Plaster and Poison
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
Epilogue
Home-Renovation - and Design Tips
Fatal Fixer-Upper
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 on Fatal Fixer-Upper from page one.
Cozy Library
An ingeniously plotted murder mystery with several prime suspects and a nail-biting conclusion.
The Tennessean
A strong debut mystery . . . Do-it-yourselfers will find much to enjoy.
The Mystery Reader
Extremely entertaining . . . 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 in which the intelligent heroine has to either save herself or lose all . . . A first-rate mystery and a frightening surprise ending.
Romantic Times
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Jennie Bentley
FATAL FISER-UPPER
SPACKLED AND SPOOKED
PLASTER AND POISON
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors 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.
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PLASTER AND POISON
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / March 2010
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Acknowledgments
As always, there are lots of people who had a part in bringing this book into the world, and who deserve my eternal thanks, hugs, and kisses:
My editor, Jessica Wade, for letting me continue the journey with Avery and Derek, and my agent, Stephany Evans, for continuing the journey with me.
Artist Jennifer Taylor for another gorgeous cover, and cover designer Rita Frangie and interior designer Laura Corless for another gorgeous book, inside and out.
My publicists, Megan Swartz with the Penguin Group (USA) Inc., and Tom Robinson with Author and Book Media, for getting the word out.
My critique partners, Jamie Livingston-Dierks and Myra McEntire, for help, support, encouragement, friendship, and hot chocolate.
All the other writers its been my pleasure to know and associate with over the past four years; by now there are too many of you to mention individually, but you know who you are!
Emily Layne Thompson, for donating your nameand money!for a good cause. I hope you approve of what Ive done with it.
Gordon Smith, for help in navigating the ins and outs of the U.S. Navy during World War I.
Everyone who read Fatal Fixer-Upper and Spackled and Spooked and liked them; especially those of you who said so, to me or someone else!
My friends and family near and far, especially my husband and my two boys. You put up with my crazy schedule, my frequent absences, my weird brand of mothering, and my total lack of the clean gene, and by doing so, you let me be who I am. I love you!
Finally, the late William Avery Ellis of Chandler, Texas, who joined the U.S. Navy on June 3, 1917, and who died of strychnine poisoningstill on the navy base in Dallasthree days later. I took some liberties with your story, since I have no idea what happened to you beyond those few facts, but you inspired the history mystery in Plaster and Poison, and for that I am grateful. RIP.
1
Waynes sudden attack of modesty came at a great time, at least where Derek and I were concerned.
It was the first week of November, and we had just finished renovating our latest project, a midcentury ranch on the outskirts of Waterfield. Now we were waiting for someone to buy it so we could find another fixer-upper and do the whole thing over again. Derek had his eye on a rundown 1783 center-chimney Colonial on an island off the coast, accessible only by boat, but until we got our money out of the house on Becklea Drive, another purchase wasnt in the cards for us. It was unfortunate, since Derek was twitching with impatience to get started. I was more sanguine about the matter, since I didnt really want to spend the winter freezing my butt off on an island off the coast of Maine with nothing but 225-year-old walls b
etween me and the elements. I wasnt opposed to buying and renovating the placein fact, it might be funbut I wanted to do it four months from now, when the days were longer and the temperatures higher.
Thats fine, Derek said, but what are we going to do in the meantime? I dont want your mom to get here in December and find me sitting on the sofa watching TV and scratching my stomach. It wouldnt make a very good first impression.
Considering that the stomach in question was a lovely example of smooth skin and taut muscle, I didnt think my mother would mind too much. However, I shrugged apologetically, knowing that what I was about to suggest would annoy him.
You could take on some handyman jobs. I know you dont want to do those anymore, but it would keep you busy over the winter, until we could start working on the house on the island, and it would help to pay the bills. People are always asking you to do things for them.
Thats true, Derek said grudgingly, although he obviously felt that after spending the summer and autumn renovating houses of our own, laying tile in other peoples bathrooms and painting other peoples walls would be a waste of his considerable talent. I had to agree, I just didnt know what else to suggest.
At this point, I had lived in Waterfield for five months, since I inherited my great-aunt Ingas house in June. Derek Ellis was the handyman Id hired to help me renovate the decrepit Victorian cottage. Hed done so, beautifully, and swept me off my feet at the same time. I was crazy about himcrazy enough to put my New York design career on hold to join Derek in his business, Waterfield Renovation & Restorationand he seemed to like me well enough, too. I couldnt wait to show him off to my mom and stepfather when they came to Waterfield from California in a months time.
And I wouldnt worry too much about what my mom and Noel will think of you, I added. After Philippe, anyone will be an improvement.
Philippe was my ex-boyfriend, the one Id left behind in Manhattan when I moved to Maine. Derek had met him once and taken an instant dislike to him. So had my mother, who claimed that he was too good-looking and flirtatious to be trustworthy. Shed hit the nail squarely on the head, as it turned out. He wasnt trustworthy. But since he was history, that was all water under the bridge at this point.
Im not sure thats a point in my favor, Derek said. I rolled my eyes. Give me a break. Youre handsome, youre nice, youre successful, youre a doctor, and you treat me a damned sight better than Philippe ever did. Whats not to like?
Im a retired doctor, Derek answered dryly. Im not always nice, and at the moment, I have no work. All Ive got going for me is my looks, and you said yourself that your mom thought Phil was too good-looking. What if she says the same about me?
She wont.
He arched his brows in mock insult. What? Youre saying Im not as good-looking as Phil?
