For Letter or Worse Read online

  Also by Vivian Conroy

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  Grand Prize: Murder!

  Dead to Begin With

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  Death Comes to Dartmoor

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  Murder Will Follow Mysteries

  An Exhibition of Murder

  Under the Guise of Death

  Honeymoon with Death

  A Testament to Murder

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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2020 by Vivian Conroy

  Cover and internal design © 2020 by Sourcebooks

  Cover illustration by Anne Werthiem

  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

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Conroy, Vivian, author.

  Title: For letter or worse : a stationery shop mystery / Vivian Conroy.

  Description: Naperville, IL : Poisoned Pen Press, 2020. | Series: The stationery shop mysteries

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019059977 | (paperback)

  Subjects: GSAFD: Mystery fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3601.V64 F67 2020 | DDC 813/.6--dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019059977

  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

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Acknowledgments and Author’s Note

  Excerpt from Last Pen Standing

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  Chapter One

  “Ahwawawawawa.” Hazel’s voice sounded muffled from beneath the counter she had crawled under, looking for her favorite scissors.

  “What?” Delta called back, perching on a chair to dust the weapons rack that held their wrapping-paper display. With their stationery shop, Wanted, housed in a former sheriff’s office on Mattock Street in historic Tundish, Montana, many of the elements were authentic. Hazel had decided to keep them when she originally rented the building for the shop.

  One of the most eye-catching historic details was the heavy oak desk where Tundish sheriffs had sat, waiting for news about bank robberies or attacks on stagecoaches. A pair of old boots with spurs stood by the hearth as if the sheriff were ready to jump into them and ride out to catch some famous gang of outlaws. The former cells were still there, with their narrow, barred windows and wooden cots, now holding part of the stationery collection and decorative elements of Tundish’s history as a gold-mining town. During the rush, it had boomed with prospectors flocking in to try their luck. No wonder criminals had followed suit, to get their greedy hands on the precious metal that was excavated. Old photographs on the cells’ walls showed the various gangs that had roamed the Tundish area, and on a table, scales, clumps of fake gold, and a crinkled map harked back to those exciting days. A bigger map, with gold-find sites, sat under a glass slab forming the top of the counter.

  “I think,” Hazel said, pushing herself to her feet, “we should have tried harder to make the 3-D card–making workshop this afternoon into something special.” She leaned back on her heels and whipped a lock of blond hair from her flustered face. She usually wore it cut at chin length but was currently growing it so she could pull it back into a ponytail.

  “How do you mean ‘special’?” Delta asked with a frown. “We’re offering a good workshop, and that’s really all there is to it.”

  “But we’ve never before had such high-profile guests: former models, wives of rich businessmen. I wonder what we got ourselves into.”

  At the mention, Delta’s stomach wriggled with nerves. But she wasn’t going to show that to Hazel. Her friend and co-owner of Wanted was nervous enough as it was. They had never before been asked to do a workshop at somebody’s house, and this wasn’t just any house, but one of the most expensive villas along Tundish’s lake. The waterfront locations had been popular with rich families since the 1920s, when tourism to the area had started to boom. Doing a workshop at such a venue was good advertisement for the shop as well. Provided it all goes well, of course.

  With a new flood of nerves inside, Delta wiped the last of the dust off the rack and sneezed. Blinking against the burn behind her eyes, she clambered down from the chair and went to the open door to shake out her dust cloth in the fresh air.

  On the other side of the street, a truck stopped to deliver food supplies to Mine Forever, the restaurant that was famous around the area for its prizewinning coffee and friendly service. The owner stood in the street, gesturing to the truck driver to back up closer to the entrance so it would be easier to carry everything inside. His voice could be heard over the growling engine and the pulsing beats of music. Delta figured it came from the truck’s open window, but once the truck had stopped and the driver had cut the engine, the music kept playing.

  Her gaze wandered up to the top of the building, where an oversized mattock and sieve sat, immediately drawing attention to the restaurant’s gold rush theme. Over time, this equipment had become quite rusty, and apparently, the restaurant’s owner had decided some restoration work was in order during these f
ine October days. A guy in overalls was working energetically on the mattock’s blade. Sunshine glinted off the cleaned area, and Delta narrowed her eyes against the piercing light. Although the leaf-peeping seasonal rush was over, tourists were still pouring out of buses to explore the historic sites around town. Soon the holiday season would start, with people coming in for the special Thanksgiving festivities centering on Tundish’s first settlers and the run up to Christmas where the entire town bathed in colorful lights and musicians played Christmas songs live on the street corners. Delta and Hazel had made plans to tap into these activities with special offers at the store and holiday-themed workshops. Hopefully, they could wrap up the year with a bang, income-wise also. Although Delta was still rooming with Hazel at her cottage, she hoped to move into her own place somewhere down the line. Good seasonal sales could bring that step a bit closer.

