Dressed for Murder

By Camilla Chafer

A standalone novel with character and location links to all the Calendar Murder Mysteries!

A year ago, Meredith Blake was running scared, her life in tatters and her money rapidly hemorrhaging. When she discovers the quaint mountain town of Calendar, she finds everything she needs: freedom, anonymity, and a second chance to build a new life. Here, she can start over by opening a fashion boutique far away from the nightmare her life once was, and begin to heal. That is, until Brad Van den Berg, the man who spooked her into fleeing in the first place, appears on her doorstep with a knife imbedded in his chest.

How did Brad track her down? Especially when she was so careful not to leave any traces for him to follow? And who stabbed him? More importantly, why does the killer seem intent on framing Meredith for Brad’s murder? Sure, she has plenty of motivation but she’s no killer, and she can only wonder how anyone discovered their connection. Local Police Detective, Sam Logan seems convinced of her innocence, but Meredith knows she has to prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt, lest the life she so carefully created swiftly comes tumbling down.

Calendar is a pretty tourist town, where strangers are plentiful, but Meredith has to decide on whom she can rely as a friend and who is actually her foe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Camilla Chafer
• Release date: Dec 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9781909577268

Camilla Chafer

USA Today bestselling author Camilla Chafer is the author of the Lexi Graves Mysteries, the Deadlines Mystery Trilogy (a spin off from Lexi Graves), Calendar Murder Mysteries, and the Stella Mayweather urban fantasy series. She is also the author/editor of several non-fiction books and has written for newspapers, magazines and websites internationally.Visit www.camillachafer.com for all the latest news. Sign up for her mailing list to be in the know when the next book comes out.

Book preview

Dressed for Murder

Copyright: Camilla Chafer

Published: December 2022

ISBN: 978-1-909577-26-8

The right of Camilla Chafer to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

Visit the author online at www.camillachafer.com to sign up to her mailing list and for more information on other titles.

Calendar Murder Mysteries

Murder in the Library

Poison Rose Murder

Murder by the Book

Murder at Blackberry Inn

Curated Murder

Dressed for Murder

Contents

Copyright

Synopsis

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

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

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Dressed for Murder

Two years ago, Meredith Blake was running scared, her life in tatters and her money rapidly hemorrhaging. When she discovers the quaint mountain town of Calendar, she finds everything she needs: freedom, anonymity, and a second chance to build a new life. Here, she can start over by opening a fashion boutique far away from the nightmare her life once was, and begin to heal. That is, until Brad Van den Berg, the man who spooked her into fleeing in the first place, appears on her doorstep with a knife imbedded in his chest.

How did Brad track her down? Especially when she was so careful not to leave any traces for him to follow? And who stabbed him? More importantly, why does the killer seem intent on framing Meredith for Brad’s murder? Sure, she has plenty of motivation but she’s no killer, and she can only wonder how anyone discovered their connection. Local Police Detective, Sam Logan seems convinced of her innocence, but Meredith knows she has to prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt, lest the life she so carefully created swiftly comes tumbling down.

Calendar is a pretty tourist town, where strangers are plentiful, but Meredith has to decide on whom she can rely as a friend and who is actually her foe.

Chapter One

For the first time in a very long time, I didn't wake up in a panic, my legs bound together by the thin summer quilt, a sheen of perspiration coating my skin. Instead, I yawned lazily and took a few minutes to enjoy the soft sunrise peeking through a gap in the drapes. I had to stretch as I reached for my fluffy, gray cat. My cat. I didn't have a cat anymore. It wasn't the first time I reached out for her warm, little body only to remember Mabel was no longer with me. I hoped my sister was taking very good care of Mabel and not forgetting to give her the treats she ate at light speed. I imagined her basking in the sun that flooded my sister's patio every afternoon.

It was funny really. Of all the elements I missed about my old life, excluding my family, the thing I missed the most was my cat. Not the glamorous parties or the exotic vacations, but my cat. And Mabel was as fond of lap cuddles as I was of stroking her. She probably didn't miss her old life with me at all now, not if my nieces were in charge. Mabel was probably getting very spoiled. I hoped so, anyway.