I inspected him across the table, with at least an attempt at impartiality. Hes thirty-four years old, with sun-streaked hair in need of a cut and blue eyes with long lashes and crinkles at the corners. As I watched, a slow grin curved his cheeks and brought out a latent dimple. A faded denim shirt completed the picture; it matched his eyes and had the sleeves rolled up to the elbows to bare nicely muscled forearms with a dusting of fair hair. As usual, my stomach did a flip-flop, and I had to concentrate to keep my voice steady.
Its not that youre not cute. But youve seen Philippe. Leather pants, satin shirt, ponytail . . . like he stepped off the cover of some kind of vampire romance. Youre not flashy, thank God.
God forbid, Derek answered piously, but not without a twinkle in his eyes. He leaned forward, causing a strand of sun-streaked hair to fall across his forehead, and gave me a melting smile. So you think Im cute, huh?
I smiled, but before things could develop, there was a knock at the front door.
Expecting someone? Derek asked, straightening. I shook my head. Ill go.
He pushed the chair back and headed for the door. I watched him walk away and thought that while he might not have PhilippesPhilssmarmy sex appeal, there was nothing wrong with either his looks or his ability to garner attention from the opposite gender. Hed have no problem charming my mother. Hed had no problem charming me, and Id been deep into a hating-all-men phase when I met him, courtesy of Philippe Aubert.
Heres the thing: Dereks a genuinely nice guy, in addition to being nice-looking and charming. Hes intelligent, funny, caring, capable, and very, very good with his hands. Hes also an MD, although he doesnt practice medicine anymore. Mom had harrumphed a little when I mentioned that, but I thought that once she met him and saw how good he was at what he did, and how happy he was doing itand how happy he made meshed agree hed made the right choice.
I hoped.
Out in the hallway, I heard the front door close. Shes in the kitchen, Dereks voice said. I could hear his footsteps coming closer. A moment later, he ushered Caitlin McGillicutty into my presence.
Kate was my first friend when I came to Waterfield. I met her before I ever movedshe owns the Waterfield Inn, the B&B where I stayed my first night in town. After I learned that Aunt Inga was dead and I had inherited her rundown Second Empire Victorian cottage in need of a truly staggering amount of work. It was Kate who suggested that I renovate the house before selling it, and Kate who recommended that I hire Derek to help me. The two of them had dated a couple of times early on, just after Dereks ex-wife left him, but for whatever reason, the relationship hadnt worked out. No zing, or maybe Derek just wasnt ready to get involved again so soon. Kate started dating Wayne Rasmussen, Waterfields chief of police, instead, and on New Years Eve, the two of them would be married. But Derek was still single five years later, and maybe Kate thought it was time for him to move on. Or maybe not. Maybe I was just imagining that shed thrown us together on purpose.
I wasnt imagining the pout on her face, though, nor the way she flung herself down on the kitchen chair. It creaked, and I gave it a worried glance, concerned that it might be thinking of giving out and dumping her on the floor. Kate is a statuesque woman: a tall Jane Russell type, with an enviably curvaceous figure. She has a mass of copper curls framing her face, which is freckled, open, and friendly, with a wide smile and hazel eyes. The smile was not in evidence at the moment, and the eyes were a flat, muddy brown.
Whats the matter? I asked, a little diffidently, since I would prefer not to have my head bitten off.
Wayne, Kate snarled.
Derek grinned. Cold feet? he inquired, pulling a third chair around and straddling it.
Kate turned to him. Or maybe on him would be more accurate. Him or me?
I shook my head at Derek, who grinned unrepentantly.
What did he do, Kate? I asked. Youre not serious, are you?
About the cold feet? She scowled at her hands. No one could blame me if I was, but I guess not. Not really. The timing is just super-inconvenient. Eight weeks before the wedding, seven weeks before Christmas, and with everything that goes into running a business at the best of timeswhy the hell the idiot couldnt have said something before, when the problem would have been easier to fix . . . !
She grabbed one of the napkins from lunch and started systematically shredding it all over the enamel surface of the table.
The idiot being Wayne? Derek inquired.
Kate nodded.
What problem? I asked.
Kate looked up. The problem of where to live.
I wrinkled my brows. I hadnt realized that there was even a question about it. The chief of police shared a condo with his son Josh, a Barnham College student, on the north side of town. Kate, of course, lived in the B&B. It was a huge house, three thousand square feet or more, with four guestrooms. Kate and her daughter Shannon, also a Barnham College student and Joshs best friend, had two bedrooms on the first floor and took their meals in
the B&B kitchen. When Wayne slept over, he did so in Kates room. Since there was plenty of space, I had assumed that when they got married, Wayne would be moving in. So, obviously, had Kate.
Hes never mentioned it before, she said, so it never crossed my mind that he might be uncomfortable with so many other people around. And Ive been living there for six years, so it doesnt bother me. Im not sure it ever did.
Derek grinned. But when youre on your own, youre probably not in the habit of making enough noise to wake the guests.
It isnt that, Kate said, but she blushed.
Sure.
Kate insisted. No, really. A couple of weeks ago he came over to spend the night. Late, after Id gone to bed. The night when that hit-and-run driver killed Carolyn Tate, remember? The accountant at Clovercroft?
Clovercroft is a building development. It belongs to Raymond and Randall Stenham, owners of Stenham Construction and relatives of mine on my mothers side of the family. Theyre Dereks age, and they made his formative years a living hell. More recently, Melissa James, Dereks ex-wife, decided to hook up with Ray Stenham, adding insult to injury.
I abhor Melissa. I dont like the Stenham twins either, having had my own run-ins with them growing up. I hadnt crossed paths with Carolyn Tate during my time in Waterfield, though. Until the accident, I hadnt known she existed. Afterward, I knew her only as a name in the paper.