Last Pen Standing Read online

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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2019 by Vivian Conroy

  Cover and internal design © 2019 by Sourcebooks

  Cover design by Adrienne Krogh/Sourcebooks

  Cover illustration by Anne Wertheim

  Sourcebooks, Poisoned Pen Press, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Poisoned Pen Press, an imprint of Sourcebooks

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  sourcebooks.com

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Acknowledgments and Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  Chapter One

  Even though the sign of her destination was already in sight, calling out a warm welcome to Tundish, Montana, “the town with a heart of gold,” Delta Douglas couldn’t resist the temptation to stop her car, reach for the sketchbook in the passenger seat, and draw the orange-and-gold trees covering a mountain flank all the way to where the snow-peaked top began. From this exact point, their autumnal glory was reflected in the water of a clear blue lake that stretched without a ripple. Delta could just see this image reproduced on wrapping paper, notebooks, or postcards.

  Until today, all her ideas for her own line of stationery products had lived only in her sketchbook, hidden away in her bag while she worked hard at her regular job as a graphic designer for a large advertising agency. But on Delta’s thirtieth birthday, Gran had handed her an envelope. The elderly lady had had a mysterious smile that had made Delta’s heart race. Leaning over and pecking her on the cheek, Gran had whispered, “Why wait until I’m dead? You’re my only granddaughter, and I’d rather have you spend it now, while I’m still here to see what you do with it.”

  Inside the envelope had been a check for an amount that to some people might have represented a trip around the world, a boat, or the down payment on an apartment. But for Delta, it had symbolized independence—a way to leave her steady but stressful job with too many tight deadlines and finally do what she had always dreamed of: start her own business.

  During summer holidays at Gran’s as a little girl, Delta had sat at the kitchen table for hours drawing her own postcards, experimenting with watercolors and crayons, charcoal and felt-tips. Gran had arranged for her to man her own stall at the church fair and sell off her creations. It had been amazing to see her work bring in actual money. Some locals had even placed orders with her for Christmas cards, which she made back home and sent out to Gran to distribute. That sense of accomplishment had always stayed with her, and in her free time, she had continued to draw, cut, and paste with purpose, creating a portfolio of fun ideas that brightened her days. And suddenly, with Gran’s gift, her own stationery shop was finally within reach.

  It hadn’t taken Delta long to take the plunge: she handed in her resignation at the agency in downtown Cheyenne, Wyoming, and crossed off the days until she could clear her desk, clean out her apartment, and drive away from the city she had called home for more than seven years. With every mile of her two-day road trip to the Bitterroot Valley, she had felt more excitement rush through her veins. She was now officially her own woman, ready to take a leap of faith and dive into a brand-new adventure in the small community tucked away at the foot of these glorious mountains.

  Delta breathed in the spicy air, which still carried the warmth of summer. The sun was high in the sky, and the wind that had been tugging at her car during the ride had finally died down. She felt almost hot in her thigh-length knit vest, black jeans, and boots. Sneakers would have been better, but they were safely packed up in the trunk with the rest of her limited luggage. Since she had rented a furnished apartment in Cheyenne and donated to a charity shop most of the small stuff she didn’t want to lug around, she hadn’t had to pack a lot of things for the move. Just clothes, her many sketchbooks, pencils and other drawing materials, and laptop. In Tundish, she’d move in with her best friend from college, Hazel, who ran the stationery shop where Delta was going to be co-owner. Her heart beat faster just thinking about it. Her own shop, and the freedom to design products for it. She couldn’t wait to get started. Having put the sketchbook with her brand-new autumnal design back on the passenger seat, she hit the gas and zoomed into town.

  Tundish had been developed when settlers migrated to Montana for gold and logging. Most houses were made of wood and built in a sturdy Western style, some with dates carved into the front, placing these builds firmly within the nineteenth century. The word gold appeared everywhere: in street names, on signs pointing in the direction of an old mine site or to the gold-mining museum. However, Delta wasn’t looking for gold. She was on a hunt for something even more precious: the old sheriff’s office that housed the shop of her dreams.

  Painted powder blue with black trim, the building sat on Mattock Street like a dependable force. It still had the hitching post in front where riders had tied up their horses before storming in to bring word of a bank or train robbery. The faces of the culprits had soon appeared on wanted posters between the barred windows, and even today
, such posters were on display, but they no longer advertised the faces of notorious bandits, instead sporting the latest offering in stationery supplies: collectible erasers, washi tape, notebooks, and planners. A chalkboard on the sidewalk invited everyone to a Glitter Galore workshop on Friday night at the Lodge Hotel with a note at the bottom stating: All materials included and mocktails to celebrate the results. Sounded like a ton of fun, and Delta would be there.

