Paint the Town Dead Read online

  Praise for the Aurora Anderson Mystery Series

  Books in the Aurora Anderson Mystery Series

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  Copyright

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  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

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  In Case You Missed the 1st Book in the Series

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  COUNTERFEIT CONSPIRACIES

  KILLER IMAGE

  NUN TOO SOON

  CIRCLE OF INFLUENCE

  Praise for the Aurora Anderson Mystery Series

  PAINT THE TOWN DEAD (#2)

  “Plenty of charming characters, red herrings, labyrinthine twists and turns and brushes with death before you can even begin to guess whodunit. Paint the Town Dead is a cleverly crafted mystery full of secrets and intrigues that kept me guessing till the end.”

  – Connie Archer, Author of the

  Soup Lover’s Mystery Series

  “Johnson paints characters with a folksy charm that makes them feel like family…Color me a fan!”

  – Diane Vallere, Author of

  the Material Witness, Style & Error, and Madison Night Mysteries

  “Rory is definitely a quirky character; she has the ability to draw the readers in so that they want to follow her through her adventures.”

  – Suspense Magazine

  “The plot thickens and becomes more entangled as Rory pursues all and any possible angles [to catch the killer]. Many intriguing complications arise during this search for the truth. An easy to read mystery with an amateur female sleuth who is a very likeable and believable character.”

  – LibraryThing

  “Rory finds herself needing to uncover the truth of a friend’s shocking death as everyone else seems satisfied with the easy answer. She’s willing to risk friendships, and her own life, to chip away to reach the unvarnished truth. Paint the Town Dead is an engaging mystery set amidst a painting convention and showcases the complexity of relationships when a tragedy strikes.”

  – Christina Freeburn, Author of

  Framed to Death

  FATAL BRUSHSTROKE (#1)

  “Johnson has penned a charming mystery filled with colorful characters, clever plot twists and unexpected surprises that will keep you guessing whodunit right until the end. A rewarding read and a refreshing debut.”

  —Hannah Dennison, Author of the

  Vicky Hill Mysteries and The Honeychurch Hall Mysteries

  “Johnson has an assured, steady hand in creating complex plotlines in Fatal Brushstroke. Readers will definitely want to revisit Vista Beach in Aurora’s next outing of investigating.”

  – Naomi Hirahara, Edgar Award-Winning Author of

  Murder on Bamboo Lane

  “A fun and fast-paced romp with plenty of suspense and intrigue, colorful characters, infidelity and family secrets. Fatal Brushstroke is sure to please cozy readers, especially those who love crafts mixed with murder.”

  – Sue Ann Jaffarian, Author of the

  Bestselling Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery Series

  “Enjoyable, fun and entertaining…Aurora is a strong character you immediately feel like you have known her a lifetime…I love books that keep you reading late into the night and for me this is one of them great books.”

  – Shelley’s Book Case

  “The strength of the book, as in most good cozy mysteries, lies in the main character…The book really poses the question, within a well-written cozy, is nature or nurture more important in what a person becomes?...This underlying story makes this an interesting choice for book clubs to discuss.”

  – Examiner.com

  Books in the Aurora Anderson Mystery Series

  by Sybil Johnson

  FATAL BRUSHSTROKE (#1)

  PAINT THE TOWN DEAD (#2)

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  Copyright

  PAINT THE TOWN DEAD

  An Aurora Anderson Mystery

  Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection

  First Edition

  Kindle edition | December 2015

  Henery Press

  www.henerypress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Copyright © 2015 by Sybil Johnson

  Cover art by Stephanie Chontos

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Related subjects include: cozy mysteries, women sleuths, murder mystery series, whodunit mysteries (whodunnit), female protagonist, small town mystery, amateur sleuth books.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-943390-35-9

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my parents, Glen and Mathie,

  and my sister, Glenice

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to everyone who joined Rory on her first adventure in Fatal Brushstroke. To have people other than my family read and enjoy my work is a dream come true.

  Thanks also to my always calm and ever helpful editor, Erin George, for her advice and assistance in making this a better story. And to everyone at Henery Press for their continued support.

  To everyone in the mystery community, I value your friendship more than I can say. Special thanks go to Hannah Dennison, for her advice and moral support, and Cynthia Kuhn, for her encouraging words.

  A special thanks goes to Project Egypt for the support and friendship you’ve shown me over the years.

