A Fresh Kill Read online

  A Fresh Kill

  Eryn Scott

  Kristopherson Press

  Copyright © 2018 by Eryn Scott

  Published by Kristopherson Press

  All rights reserved.

  www.erynwrites.com

  [email protected]

  Facebook: @erynscottauthor

  Sign up for my newsletter to hear about new releases and sales!

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Mariah Sinclair

  Recipes by Marisa McClellan, creator of Food in Jars

  Created with Vellum

  For the crafters, quilters, knitters, painters, DIYers, calligraphers, artists, and anyone else who creates beautiful things with their hands.

  You make the world a cuter place.

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Recipes

  Untitled

  About the Author

  Also by Eryn Scott

  1

  Hadley James’s twin brother placed a hand on her shoulder as they stared at the sold placard stuck to the realtor’s white yard sign.

  “You sure about this?” Paul asked.

  “I kinda have to be.” Hadley sighed. “It’s a done deal.”

  He shot her a worried look.

  She chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m ready and I’m sure. I wouldn’t have put it up for sale if I hadn’t been sure.”

  “But you don’t even have another place yet. Where are you going to live if you need more than the thirty days for closing?”

  Hadley blinked. “Well, I kinda thought I could crash with you for a bit.” She shrugged.

  Paul bent his knees and then straightened them as he squinted up at the cornflower-blue summer sky.

  As twins, Hadley and Paul had always been able to read each other, seemingly of one mind at times. At that moment, Hadley regretted knowing what her brother was thinking. That knee bend—not to mention how he wouldn’t meet her gaze—was classic Paul avoidance behavior.

  He paused just a heartbeat too long. “Uh, sure. Of course you can crash with me.”

  The offer came too late though. Hadley knew him too well for him to get away with even the tiniest fib. He didn’t want her to stay with him? The possibility hit her in the gut as palpably as if one of his knees had landed there. Hadley’s mind raced. He’d offered to have her live with him just a few months before when her divorce had finalized, and she wasn’t sure how she would feel living in the house she and Tyler had purchased together and had lived five years of their relationship in.

  And because Paul could read Hadley equally as well, he must’ve realized—once he met her eyes—that she was taken aback by his answer.

  He put a hand on her arm. “Not because… well, I was thinking of you. I mean, you don’t want to move in with your smelly, bachelor brother.” He grimaced, but she got the distinct impression he was trying to smile. “It’s too bad Mom and Dad’s place has renters or you could stay there.”

  Their parents were currently spending time in Oregon with their grandmother. After Hadley and Paul’s grandfather passed away in January, their parents had taken time off work to go help. Losing her husband of sixty years couldn’t have been easy, and they wanted to be there to help her adjust. But a month or so after they’d arrived, they realized that the house needed a lot more work than Gran could handle on her own, and she needed to come live with them. They’d only just started the process of fixing up the house in order to sell it, so it could still be months before they were back.

  Seeing Hadley still wasn’t okay, Paul reassured her again. “Of course you’re welcome to stay with me. Anytime.”

  Lie. That’s a lie, Hadley thought, pursing her lips into a thin line.

  Though she could tell he was lying—plain as day—what Hadley didn’t know was why. Checking her watch, she shook her head. Whatever Paul’s deal was, she didn’t have time to figure it out now.

  “I’ve gotta run.” She hoped she was able to keep the tightness from her voice.

  Paul nodded. “Right, market day.”

  “And it’s a big one.” Hadley raised her eyebrows.

  “Interloper Day?” Paul asked. “Already?”

  Dipping her head once, Hadley kicked at a rock sitting near the toe of her sandal. “Yup, he’ll be there today.”

  “That came up fast. It felt like this apocalyptic thing everyone talked about, but might not even happen.”

  “I know.” Hadley shook her head.

  Leo Morton, Stoneybrook’s florist, had coined the term interloper in reference to Charlie Lloyd, the florist from Cascade Ridge. A twenty-minute drive was not all that separated Stoneybrook from the larger city up in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains. The only two pieces in the Grande County puzzle, they’d been in competition for as long as anyone could remember.

  Stoneybrook citizens often talked about the people of Cascade Ridge as stuck up corporate pawns who measured their lawns. And Cascade Ridge spat equally harsh retorts back, calling the Stoneybrookians hicks who were stuck in the last century. The people of Cascade Ridge had a running joke that Stoneybrook’s awnings were proof the town was stuck in the nineteen fifties. Each store had one, a different color matched with the white stripes for every new storefront.

  For all of the heated words, Stoneybrook residents knew people from Cascade Ridge were just jealous. At a quarter of Cascade Ridge’s size, they were still the favored tourist destination in the valley because of their cute, locally owned and sourced shops. It wasn’t just Main Street that brought people from all over the state. Often more of the draw was their famous year-round farmers market, something which had always been 100 percent Stoneybrook’s.