  Her eagerness to take in everything as she drove past had reduced her speed to about zero, and behind her, a car horn honked impatiently. Waving apologetically at the driver, who probably couldn’t even see it, Delta accelerated and passed the neighboring hardware store and grocery shop, spying a parking lot beside the town’s whitewashed church. She left her car there, then walked back the short stretch to the stationery shop’s invitingly open doors. Over them, a wooden plank carried the name WANTED in tall letters burned into the wood, underlining that Western vibe. Delta grinned to herself, anticipating Hazel’s expression when she saw Delta amble in. She could have called when she was almost there but had decided a surprise was that much more fun.

  When she was a few feet away from the doors, her friend darted out of the entrance with a bright-yellow paper arrow gingerly held between the fingers of her outstretched right hand. Whirling to a stop in front of the wanted poster advertising notebooks, Hazel tilted her head to eye the poster, her blond bob swinging around her ears. She positioned the arrow over the right edge of the paper, moving it up and down as if to determine the perfect spot to stick it on. It read two for one.

  Delta said, “That probably means I’ll buy four. Do co-owners get a discount?”

  Hazel swung around and whooped, the arrow still dangling from her finger. “Delta! I hadn’t expected you yet.”

  She rushed to Delta and hugged her, then stepped back and held her by the shoulders, looking her over. “It’s been too long. I mean, we did chat and all that, but it’s not the same as a real meeting in the flesh. I can’t believe you’ll be living here now! The guest room at my place isn’t all that big, but you can find something for yourself soon enough, once leaf-peeping season is over, and the cottages aren’t all rented out to tourists who want to snap pictures of the trees.”

  “I’m in no rush to find something,” Delta assured her. “Rooming together will be just like college.” She surveyed Hazel’s deep-orange blouse, chocolate-brown pants, and green ankle boots. “Wow, your outfit is fall to the max! Are there boutiques in town with clothes like that?”

  “Sure.” Hazel pointed across the street. “Right beside Western World, with all those Stetsons and boots on display, we have Bessie’s Boutique. I’ve got a closet full of their pants. They’re the perfect fit, and that’s so hard to find. Besides, the owner is a friend of mine, so I get first dibs on all the new stock.”

  “Sounds great. Can I meet this friend?”

  “Soon enough. She’ll be attending our first workshop together.” Hazel gestured at the chalkboard.

  “Glitter and mocktails. Sounds posh.” Delta nodded at the cocktail glasses drawn beside the workshop title.

  Hazel laughed. “On Friday nights, the Lodge Hotel offers live entertainment for the guests and the locals. A big band for dancing, that sort of thing. This Friday night it’s their gold miners’ annual party, a sophisticated affair that’s a throwback to the hotel’s heydays when tourism was just beginning to boom. It’s really fun, and I thought we should have the workshop tie in to that. Of course, we’ll be in our separate space, away from all the high-profile guests dancing the night away, but hey, at least we’ll be able to breathe the glam atmosphere.”

  “Sounds fabulous. I’ll snap some pictures for Gran to show her what I’m up to.”

  “Great. Now…” Hazel clapped her hands together and said, “Guided tour of my shop. Our shop, I should say. Come on in.” She led the way through the entrance’s double doors.

  Delta followed with a pounding heart. She had seen photos of the shop, but she had never been to Tundish in person. This would be her first real-life view of her new enterprise.

  Hazel gestured around her at all the warm woodwork and the authentic hearth where a pair of dusty cowboy boots stood ready, as if the sheriff would appear any moment to jump into them and set out with his posse. “This used to be where the sheriff sat to wait for news about a bank robbery or a gang of cattle thieves. You can see that I kept his desk and used it to display the newest notebooks.”

  Delta jumped toward the notebooks, eager to pick through the stacks and take Hazel up on the two-for-one offer. But Hazel laughed and pulled her away. “No, no browsing yet. First, you have to see the rest. There, along the wall, I have shelves for crafting packages. You can find anything, from designing your own planner to making a birthday calendar. Then in that old cell…”

  Hazel walked through a barred door that led into a small space with a wooden cot pushed against the wall. Above the cot, replicas of original newspaper pages displayed the faces of the Old West’s most notorious gang members, some of them smug, others defiant.