  With a loving look at the front of the building that housed her dreams, Delta turned back inside, where Hazel stood at the counter, staring into space. Her right hand toyed absentmindedly with the necklace dangling down her thick-knit sweater. “What?” Delta asked as she went to the sheriff’s desk to dust between the stacks of notebooks. There were many with Christmas designs, with silver-foil trees, jumping deer silhouettes in gold, or nostalgic scenes of quintessentially British villages snuggled under a layer of snow that shimmered with added glitter.

  “Maybe I should have had my brows done at the beauty parlor,” Hazel replied and reached up to run a finger along her left brow. “I mean, with all of Lena Laroy’s friends around this afternoon…”

  “You’re more than presentable, and you know it.” Delta waved her dust cloth at her. “Besides, Lena might be a former top model and TV personality, but I heard she’s been living a low-key life since she married.”

  “Low-key?” Hazel scoffed. She enumerated on her fingers. “The villa by the lake is one of her husband’s many homes scattered across the country and abroad. His Drake Design company is rumored to net millions of dollars each year, restyling penthouses and country estates for the stars. He even rubs shoulders with royalty. They have a housekeeper at the villa, but still, the party snacks are coming from a reputed caterer. Lena has two prize poodles, which a professional dog walker walks for her.” Hazel rolled her eyes. “I can’t imagine why she wants a card-making workshop as part of her birthday celebrations.”

  “But she does, and she asked us to do the workshop for her. Great advertising. Besides”—Delta gestured at the cardboard box that stood beside the counter—“you’ve been packing and unpacking that box for days now, so you should be one hundred percent certain everything we need is in there.”

  Hazel sighed. “I’m worried it won’t be enough. That her posh friends will let us know we’re not high-class material.”

  “We or our cards?” Delta went over and gave her friend a hug. “Listen up. We know our craft. She hired us because she believes in us. We’ll give her guests a great time.”

  “They’ve probably never made a card in their lives,” Hazel squeaked.

  “Exactly, which is why they’re going to have fun.”

  “Hellooo!” Through the open shop door, a tall figure appeared in an orange woolen coat with a patterned scarf around her shoulders. A bouncy Yorkie ran ahead of her, nails scratching on the floorboards. Delta squatted to pat the dog. “Hey, Nugget, how are you?”

  The Yorkie threw herself on her back to be patted on the stomach. When Delta rubbed her, she rolled from one side to the other, making satisfied sounds.

  “Yes, you like that, don’t you?” Delta cooed. “You like that.”

  “You’re not bringing Nugget to the party, are you?” Hazel asked the dog’s owner in a worried tone.

  Orpa Cassidy made a scoffing sound. “Of course not. I know she has two poodles who would chase poor Nugget around the garden. They’re not properly trained at all. I saw that dog walker the other day on the path by the lake, struggling to stay in control of the leashes. It’s quite a young girl, just eighteen, I think. Maybe a student earning some extra cash by walking dogs for all those villa owners who don’t have the time. They do have time to go out boating and drinking champagne with friends, of course.” Mrs. Cassidy grimaced. “I can’t imagine leaving Nugget in strange hands for hours on end, being away doing what I think is fun.” Her expression brightened. “Then again, Nugget is extra special, aren’t you, darling?”

  Nugget sat up and barked, her head tilted to the side. Mrs. Cassidy smiled and scooped her off the floor. “I’ll take her to Bessie at the boutique and pick up my lunch at the bakery. I wanted to ask if I can get you anything.”

  “I can’t eat.” Hazel sighed, but Delta tutted at her.

  “Some of those pecan caramel buns would be great,” she said to Mrs. Cassidy. “Isn’t the deal of the week buy four, get one for free?”

  “Consider it done.” Mrs. Cassidy lowered her voice and added in a confidential tone, “Jane has been so excited about your workshop. She can’t wait to hear everything about how that villa is decorated. They say Drake is a fan of modern art and has the most amazing pieces standing around.”

  “We’re not there to peek into rooms,” Hazel said, casting an anxious look at Delta.