  Until that Saturday, when Charlie Lloyd was set to open his own floral booth and make local history as the first nonresident to sell wares at the market.

  Sure, they had their outliers. Christine, who owned the valley’s distillery, lived more than twenty minutes outside of downtown. Regardless of the distance, her business was still called Stoneybrook Spirits and she identified as a local. But Charlie would be the first real outsider they’d had.

  He’d applied for the booth permit months before, but it had taken the local town council meeting after meeting to come to a decision on the matter. And while it was quite split, the vote had finally come down in favor of the interloper, citing the fact that if the town wanted to grow its tourism, one of the fastest ways to do that would be to open up their market to new, yet still relatively local vendors.

  Leo Morton had not agreed, especially since he and Charlie had been butting heads in the floral sales space for decades.

  “Well, you’d better get to it, then,” Paul said to Hadley. “Don’t want to miss any of the drama.”

  Hadley scoffed. “Right. You know, you should come too, on standby. It’s only a matter of time before one of the florists strangles the other.” She plucked the tan material of her brother’s deputy sheriff un
iform.

  He shook his head. “I think I’ll pass. I’m trying to stay out of the line of fire.” Paul pushed his shoulder back, wincing a little.

  He’d been shot while investigating a murder case just a couple months earlier, and even though the bullet hadn’t hit any major organs or arteries, it had clipped and fractured his collarbone. While the wound had healed, it had been a long process as it wasn’t in a location where they could put a cast on the break.

  Hadley dipped her head and patted him on his good shoulder. “Understandable.”

  “Want a ride into town?” he asked, motioning to the back of his truck.

  “No, thanks. I’ve been eating too many of Mickie’s scones.” She patted her stomach. “I could use the exercise.”

  Paul waved goodbye as Hadley wheeled her bike from where it was leaning against her fence. She pulled her helmet on, tucking her long, almost-black hair into the helmet so it wouldn’t fly around too much. Throwing a leg over, she took one more moment to look back at her now-former house as Paul pulled away.

  Her heart ached, almost more than it had the day she’d signed her divorce papers. It wasn’t as if she had been happy that day—far from it, actually—but between his frequent business trips and distant manner, Tyler had been gone long before she’d found out about his affair. Maybe seeing the house go was so hard because she couldn’t even remember the happy, naïve young couple they’d been when they’d been standing out front all of those years ago, taking pictures in front of a similar sold sign. Or maybe it was tough because it meant she was finally letting go of what could have been.

  A tear gathered in the corner of one eye, and she swiped it away. “Jeez, Hadley. It’s not like you have to move out today.” She shook her head as she scolded herself for getting so sentimental.

  Paul’s mention of their parents’ house was another part of it. She missed them. And as nice as it would’ve been to be able to move in their house during her time in between residences, she mostly just wanted them here with her at such a crucial time in her life. Sure she was in her thirties now, but her parents were two of her best friends and their guidance was always appreciated. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself how much they were helping Gran and that they would be home soon.

  Kicking off, Hadley pointed her bike toward town.

  Downtown Stoneybrook was about a five-minute bike ride from Hadley’s home. And on a glorious summer day like today, she loved tipping her head back and breathing in the fresh mountain air of her hometown. The mighty Cascade River was a mere ghost, hidden behind a line of trees on this road, and Hadley could only hear the great rumble and rush of it. But she felt it too, as did anyone who’d grown up along its banks.

  After the quiet of her backroads ride, the bustle of town hit her like a happy surprise party; people she knew waved as she rode through town toward the lavender-and-white striped awning sitting over Pretty Jam Good’s canning headquarters. Checking both ways, Hadley took the turn into the alley behind her building at a bit of a faster lick, knowing she’d spent more time than she should have chatting with Paul, and reminiscing about the sold sign.

  Suzanne Till, Hadley’s best friend, wasn’t waiting at her back door, so she knew she couldn’t be too late. Propping her bike up against the building, she pulled off her helmet and then fished out her keys. After unlocking the back kitchen door, the familiar, tart scent of her jam kitchen hit her like a welcome home. She couldn’t help the smile that curled across her lips; she loved her business and felt like pinching herself whenever she thought about this being hers.

  Knowing life sometimes got in the way on Saturday mornings, Hadley had gotten in the habit of packing up everything for the market on Friday before she left for the day. So even though she’d cut it a little close that morning, all she needed to do was load her boxes into the van and wait for Suze.

  Boxes filled with glass jars of jam weren’t light, so after moving a few loads into her affectionately named, Jam Van, she swiped at her sweaty forehead, then checked her watch.

  “I can feel your hurry up, Suze vibes from down the street, you know,” Suzanne said as she walked down the small alleyway.