Keep nothing from your old life, I'd been told, not even photos... but I could see Mabel clearly in my mind, fat and happy, her fur thick and luscious. I didn't need a photo to remember how lovely her warm body felt, or how she liked to curl up in my lap, her breath gradually deepening until she fell fast asleep.

Pushing that thought away before I got sad, I eased out of bed, walked around the foot board and stopped in front of the closet. Three potential outfits hung on the rack, part of the routine I dutifully retained despite my life being so vastly different now. I scanned the knee-length dress in a soft mauve with a ruff of lace at the collar; a pair of black pants and a simple, black, boat-neck sweater; and the red pencil skirt with a softer red blouse. I loved all the garments, thoughtfully purchased and carefully looked after, all designed for establishing the persona of Meredith Blake, fashion boutique owner. Even thinking about it made me smile. I'd always dreamt of having my own fashion label but owning a small fashion boutique was the next best thing. Of course, I always imagined it in one of the chic neighborhoods of a big city, but nothing could parallel the beauty of the picturesque mountain town of Calendar. I hesitated as I gazed at the three outfits. In order to attract a quality clientèle, I had to dress the part. In order to sell fashion, I had to love it too. Little did they know how much fashion shaped my life, bringing me enormous fame before it all disappeared, and I was suddenly no more than a fashion world footnote.

My phone chirped with an alarm, pulling me back to the moment. Quickly glancing at the screen, a reminder flashed that a delivery was due today. I forgot all about it, but now I remembered submitting the order, penciling in the delivery only for it to be delayed and later rebooked. I anticipated the excitement of my clients when their eyes beheld some of the gorgeous pieces I'd ordered for the summer lines. Several patrons were seeking new dresses for the program of summer events our town had planned, along with the usual weddings and parties. Of course, that meant I had to know who bought what and where they planned to wear it. None of my clients wanted to wear the same outfit as another, especially if the other looked better in it! It would be tricky to keep tabs on everyone but I'd done it before. Now that I'd been in town for quite some time, I had a much better grip on my clients’ preferences and taste. It would have been so much easier to confine my appeal to the plethora of tourists who roamed through town year-round, but I sought the patronage of the residents, the women who would soon become my repeat customers.

Since I expected to have several boxes to open and garments to steam and press before I could hang them, I opted for the pants and sweater ensemble. Paired with flat pumps, gold jewelry and a glam, red lipstick, I would look polished enough for the shop, but still be practical enough for the storeroom.

An hour later, I was dressed, made up, and my long blonde hair was blown-out. I held the loose strands back with a jeweled headband that I decided on at the last minute. Breakfast was a croissant and my usual latte. After a swift rummage through the refrigerator, I concluded it was a 'buy lunch from the café day. I already knew what I'd order from the Coffee Corner Café: a delicious hot cheese and tomato panini and maybe one of Candice's chocolate cupcakes.

The last thing I did before I left the house was check every single window and door, ensuring they were just as securely locked as they were when I came downstairs. Of course they were, but it never hurt to check one last time. Finally, I grabbed my purse, activated the alarm and stepped outside onto the porch under the watchful lens of my security camera. I enjoyed the fragrant blooms and soft tendrils of purple wisteria, where I kept my bicycle.

Good morning, Meredith! called my neighbor, Jerry. He lived across the road, all alone, and made a habit of knowing everyone's business. At first, I found it annoying. Now, however, I tried to think of him as a living, breathing, home surveillance system.

Hi, Jerry, I called back, waving.

Nice bicycle. Is it new?

It is. Pretty, isn’t it? The bicycle was my latest indulgence. It was pale pink with a curved Dutch frame and a basket on the front, exactly the kind of thing I'd never have thought about buying in my previous life. Yet, I loved it. I felt great riding such a cute bike around the pretty mountain town where I'd made my home.

Very. Is it practical for winter?

