Flipped Out Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Home-Renovation and Design Tips

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Jennie Bentley

  Mortar and Murder

  “With plot twists that curve and loop . . . this story offers handy renovation tips, historical data, and a colorful painting of the Maine landscape.”

  —Examiner.com

  “Mystery author Jennie Bentley has nailed together another great mystery with Mortar and Murder.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  Plaster and Poison

  “A delightful small-town Maine sleuth . . . Solid and entertaining.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “[A] thrilling story that keeps the readers guessing and turning pages.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “A believable and beguiling mystery. Each novel in the series delights and the third installment only raises the stakes.”

  —Examiner.com

  “A pull-no-punches mystery.”

  —The Mystery Gazette

  “This is one solidly built mystery . . . Attractive characters and a beautiful setting round out this wonderful read.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  Spackled and Spooked

  “Smooth, clever, and witty. This series is a winner!”

  —Once Upon a Romance

  “Bound to be another winner for this talented author. Home-renovation buffs will appreciate the wealth of detail.”

  —Examiner.com

  “I hope the series continues.”

  —Gumshoe Reviews

  Fatal Fixer-Upper

  “An ingeniously plotted murder mystery with several prime suspects and a nail-biting conclusion.”

  —The Tennessean

  “A great whodunit . . . Fans will enjoy this fine cozy.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “Smartly blends investigative drama, sexual tension, and romantic comedy elements, and marks the start of what looks like an outstanding series of Avery Baker cases.”

  —The Nashville City Paper

  “Polished writing and well-paced story. I was hooked . . . from page one.”

  —Cozy Library

  “There’s a new contender in the do-it-yourself home-renovation mystery field . . . An enjoyable beginning to a series.”

  —Bangor Daily News

  “A strong debut mystery . . . Do-it-yourselfers will find much to enjoy.”

  —The Mystery Reader

  “A cozy whodunit with many elements familiar to fans of Agatha Christie or Murder, She Wrote.”

  —Nashville Scene

  “A great whodunit. Fans will enjoy this fine cozy.”

  —The Mystery Gazette

  “A fun and sassy journey that teaches readers about home renovation as they follow the twists and turns of a great mystery.”

  —Examiner.com

  “The mystery is unusually strong. Home-renovation and design tips are skillfully worked into the story, the characters are developed and sympathetic, and the setting is charming. The climax leads to a bang-up ending . . . A first-rate mystery and a frightening surprise ending.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Jennie Bentley

  FATAL FIXER-UPPER

  SPACKLED AND SPOOKED

  PLASTER AND POISON

  MORTAR AND MURDER

  FLIPPED OUT

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: Neither the publisher nor the author is engaged in rendering professional advice or services to the individual reader. The ideas, projects, and suggestions contained in this book are not intended as a substitute for consulting with a professional. Neither the author nor the publisher shall be liable or responsible for any loss or damage allegedly arising from any information or suggestion in this book.

  FLIPPED OUT

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / October 2011

  Copyright © 2011 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN : 978-1-101-54471-6

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  Acknowledgments

  As always, great big thanks, hugs, and kisses to the following wonderful people, without whom I would not be here, doing what I’m doing:

  My brilliant agent, Stephany Evans, for sticking with me through it all; my wonderful editor, Jessica Wade, for letting me continue the journey with Avery and Derek; the Penguin design team: artist Jennifer Taylor for another gorgeous cover illustration, and designers Rita Frangie and Laura K. Corless, for making the book beautiful inside and out; my hardworking publicist with the Penguin Group, Kaitlyn Kennedy, without whom this book would be nowhere; my beta reader, critique partner, and internet buddy, Jamie Livingston-Dierks
, for always being there for me and always being a source of laughter, inspiration, and good advice; my Sisters and Brothers in Crime, my fellow ITW Debut Authors, my fellow Romance Writers of America and Music City Romance Writers, and assorted writer friends I don’t necessarily have any organizations in common with, but who have somehow impacted my life and my writing anyway; everyone who’s bought a copy of Fatal Fixer-Upper, Spackled and Spooked, Plaster and Poison, or Mortar and Murder sometime in the past three years, especially those of you who liked the stories, and even more especially those of you who told someone about them; my non-writer friends—yes, I do have a few; and my family, especially my husband and my two boys, who have learned to accept the fact that I spend much of my time in a world far removed from theirs, where they can’t join me, and who love me anyway; and last but certainly not least, Faye of the Cali Ponds.