  “A few of them spent time in here,” Hazel explained, gesturing around her. “And I put up that bit of rope”—she gestured to a rope tied around one of the bars in the narrow window—“to refer to all the escape attempts made. They tied the other end of the rope to a horse and gave it a scare so it would gallop off and tear the bar right from the window. Crude and often not very effective.”

  “I love it.” Delta fingered the rope.

  “If you have ideas to give it even more atmosphere, just say so. I’m constantly switching it up to attract people who normally might not walk into a stationery shop but who do want to breathe everything Western. In my experience, once they are sold on the shop’s atmosphere, they also buy a little something, if only to show their appreciation for the way in which I preserved it.”

  “You did a great job,” Delta said. “And that’s all the washi tape?” She pointed at countless glass jars filled with rolls of tape.

  “Yup. I have unique offerings from Japan and Australia that you can’t get anywhere else in the country. You should see me salivate when those parcels come in. I was tempted to keep all the ones with the pandas to myself. And in the other cell, I have all the collectible erasers.”

  Delta followed her into the second cell, which had a rough table against the wall where small glittery objects were lying beside old-fashioned scales and yellowing papers, folded and unfolded so many times that they were torn along the edges. A plasticized card with information warned visitors not to touch the objects because they were authentic and breakable, while also explaining that mining had often been the seed of crime as people sold fake claims or ended up in fights about gold found.

  Hazel gestured across the papers. “Real stake claims donated to me by the gold-mining museum. They have a ton of those and didn’t mind me having some. They get attention here instead of sitting in an archive.”

  “I love the fake gold clumps. At least I assume they are fake?”

  “Created by a loving volunteer at the mining museum who also puts these into small wooden mining carts they sell as souvenirs.” Hazel gestured to the bunk bed against the wall. “There’s our offering of collectible erasers.”

  Delta wanted to sit on her haunches to study the products closer, especially the miniature makeup replicas, including a blusher box that could be opened to reveal two colors and a little brush inside. But Hazel tapped her on the shoulder and gestured to follow her out of the cell, back into the main space where the sunlight through the windows gave the wooden surfaces an extra-warm glow.

  Hazel pointed. “Now, there in the back we have the old umbrella stands with all the wrapping paper. Above, an old clothes rack with gift bags.”

  Bags in several shapes and sizes were hung by their ribbon handles from the rack. They came in bright colors with glitter or in intricate geometric pattern
s that created visual depth. Delta closed in and spotted a few Christmassy ones among the offerings. Picking out one with a cute design of cocoa mugs and sweet treats, she held it up to Hazel. “Candy canes already?”

  Hazel laughed. “Christmas themes sell well all year round. There’s just something quintessentially cozy about them. I’ve already scheduled some early November workshops we can do to teach people how to make menus and name tags to use on the dinner table, or teach pro-wrapping skills where we turn simple presents into gifts extraordinaire. I’ll show you my idea list later on. I’m sure you have lots you want to add.”

  Delta nodded eagerly.

  “But first to wrap up our tour: here’s the old weapon rack where the sheriff could grab his double-barreled shotgun, now used to hold all my wrapping ribbons, stickers, and tags. The puffy stickers are selling especially well with kids.”

  Hazel smiled widely as she encompassed the whole shop with a wave of both her outstretched arms. “Now you’re free to take a closer look at whatever you want to. And yes, co-owners do get a discount.”

  Delta made a beeline back to the old sheriff’s desk and took the top notebook off a stack. “These dogs are adorable.” Her finger traced the rows of small dachshunds, poodles, and Labs that marched across the hard cover. “In the city, I never got around to having a dog, you know. I was away most of the time, and it just seemed sad leaving him or her alone in the apartment all day long. I wonder if I could have a puppy here.”

  She opened the cover and leafed through the pages. “Wow, every page actually has a different dog. Aw, this border collie puppy is chasing a ball!”

  “Remember that it’s two for the price of one now! Speaking of, where did I put that arrow?” Hazel checked both hands and then began to look around her. “Maybe I dropped it outside?”

  “Then it must be gone. There was a strong wind when I drove over here. Or someone stepped on it and it stuck to their shoe.”

  Ignoring Delta’s predictions, Hazel ambled outside, scanning the pavement for the missing arrow.