It's still June, Jerry, I pointed out, motioning to the cloudless, blue sky and the abundance of green gardens that edged our properties. I folded my light summer jacket and placed it and my purse in the basket. Plus, I still have my car. It’s parked around back.

You know I remember now who you remind me of, he continued. Arden. The supermodel.

I stilled, a tsunami of panic flooding me. Who? I managed to say without squeaking, although I did turn away, pretending to examine the chain on my bicycle. I never expected to hear that name again.

She was very famous, oh… about a decade ago now. She wore a blunt bob hairstyle, not as long as yours. She wasn't as blonde as you either but you’re the same height, Meredith.

If I were a supermodel, why would I be here in Calendar? I asked, arching one eyebrow to convey that I thought his theory was crazy!

Well, I suppose… he said. Anyway, she's in rehab. Or maybe that was another supermodel? They all seem to have plenty of problems, don't they? The rich and famous, that is.

How sad, I said, checking my watch. Duty calls! Nice to see you! I wheeled my bicycle along the path, squeezing out the gate and passing Jerry on the road where I stopped and fitted my helmet.

You could have been a model, continued Jerry as I felt for the pedal with my foot.

I think I'll stick to selling clothes the old-fashioned way. I shot him a brief smile. From my hangers to their hands.

You should think about using social media. Everyone has their own website these days. I use Instagram. You should follow me.

Social media isn't for me, I said. I pushed off from the road, rolling my bicycle forwards while raising a hand and waving behind me. Jerry might have been a slightly overbearing neighbor but he was always pleasant. I didn't want to alienate him anymore than I wanted to spend all day chatting with him. What he really needed was a time-consuming hobby and a job that demanded more hours. I never managed to ascertain what he did for a living, but he wasn't old enough to be retired. Have a nice day, Jerry!

You too! Jerry called back, standing and watching me cycle away. I didn't dare risk a single glance back in case he took that as invitation to trot along next to me and continue chatting. Jerry was a nice man, but too much of a busybody for me. Plus, his insistence in recognizing me kept gnawing at me uncomfortably for the past couple weeks. Unfortunately, he wasn't guessing, and he wasn't wrong.

Calendar, like my long hair and boutique, was another aspect completely different from my previous life. Calendar was the epitome of a quaint town. It was as far from the exotic Caribbean resorts and glittering European enclaves as I could get… which made it irresistibly appealing. Nestled at the foot of snow-capped mountains that attracted barrages of skiers in the winter and hikers in the summer, the town itself was a charming mix of Victorian homes and broad streets lined with magnolias. The hub of the town was Main Street and the square. Delicious restaurants, delis and inviting boutiques attracted plenty of tourists and many of the town's main events kicked off in the square. In keeping with its name, the townspeople loved celebrating festivities from New Year’s, Valentine’s Day and the Fourth of July, on which the town was draped in red, white and blue, to weekend events and the twinkling, light-wrapped trees that preceded Christmas. My first Christmas here, I wrapped myself up in my big, down coat and braved the cold to watch a parade, all alone. I was impressed as any citizen would have been and very proud of my new home. It even featured their very own horse-drawn sleigh to carry Santa.

The town was big enough to still be anonymous, yet small enough to develop relationships with the residents, something I'd been doing slowly once I felt settled. Knowing I'd lived here for more than a year already blew my mind. I found a great little house to rent from a home owner who spent the past few years overseas and was unlikely to return anytime soon. Then I established a burgeoning fashion boutique. Fashion was my bailiwick and both locals and tourists alike quickly flocked to my revolving collections of casualwear, party dresses and stylish accessories. I even hosted a few small events to entice customers, which proved a big success. Things were going so well, I intended to hire a full-time assistant soon. My weekend assistant, Sacha, was a great asset but I needed someone to help me during the days too. Sacha was only available after school to help me out.