  And the biggest thanks of all goes to my husband, Steve, for aiding and abetting me in all of this writerly stuff.

  Chapter 1

  The rock crashed through the window, barely missing Rory Anderson’s head, and slammed into the bookcase behind her. Seconds later, she heard the revving of an engine followed by the squeal of tires as a car sped away.

  Rory’s heart leapt into her throat. She gaped at the jagged hole in the window in front of her desk and swiveled her chair around to look behind her, where a dozen paperbacks had tumbled out of the bookcase onto the hardwood floor. Nestled among them lay the fist-sized rock that had come close to knocking her out.

  Her heart pounding, Rory took several calming breaths and forced herself to sit as still as possible while she
listened for suspicious sounds outside. No unusual noises reached her ears. The residents of Seagull Lane appeared to be tucked in for the night, enjoying a peaceful Sunday evening before the workweek started. Once her breathing returned to normal, she cautiously got up from her chair, leaned over her desk, and peered through the damaged window into the darkness beyond. Lights from neighboring houses illuminated enough of her street that she could discern the shapes of cars and trees. A cat crept out of the shadows and crossed her front lawn like a tiger on the prowl. She didn’t want to know what the orange tabby was stalking.

  Rory’s gaze swept her work area from the window past the computer on her desk to the pile of books on the floor. She crossed the room, and tucking her long brown hair behind her ears, bent down to pick up the rock. Wrapped around it was a note. The words on the scrap of pink paper chilled her to the bone: This is only the beginning. Prepare to pay for your actions. Down with the Akaw!

  Fright turned to puzzlement as the message finally sunk in. Dozens of people had been inside the newly built hotel in the two weeks since it opened. She doubted all of them had been treated to a rock through their window. She had written software for the Akaw, but that didn’t seem a good enough reason to target her.

  Rory carefully placed the rock and note on the desk and wiped off her hands on her jeans. After turning on every light she could find, she took her cell phone out of its charger and called the Vista Beach police department to report the incident. Time dragged on as she waited for a patrol car to arrive. She itched to clean up the mess, but knew the police would want to see an undisturbed scene so, instead, she took photos of the damage for her insurance company.

  When ten minutes passed and the normally responsive police were nowhere in sight, she wondered if there’d been a sudden explosion of crime in Vista Beach. Perhaps the influx of visitors common in June was creating more problems than usual for the quiet Los Angeles County beach community.

  Rory paced back and forth in the great room that spanned the front of her house, walking from the work area at one end to the living room at the other, periodically glancing outside. She was passing the front door for what must have been the tenth time when a cacophony of yowls and hisses rent the night air. Her stockinged feet slid on the polished hardwood, and she braced herself against a nearby wall to steady herself. As soon as she regained her balance, she poked her head out the door and yelled at the cats to be quiet. Once the warring felines slunk away, she continued her pacing, getting angrier and angrier every time she passed the damaged window, obsessing over the violation of her home and the police department’s lack of response. By the time a patrol car pulled into her driveway forty-five minutes later, she was ready to explode.

  Light spilled out onto the porch when Rory wrenched the front door open. She suppressed her anger as she watched the uniformed officer traverse the walkway, the beam of his flashlight illuminating the path before him. By the time he stepped onto the porch, she was calm enough to have a civil conversation.

  “You called about some vandalism, ma’am?” Officer Yamada said, after introducing himself and apologizing for the delay.

  Rory invited the officer inside and pointed to the broken window. He examined the area, then headed outside to look around.

  When he returned, she handed over the note for his inspection. “This came through the window wrapped around a rock.”

  His expression neutral, he stared at the note, not even raising an eyebrow as he read the words on the paper.

  “You don’t seem very surprised,” she said.

  “This isn’t new to me. I saw an identical note earlier tonight at the home of the chairman of the city council.”

  “So I wasn’t the only one targeted.” Rory didn’t know whether to find the news comforting or not. “How many others were there?”

  “Besides the chairman, two other council members’ houses were egged. Those are just the calls I took personally.”

  No wonder he’d taken so long to get here, Rory thought. “How long has this been going on? The newspaper didn’t say anything about vandalism. The only articles I saw were on people complaining about the hotel about, what was it...?” She screwed up her face in concentration. “Something about homeowners near the Akaw claiming construction of the underground parking garage damaged their houses.”