  Ever since they had told their crafting club, the Paper Posse, about the workshop with Lena Laroy, the ladies had been in a flutter of excitement, speculating about the villa’s decor, the clothes Lena would be wearing to the party, and what important people might show up. Everyone, from Hollywood stars to royalty, had been suggested, and photos from gossip columns had been provided to enable Delta and Hazel to recognize these celebrities. The Posse expected a full report, one of them even suggesting they could sneak some pics with their phones to send through to the Paper Posse message group.

  “And we certainly can’t take photos,” Delta stated in a firm tone. “We’re there to represent Wanted.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Cassidy said with a determined nod. “I really don’t understand all the excitement. If she had accomplished something extraordinary, like Amelia Earhart, who flew a plane across the Atlantic all by herself…” Her features got a dreamy expression as usual when she contemplated adventurous women from the past.

  Delta grinned and gave her a little shove against the arm. “Get going.”

  “Right. I won’t be long.” Mrs. Cassidy broke her reverie and left the shop in a rush, almost bumping into Ray Taylor. The tall, ex-football player normally cut a fine figure with his broad shoulders, tan, and the twinkle in his eyes, betraying he didn’t take life all that seriously, but today he looked extra smart in a crisp shirt with neat pants and leather shoes, carrying a bunch of pale pink roses in his hand.

  Hazel spotted him and flushed, ducking behind the counter.

  Delta had often heard Hazel claim she wasn’t interested in Ray Taylor at all. Why would she be? He was a notorious ladies’ man, who had dated a lot during his professional career. Now that he was retired—involuntarily, as an injury had ended his career—and back in Tundish, where his family ran the prestigious Lodge Hotel, he still couldn’t complain about female attention, and Hazel, understandably, didn’t feel like joining the queue.

  But still, whenever Ray appeared anywhere within sight or earshot, she acted nervous, suggesting she did like him a little bit better than she claimed.

  “Hey, Ray,” Delta said, stepping into his path to cut off his route to the counter. “What gorgeous flowers.”

  “Yes, they’re for a birthday girl. You’re going to her party as well, right?”

  Delta blinked a moment to process who he was referring to. “You mean Lena Laroy?”

  “I should have known you know her,” Hazel muttered, reappearing behind the counter and putting an unnecessary extra pen into the cardboard box with workshop supplies.

  The corners of Ray’s mouth twitched a moment, as if he found her response amusing, and Delta made
a mental note to tell Hazel she shouldn’t let Ray rile her.

  “I met her years ago at a party thrown by the club where I played at the time.” Ray shrugged. “She was engaged to that singer then. What was his name?” He snapped the fingers of his free hand as if to help him recall. “He wasn’t with her, though. Had some concert to do in Nashville, I think. All the boys wanted to dance with her. She was back from a shoot in Dubai or some other exotic destination. Had a fabulous tan.”

  “For something that happened years ago, you remember a remarkable amount of details about it,” Hazel said.

  Again, Ray seemed to be fighting a smile. Delta said, “So you’re going to her birthday party now.”

  “Just because her husband invited me. Calvin Drake was at the hotel last week to talk to Rosalyn about changing our interior design. He has this plan to modernize it. You know, new couches in the lobby, different paintings on the wall.”

  “I heard he’s rather pricey,” Delta observed.

  “Right, and I feel like he’s trying to make money across our backs. Part of the Lodge’s charm is that timeless feel. We don’t need to go all twenty-first century. But Rosalyn felt very flattered that such a well-known man wants to get involved with the hotel, and she’s seriously considering his offer.”

  Ray leaned over to Delta and added, “To be honest, he was so charming to her, I had the impression he was flirting.”

  “Then why didn’t he invite Rosalyn to the birthday party?” Hazel asked.

  Ray laughed softly. “Because during the party, while his wife is busy cutting out paper flowers with her friends, he’s with Rosalyn. They’re going boating this afternoon, to discuss the plans for changing the Lodge’s interior look further.”

  Delta hitched a brow in disbelief. “Rosalyn makes that kind of appointment with a married man?”

  “She must feel flattered. Or it’s just business, and she thinks she can get his services for a sharp price. You never know with Rosalyn. Anyway…I’m ready to have a good time.” Ray held up the bunch of roses.

  “Are you going to papercraft as well, Mr. Taylor?” Mrs. Cassidy breezed back in, carrying two brown paper bags, which she handed to Delta and Hazel. “Your lunch before you leave.”