  Around the time when I started writing this book, the first and second of May 2010, Nashville was hit by record amounts of rain and severe flooding. A few intrepid local writers started an internet auction called Do the Write Thing for Nashville, and in a few weeks, raised more than $75,000 for flood relief. One of the many generous souls who supported the effort was Faye, who outbid everyone for the chance to name a character in my next book.

  Faye, meet Fae. And Aurora. And Cali. I hope you’ll be pleased with what I did with the names you gave me. xoxo

  1

  When my stepfather, Noel, asked my boyfriend, Derek, and me to participate in an episode of a renovation show his TV network produces, I didn’t think it would be a problem. Derek and I had renovated four houses together, starting with the 1870s Second Empire Victorian I had inherited from my great-aunt Inga a year earlier. After that, we had bought and restored a supposedly haunted midcentury ranch, and then turned a decrepit carriage house at the back of my friend Kate’s property into a romantic retreat for two just in time for her wedding to Waterfield Chief of Police Wayne Rasmussen. For the past few months, we had worked our fingers to the bone on a 1783 center-chimney Colonial on Rowanberry Island. By the time the TV crew was set to arrive on the coast of Maine, it was mid-July, but contrary to my first blithe impression, there was indeed a problem.

  “There’s no way!” I told Derek, and not for the first time. “No way at all we can renovate a whole house in a week!”

  When Noel first approached me about taking part in a renovation show, I hadn’t realized we’d be dealing with a time constraint. There are so many shows out there, with so many gimmicks, that I figured we’d be redoing something small, like a kitchen or bathroom. Something we could easily do in the five days the crew would be in town. But as it turned out, the program we would be participating in was called Flipped Out!, and for good reason.

  Anyone who has ever renovated a house can tell you it’s not usually a quick and easy process. As Derek had warned me during the very first conversation we’d ever had, more than a year ago now, it always takes longer and costs more than you think it will.

  And that’s OK most of the time. When you’re just working for yourself and not on a schedule, it isn’t the end of the world if it takes you a few extra days, or even a few extra weeks, to finish the job.

  This time, that wouldn’t be a possibility. The television crew would arrive in Waterfield Sunday night and would depart again the following Saturday morning, and we’d be expected to finish a whole house by the time they left. They’d shoot “before” footage bright and early on Monday morning, and God help us if they couldn’t shoot “after” footage at the end of the day on Friday. When I’d asked Noel what would happen if we weren’t finished by Friday night, his answer had been, “Just make sure you are.”

  “We’re gonna be fine,” Derek said now, in answer to my lament. “Don’t worry, Tink. I’ve got it covered.” He grabbed his hamburger in both hands and took a bite.

  We were sitting in a booth at the Waymouth Tavern, a restaurant on the outskirts of Waterfield. An imitation Tiffany lamp burned above our heads, and out the window, we had a view of the Atlantic Ocean and a few of the islands dotting the coast of Maine. Rowanberry was one of them, although it was too dark by now to see anything but a low shape in the water with some lights on one end, where the little village was.

  My name isn’t Tink, by the way; it’s Avery. Avery Marie Baker. Tink, or Tinkerbell, is Derek’s nickname for me. It started out as sort of a joke, supposedly because I’m little and cunning—Maine-ish for cute—with lots of bright yellow hair I keep piled on top of my head when I’m working. And also because (Derek said) I pout a lot. At that time, I daresay I did: This was just after we met, and we spent our days butting heads over how to renovate my great-aunt Inga’s house. Derek, being a traditionalist and a restorer at heart, wanted to keep as many of the original features as possible. I—native New Yorker and educated textile designer—wanted to squeeze in as many modern amenities as I could.