When I first moved here, I threw myself into the business side of things, which also filled my evening hours; but lately, I'd been craving the company of friends and longing to discover new hobbies. A few weeks ago, I enrolled in a cookery class at the Belle Rose restaurant. After learning a few skills and some sessions of practice, I was surprised to find how good I was at following a more complicated recipe. I even splurged on a few things for my kitchen: a fancy pepper and salt grinder set, scales, and some nice serving ware. I was imagining how nice it would be to cook for other people, especially now that the weather was warm and sunny and the evenings were light and bright. My friend, Sara and her boyfriend, Jason, would be my first guests. With a spurt of excitement, I pedaled my bike harder, then freewheeled around the corner, enjoying the breeze when it lifted my hair.

Morning, Grace! I called out as I cycled past a woman walking in the direction I rode.

Hi, Meredith! Grace called back, waving. She worked on Main Street too and looked around my age. I hoped to get to know her better. Being friendly was a good start.

The bike ride took less than twenty minutes. I reveled in waving to the people I saw working in their yards, the friendly mailman who always greeted me, and the dogwalker who managed several leashes with the cheeriest disposition. Compared to the days when it was rainy and everyone stayed inside or quickly went about their business with their heads down and their umbrellas up, the good weather days like this never failed to put me in a great mood. By the time I dismounted and wheeled my bicycle around the back of the boutique, I felt terrific. I locked my bike up, even though I probably didn't need to — Calendar was a trusting sort of town — and unlocked the back door. Pulling it shut behind me, I automatically listened for the lock to click, a habit I was sure I’d keep for a lifetime. Then my phone trilled from my purse but by the time I found it tucked away at the bottom it had stopped and the caller was unknown.

The back of the shop was my office and work area, although some of the floor space was given over to storage. Along with a small desk and chair, there was a stack of fashion magazines for inspiration, a few items hung on the racks that I didn't have space for in the shop yet, along with a box of accessories delivered the previous week. The artist was a local hobby jeweler that I stumbled on at a weekend market in town. I quickly suggested we meet to discuss stocking her jewelry exclusively in my shop since I knew I could easily sell the delicate pieces. I even bought a necklace for myself: a cluster of feathers wrought from fine gold and suspended on a long chain. I fingered it now around my neck, over my black outfit, ensuring it stood out, and made as much of a style statement as an invitation to purchase something similar.

Since I didn't need to open the shop yet, and the delivery was due around nine, I turned on the radio. I had some time to reorganize a couple of racks and check the display cabinet's stock levels, before tidying the boxes below the cash register desk. The small vase of pink blooms could last another day before I had to pick some flowers from my garden for a fresh posy. Sacha came yesterday evening and tidied the desk, leaving me a note with a couple of inquiries that she couldn’t answer. The last item on the list made me frown: a man asked for me but declined to leave his name or any message. I shrugged. That wasn't unusual. Sometimes customers recommended me to their friends, who occasionally wanted help, especially when picking out a gift. Whoever asked for me probably needed my assistance in choosing a present. I expected he would be back.

Checking my watch, I had enough time to open the box of jewelry and sort through the pieces before I flipped the Open sign on the door and waited for the delivery. I slipped into the back, humming along to the song that was playing.

Opening the box, I pulled out the plastic-wrapped jewelry and unloaded the smart card boxes I suggested the jeweler make to showcase her items. They were good quality and I was pleased she'd taken my advice. Plus, I could make a nice display by stacking the cases in the glass cabinet. The rest would fit in the storage area under the cash register. I switched the radio off and selected an easy listening playlist to pipe subtly into the shop. Then I carried a few items with me before fussing with one of the shelves to display the lovely trinkets.

I was in the back when I heard knocking on the shop door. Coming! I called, grabbing some lingerie to restock the table near the back. Instead of arranging the pretty items carefully, I draped them over the top of the display table, intending to return in a few minutes. A large delivery van was parked in front of the shop and I was pleased to see they arrived so early. I wouldn't be distracted from customers later in the morning. That was another reason why I needed to advertise for an assistant! I couldn't be in two places at once.

When the knocking sounded a second time, I called, I'll be right there! as I hurried to the door.

I turned the wooden Open sign over, drew back the deadbolt and turned the lock, pulling the door open wide with a broad smile on my face. But instead of finding the delivery man holding a stack of boxes, I was greeted with a huge spray of peonies in the deepest, glossiest red, and my fear instantly overwhelmed me.