  Hadley raised her hands. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m just a little anxious to see how this all goes down. At this point, we’re going to be the last ones there, and I don’t want to miss any florist fistfights.”

  Suze’s eyes widened. “Omigosh, I know! I almost couldn’t sleep last night I was so worried about how it’ll go.”

  She loaded her box of art prints into the van while Hadley locked up the jam kitchen. Then, seat belts clicked on, they were ready to go.

  “I do feel for Leo,” Hadley said as she pulled the van onto Main Street. “I can’t imagine if a person—especially one from out of town—started competing with me and selling jam.”

  Suze nodded. “Yeah, but flowers are in high demand at this time of year; there’s plenty of customers for two florists. I think Leo’s mostly sour because it’s Charlie. Those two have been mortal enemies for years.”

  “Well, after Wedding Gate last year, I don’t blame him. That was so low of Charlie.”

  “Speak of the devil,” Suze muttered, gaze locked on the Charlie’s Bloom van parked sideways in the Fenton Park lot. The shiny, white van boasted the freshest flowers around with its colorful decal.

  Hadley eased her van in next to his, shaking her head. It was an unspoken rule that the vendors would park head in, even though many of them would’ve liked to pull in sideways for easier access to shimmy carts up to their sliding doors. They’d tried it one summer and parking had been a nightmare for everyone, especially customers.

  Charlie was not only parked sideways across two spots, but the front of his van was facing away from her so it was in the shade of a large oak tree, Hadley’s preferred spot.

  That’s what she got for showing up last. Taking a deep breath, she put a smile on her face. “We’ll have to tell him about the parking agreement.”

  “Definitely.” Suze grimaced as she slipped from the passenger side of the Jam Van and scooted around the back of Charlie’s in the small amount of space left.

  Unpacking the van onto two carts, the women pulled their supplies out onto the field and began setting up among the other booths.

  On a normal Saturday, the vendors would wave and chat while they set up. But that morning, an uncomfortable hush had settled over the park, like all of those foggy fall days in the valley when clouds hang low and spit rain. Normally, people would’ve been focused on setting up their booths, but today all eyes were on Charlie’s booth.

  Hadley blinked.

  Correction: the place where Charlie’s booth should’ve been, but was still empty.

  “Where is he?” she asked, looking to Suze, who also appeared confused.

  They glanced back at the parking lot, hidden from the main market space by a small grassy knoll.

  “That was his van, right?” Suze asked.

  Hadley nodded.

  She took a step toward Potholder Penny, the woman who made potholders—and only potholders—in the next booth over.

  “Charlie hasn’t been here to set up yet?” Hadley asked.

  Penny shook her head. “Hazel thinks he must’ve chickened out. Good riddance, I say.”

  The words “no show” and “thank goodness” hung off the other vendors’ lips.

  “But he is here. He did show.” Hadley refocused on Penny. “We just parked next to his flower van.”

  Penny’s sour face wrinkled in confusion.

  Hadley turned back to Suze, who’d already begun setting up her booth. “Hey, I’m going to run back,” she said. “I forgot something in the van.” She called the words over her shoulder as she walked over the grassy expanse back to the parking lot.

  As the rows of vendor cars and vans came into view, Hadley felt a lump form in her throat. Charlie’s van was definitely in the lot, so where was Charlie? She used a hand to block the sun from her eyes as she sca
nned for the forty-something man and his curly mop of hair.

  Nothing.

  Then she noticed something odd: a shock of red fabric showing through the window of his van. Hadley closed the distance between her and the van in half the usual time.

  “Charlie?” Hadley called, heading straight for the driver’s side door.

  Her feet stopped moving—along with her heart—as she got close enough to see the red fabric was the short sleeve of a T-shirt.

  Charlie was sitting in the passenger seat of his van, his head lolled forward, curly hair blocking his face.

  Panic rose in Hadley, up into her throat, making it impossible to speak or call out. Instead, she gripped the door handle and pulled it open. Hadley jumped back as a handful of bees flew out of the van, barely missing her.

  She swallowed the lump of worry in her throat, noticing the three large, swollen sting marks on his bare arms as she reached forward to check this pulse.

  Nothing.

  She staggered back, her wild eyes settling on the van’s decal. The freshest flowers around. Heat gathered in her throat. Fresh was right. Charlie’s body was still warm. Reaching back to check her pockets, Hadley fumbled as she grabbed for her phone.

  Paul picked up on the first ring.

  “Looks like you’re going to have to come to the market whether you want to or not. Charlie Lloyd is dead.”

  2

  “Bees flew out when I opened the door,” Hadley explained to Paul when he and the other Stoneybrook deputy sheriff, Kevin, arrived in the parking lot minutes later.

  They’d found her sitting on the curb, trying in vain to rub the goosebumps from her arms, but she was beginning to feel better now her brother was there.