  He’d won, of course. He’d made a convincing case for preservation and authenticity, and besides, I have a hard time saying no to him. It’s those blue eyes, and that lazy grin, and just the whole adorable package.

  I’m crazy about him. That’s why I ended up staying in Waterfield and going into business with him instead of selling Aunt Inga’s house for a tidy profit and scurrying back to Manhattan at the end of last summer.

  At the moment, he wasn’t endearing himself to me, however, and yes, I’m sure I was pouting. The one-week time limit for renovating the little cottage on Cabot Street was freaking me out, and he wasn’t giving me the sympathy I craved.

  “Derek.” I pulled the plate with the rest of his supper out of reach, thereby forcing him to look at me. “How can you tell me not to worry and that you’ve got it covered? How do you expect us to be able to do all the work in five days and not lose our minds? Just not sleep?”

  “That’s one possibility.” Derek reached across the table to put his burger back on the plate before pulling it toward him. He has longer arms than I do. I sighed. He added, “I’m serious, Avery. We’ll be fine. All the materials are bought, and we’ve got a schedule laid out day by day, if not hour by hour. We know exactly what we’re supposed to be doing at any given time.”

  “That’s true,” I admitted. We’d spent the past week preparing so we’d be ready to launch into action tomorrow morning, as soon as the crew had arrived and had shot their “before” footage of the cottage.

  The house we were renovating was a little 1930s cottage, roughly eleven hundred square feet, with two bedrooms and one bath, a living room, a dining room, a kitchen, and a tiny laundry. The current owner had been using it as a rental, and as a result, it was pretty basic, with few or no frills. It was also a little beat up. But it had lovely oak hardwood floors—or would have, after we had applied three or four coats of polyurethane to them. The ceilings were fairly tall, and whoever owned the house in the 1970s had resisted the temptation to spray them with texture back when popcorn ceilings were all the rage. Scraping texture off a ceiling isn’t a big deal—all it takes is a spray bottle full of water, a putty knife, and stamina—but it’s messy and time consuming, and again, time would be at a premium this week.

  In the living room there was a gorgeous natural-stone fireplace that had never been painted—no paint we had to strip, yet another reason to rejoice. It’s a crime to paint natural stone, but that doesn’t stop some people. And there were wonderful casement windows on either side of the chimney. They’d been painted shut, the way many old windows are, but we had taken the time to break the seal and force them open as part of the prep work. The kitchen was original but well made, and as I’d learned when we renovated Aunt Inga’s house and Derek had insisted on keeping the old kitchen cabinets, they could be made to look wonderful. The current owner had covered the outside of the house with vinyl siding, which wouldn’t have been my choice, but it had been done recently enough that the vinyl was still fairly clean, and it meant we wouldn’t have to paint the exterior. A good hose-down with a power washer would do
wonders. And the curb appeal was outstanding, with a pretty little porch with stacked-stone pillars and an original front door with matching sidelights. Drab now, but it would be cute as a button when we were finished. All in all, we would have had to look long and hard for a better candidate for a quick flip.

  Still, five days wasn’t much time to get the job done.

  “We’ll have help,” Derek said between bites of burger.

  “Are you sure they’ll come through? Kate’s gonna be busy with the B and B, isn’t she? She’ll have a full house.”

  Kate McGillicutty-Rasmussen was my first friend in Waterfield. She owns the Waterfield Inn, the B&B where I’d stayed my first night in town and where the television crew would be staying during the five or six days they’d be here, as well.

  “She’ll find the time,” Derek said. “She owes us; we renovated the carriage house in record time last year. And Shannon and Josh are both out of school for the summer, so they’ll be available as well.”

  Shannon McGillicutty, Kate’s daughter, and Josh Rasmussen, Wayne’s son, were students at local Barnham College. They were excited about the idea that they could do a few hours’ manual labor in exchange for getting their faces on television.