  “It’s been the talk of the department lately. Couldn’t tell you if it’s true or not. We’ve had several incidents of vandalism around the city since the hotel opened. The investigation is a top priority for us but, unfortunately, we haven’t had much luck so far identifying the culprits.”

  “How come I haven’t heard anything about this?”

  “We’ve been keeping it quiet. Don’t want to unnecessarily disturb residents. Do you work for the Akaw?”

  “Indirectly. I put together their website and developed an app for guests to use.”

  The officer jotted something down on his notepad. “An app, huh? My daughter keeps on talking about apps. What does this one do?”

  “Gives guests information on the hotel and the city. There’s a map of the Akaw, menus for the hotel’s restaurant and room service, a list of local attractions, that kind of thing. Users can even order room service and book their next visit right from their phone.”

  “Sounds useful. Would it be easy for someone to find out you did all this work for the hotel?”

  “Pretty easy. My company name and website address is at the bottom of every site I develop. Wouldn’t take much research to find out who I was, though I don’t know how they’d know where I live. I use a postal box for all of my company correspondence.”

  The officer cleared his throat. A look of discomfort momentarily appeared on his face. “A lot of people know where you live because of the recent...problem.”

  When she’d found a body in her garden and been suspected of murder two months before, it was the talk of the town. Between word of mouth and articles in the local newspaper and on blogs, half the residents probably had her address tucked away in the back of their minds by now.

  “I’m sorry this happened to you. I know it’s troubling. We’ll do everything we can to figure out who’s responsible.” He closed his notebook. “In the meantime, I’ll file a report. You can get a copy if you need one for your insurance company.”

  “What are the chances you’ll actually find out who did this?”

  “Based on past experience with this kind of thing, not great. But I like to be optimistic. We’ll process the note and canvass the neighborhood to see if anyone noticed anything. Maybe we’ll get lucky. One of your neighbors could have a security camera. I promise, we’ll do our best.” Before stepping out the front door, Officer Yamada added, “Be sure to put something over that window. And don’t hesitate to call again if something else happens.”

  After the officer left, Rory wondered whether the police would be able to catch the culprit. If they couldn’t find the person who broke her window, she intended to look for the vandal herself. She stared at the photo she’d taken of the note, trying to get some clue as to its author. There wasn’t any handwriting to analyze, only a font that could have been printed anywhere. She thought about talking to her neighbors, but one glance at the clock told her most of them wouldn’t appreciate being disturbed at this hour. Any questioning would have to wait until morning.

  Rory dialed her insurance company’s hotline. After spending time on the phone with a representative, she called a twenty-four hour window repair service who promised to send someone right out. While they measured the window and boarded it up, she swept up the broken glass and returned the books to their places.

  Too restless to work or go to bed, Rory dug back issues of the weekly newspaper, the Vista Beach View, out of the recycling bin and searched for the articles she remembered seeing about the Akaw. She read and reread the two she found for some indication as to who might have targeted her home.

  The articles mentioned the contentious debates and endless city coun
cil meetings concerning the property that had once housed a private school. When the owners put the large lot up for sale, the city of Vista Beach planned to buy it, but the city council took too long to authorize the funds and the hotel builder swooped in and purchased the land instead. The council approved the hotel project in a close vote, the chairman himself leading the charge. Rory suspected the other council members targeted also voted for approval.

  She returned the papers to the recycling bin and tried to figure out what to do next. Now that her anger had worn off, she felt the need to hear a friendly voice, so she speed-dialed a number she called every single day. Two rings later, Elizabeth Dexter answered.

  “Hi, Rory,” Liz said. “You’ve got to see this show I’m watching. These people marry someone they’ve never met. It’s like a blind date, only instead of going out to dinner they meet at the altar. Crazy, right?” She launched into a detailed description of the latest reality TV show to catch her eye.

  Smiling into her phone, Rory leaned back on the couch, relaxing into its soft cushions. The tension eased from her body as she listened to her best friend’s nonstop chatter.

  “So what’s up with you?” Liz asked after she finished describing all of the episodes she’d seen so far.

  Rory took a deep breath and blurted out, “Someone threw a rock through my window.”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Liz said, “I’ll get my jammies and toothbrush and be right over.”

  A wave of relief washed over Rory. She hadn’t realized how on edge she was about sleeping alone in the house that night. Most of the time she liked living by herself, but after the evening’s events every creak and groan in the 1,200-square-foot structure made her jump.