Chapter Two

Can I get you some water? Or shall I call someone? The delivery man fretted over me as I sat crumpled on the floor, my back to the wall. The name tag on his overalls read Peter and he had warm, brown eyes. My sister has the worst flower allergy too, he continued, you should see her with roses. Eyes and nose streaming. Sore throat. Sneezing like you can’t believe. Do you have any allergy tablets? My sister swears by them.

I nodded along as he knelt in front of me, the peonies outside in the doorway. I’m so sorry, I finally stammered as the panic attack eventually faded. That was embarrassing.

Don't worry about it, Peter said kindly. "I feel terrible for setting your allergies off. I always fancied myself as a joyful kinda guy. People are generally happy to get flowers. Well, obviously not everyone."

You're not the delivery man? I asked, darting a glance at the poor flowers where they fell, somewhat forlornly, on the floor.

Not unless they come in a box. No, I found these in the entryway, just propped against the door. Guess you've got a secret admirer, huh?

Oh, I squeaked.

They'll be horrified to learn how ill they made you, he carried on. I could toss them if you want? Although it's a shame since they're so pretty. Maybe you could put them in a vase outside the shop? That way, you can enjoy them without letting them bother you.

Yes, I said, yes, that's a good idea. I took a deep breath. I had to pull myself together. They were only flowers! Flowers couldn't hurt me. It was a silly reaction to have, really. The peonies were just a surprise... and I started feeling embarrassed, sitting on the floor, heaving breaths while the poor deliveryman fussed over me.

I'll do that, he said, amiably. There’s a touch of color back in your cheeks. Here, let me put these outside and I’ll help you to your feet. I'm sure you'll feel better once they're out of your breathing space. He grabbed the flowers and stepped outside, leaning them against the doorframe where they wouldn't be in the way, and closed the door before helping me up. Are you sure I can't get you a glass of water? he asked.

You've been so kind, I said, dusting off my pants with my hands. Not that the floor was dusty but because I needed something to do that seemed normal. I feel rather silly.

Don't. Allergies are horrible. If you're still a little wobbly, you can sit at the cash register and I can carry the parcels straight through to the back?

No, thank you, that's very nice of you to offer, but I'll take them. I don't want to keep you any longer especially after you've been so considerate and kind. I'm sure you have a busy day ahead.

Always, he chuckled. Then I'll leave you to it. If the boxes were heavy, I'd insist on carrying them. He reached for the door handle and pulled it, then stopped and thrust a tiny envelope towards me. This fell on the floor, probably dropped out of the flower wrapper is my guess. I expect it's a note to say who sent them. Have a good day!

You too, I said, taking the card.

When he left, he pulled the door shut behind him and made the bell tinkle again. Only then could I take a deep breath. I was ridiculous to respond with such an awful reaction. The flowers were beautiful, of course, and the glossy petals were expensively wrapped, but I couldn't get my mind off all the other times I received red peonies. I suppose I liked them as much as any flower once, mainly enjoying the surprise of a gift, but now I failed to dissociate them from awful memories. Whoever sent them here couldn't possibly know that. They were probably awed by the sheer beauty of them, unless... No, there is no unless. He couldn't possibly know where I am. I was too careful to hide my tracks.

Even so, my hand trembled as I untucked the envelope flap and extracted the small rectangular card. I frowned when I saw it was blank. Not even the florist’s name was printed on it. I turned it over, waiting for my world to cave in over a few innocuous-sounding words, but just like the other side, this one was blank too.

Was someone deliberately playing a prank on me? I wasn’t laughing. Why such a weird prank? Maybe the flowers were never intended for me? Perhaps someone merely stooped to retie their shoelace and set the flowers down but forgot to scoop them up again? Or maybe they were intended for one of my neighboring shops? Yes, there must be a simple explanation like that. Except, one of the shops was vacant, a ‘to let’ sign in the window, but maybe it was for the new photography studio? Perhaps the flowers were to be a pretty prop? Well, they were still in