pre-wedding pits of fornication heaven.

  I got the distinct impression it spelled hell for the groom.

  “One night at Woody’s and you may change your mind about marriage.” A wink accompanied Steve’s marital escape clause.

  Ryan threw me another apologetic look, as he shrugged off his best man. “Stop it, Ryan. I’m happy with Missy.”

  Steve’s jaw tightened. A spark, swift and bright burned in his eyes. Before I could grasp the cause, it disappeared, replaced by a mischievous challenge.

  “Maybe I should ask Missy if she’d like to sample the entertainment...”

  A soundless conversation passed between them — one I chose to ignore as I ran Ryan’s credit card through the scanner. I stared at the machine, willing the receipt to print.

  Please print.

  Steve finally walked away, his attention distracted by the nude female figurines displayed at the opposite side of the store. They we
re the newest addition to my carving selections, pieces I hoped would put Tickle Me Timbers on the map for shops of unique artisans to be found along the Columbia River Gorge. Right now, I was just glad they separated the two men.

  Ryan filled the silence. “He’s a good guy. We —” rubbing his hand over his eyes, he confessed more than I wanted to know “— we just fell in love with the same woman.”

  My only excuse for asking a question I had no right to ask, rested solidly with the fact that he shared too much information already. “He’s in love with your fiancée and you asked him to be your best man?”

  A heavy sign escaped Ryan. “Unfortunately, I didn’t know the depth of his feelings until a month ago, when I had to drive him home from a party.” Ryan glanced back at his friend before confiding the drama eating away at their friendship. “He was so drunk, I don’t think he even remembers telling me he loved her. And this playboy act, it’s not Steve. That’s not the man I asked to be my best man.” Remorse creased his brow, and I felt sorry for the man stuck between the woman he loved and his best friend.

  “Don’t worry. After you’re married, Missy’ll be his buddy’s wife and Steve will meet someone he really loves.” It sounded good. But I wasn’t sure if I believed it.

  “Yeah,” Ryan ran his fingers through his brown locks and sighed with resignation, “then maybe he’ll stop the Hugh Hefner bunny addiction act.”

  At a loss for a response, I smiled and focused on wrapping the bridal set in my special packaging — bubble wrap made of recycled paper, then placed them in a bag and gave Ryan a copy of the receipt to sign. I looked up in time to catch Steve’s startlingly blue eyes wandering — over me.

  He waggled his brows.

  I waggled the white gold band on my right ring finger and turned back toward Ryan.

  “Thank you, Ryan.” I handed him the bag with my prized groom and his bride. “I really enjoyed making these for you. If you need anything else, my card’s in the bag.”

  “We’ll be back. Missy won’t be able to resist.” Ryan turned to leave.

  I smiled but prayed they wouldn’t return. As much as I liked Ryan, meeting Missy would bring back the pain of the past.

  “Yeah, she’ll be shopping while we’re next door getting a lap…,”

  With a shove toward the door, Ryan interrupted Steve’s tawdry response and yelled over his shoulder, “Thanks, Rilee!” The bell jingled as they exited, Ryan’s hushed lecture lost behind the glass.

  I understood Steve’s behavior. Raunchy, with a touch of anger, wasn’t the best coping mechanism for a broken heart. But like everyone else, he’d have to learn a better way to deal with it on his own. Otherwise, the gaping hole in his heart would become a permanent scar, crippling his ability to feel.

  I followed my customer’s path to the door, walking through the forest of wooden sculptures my dad and I had made together, and flipped the sign over to Closed. Then I watched the two grown men pushing each other like college boys. Ryan muscled his way toward the SUV parked in the lot, while Steve tried strong-arming him past the vehicle toward Woody’s.

  Turning the dead bolt to the locked position, I saw Bob Wallace, the town mayor, admiring the latest sign displayed in his storefront window across the street. His shoulders squared, hands in the pockets of his khakis, Bob’s pride was evident to anyone watching. And despite the plaid short-sleeve shirt puckering at the middle, Bob was as strong an ox, and the extra meat he carried hid a tough man, in both spirit and politics. Now, though, he looked ready to break as he turned toward his vehicle. The rigidity of his gait and the softness in his eyes as he lumbered down the stairs was a side of Bob I’d never seen.

  I looked at the source of so much conflicted emotion.

  Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu;

  He’ll shape his old course in a country new.

  The new sign’s meaning was clear: Bob’s Books was going out of business. And its plight left the town’s future unconstant — our warrior of words would be no more.

  Unlocking the door, I ran to meet my longtime neighbor. “Bob!”

  He stopped and leaned on his car door. His smile forced, he struggled to put on the face of a confident town leader. “Rilee. How are things going in the carving business?”

  “Okay. But...” I glanced at the quote from King Lear, “...does that mean what I think it means?”

  “Yes, I’m closing the store at the first of the month. I can’t compete with that new book store in Sandy with the Starbucks inside. Can’t say as I blame my customers, considering the view from my front window.”

  We both looked at the glowing breasts across the street. I had to admit, from where Bob stood, they were a little — overwhelming.

  “It’s not like the crowd from Woody’s is likely to stop by to pick up a book for entertainment.” Bob’s tone soured and my breath hitched as we watched a familiar figure sneak through the front door of the club. “Was that guy one of your customers?”

  I scanned the parking lot, hoping the man in the dark suit hiding his face from our view wasn’t Ryan. The groom’s black SUV with the sparkling chrome and silver pin stripping sat unoccupied in the sinking daylight sky, and the party atmosphere began to fill the air.

  A little piece of me hollowed.

  “Yeah, I think it was.” Tapping down my disappointment, I turned back to Bob and tried not to think about what might be causing Ryan’s eyes to gleam with excitement now. “You’re sure about this?” I pointed toward his sign. “Do you really have to close?”

  “I haven’t been sure about anything except getting rid of that eyesore for the past two years. That’s a fight I won’t give up. Ever.” His voice hardened with determination, and I realized the mayor’s political zoning battle would continue even if Bob’s Books was tossed in file thirteen.

  Quickly changing the subject, I asked, “How’s Sarah doing?”

  Thank heaven for marital bliss; the change of topic relaxed Bob’s mood and brought both our minds to a happier place. “She got the job at the hospital. So that kind of makes all this a little less painful.”

  I squeezed his arm with reassurance. “I’m so glad. When does she start?”

  “Next week. We’re going out tonight to celebrate. We’ve even got a babysitter lined up for the entire night.” His eyes brightened with the same happy look I thought I’d captured in Ryan’s sculpture.

  “Well, then I won’t keep you. Tell Sarah congratulations for me.” I smiled and started back across the street.

  “Hey, maybe you could come over to our house and see the baby next week?” Bob sounded hopeful.

  I tripped and nearly did a face-plant in the middle of the street. Then smiled at my friend and said what I knew he was expecting. “It’s pretty hard to get away right now, but tell Sarah to stop in and see me next time she’s out and about with the baby. I’d love to see them both.”

  I didn’t have to hear his sigh to know that’s exactly what he was doing, ‘because that’s what Bob had been doing for a while now, every time he asked me to come by their house. But I really was too busy. I turned to head home.

  “Take care — and Rilee?”

  Pausing to hear Bob’s last words, I met his gaze.

  “Be careful. There’re some real crazy people out there. You never know what they’re capable of doing.”

  “I will. Night, Bob.” I waved at my friend. A feeling of finality in his farewell caused me to wonder what the future held for him. For Tickle Creek. For my shop. And for my home behind it.

  Another glance at Ryan’s SUV confirmed the cab was uninhabited. I hadn’t been wrong. No matter how much I wanted to believe Ryan wouldn’t go into Woody’s, evidently he had. And I felt like the last hope for our town died with his betrayal.

  Climbing the steps of the porch on my side of the street, the boards creaked and groaned with age as I entered the shop and closed the door. I slid the lock home as the setting sun beautifully outlined the mountain peaks behind Bob’s shop.
Maybe my ambivalence toward Woody’s came from the fact that it wasn’t in my line of sight all day, every day.

  Purple dots began to slip across my vision from the sun’s glare, and movement across the street caught my eye. I strained to make out a darkened figure slowly moving toward the shadows of the bookstore. It disappeared from view before I could tell who — or what — it was.

  I looked up and down the street to see if anyone else thought it odd. Other than a few new customers pulling into Woody’s, the town was deserted. Even Bob’s tail-lights were disappearing at the edge of town.

  Convinced it was just a night critter looking for a new nesting site, I turned off the lights. Whatever it was, it would soon learn that the perfect hidey-hole under Bob’s porch during daylight hours wouldn’t have the same appeal once Woody’s late night crowd came alive.

  Chapter Two

  Every night I sink into a sea of soft downy feathers and talk to my husband about the good things that happened that day. But tonight, the deliciously soft mattress and quiet conversation were the last things on my mind. I didn’t want to think about that fire. I didn’t want to bring it up. I just wanted to go to sleep, escape until a new day wiped away all the bad feelings. And our bedroom was the perfect place.

  I loved the warmth and simplicity of the room. It had a cozy, 19th century cabin flavor, with exposed wood logs and white cotton lace trimming the bed and curtains. When Jacob asked me to marry him, we began renovating our home as a reminder of a time when the people inside were more important than the stuff they bought to fill the space. I sighed with the memory, pulled the covers up to my chin and let my head sink into the pillow as the rain soothed my thoughts in a rhythmic beat against the window.

  I’d almost drifted off to sleep when a whimper at the back door pulled me back. I debated whether to check on the stray creature looking for a handout, but oblivion called my name.