Paper-Thin Alibi Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  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

  Decorated Gift Box

  Paper-Craft Tips

  Loralee’s Pasta Salad with Shrimp and Snow Peas

  About the Author

  “Readers will want to fire up their glue guns and join the goings-on at Jo’s Craft Corner.”*

  Praise for

  String of Lies

  “[A] gem of a read! Jo is a smart, compassionate heroine with enough moxie to deal with gossips, liars, and police detectives.”—The Romance Readers Connection

  “[A] well-written, classic cozy that moves along at a pleasant pace and ties up the loose ends in a most satisfying resolution. Jo McAllister is a wise-beyond-her-years heroine with a big heart . . . Mary Ellen Hughes writes with precision, affection for her characters, and an obvious talent for using the English language.”—Cozy Library

  “Filled with craft tips, this mystery is an enjoyable tale. Jo and her friends make pleasant companions as well as quick-witted sleuths. With just a hint of a possible romance, this series promises to grow even more intriguing as it goes on.”—Fresh Fiction

  Wreath of Deception

  “Mary Ellen Hughes has a designer’s touch when it comes to murder! Her book has characters you’ll really like and crafts you’ll want to make. Get cozy and enjoy this terrific new author.”—Laura Childs, author of the bestselling Tea Shop and Scrapbooking mysteries

  “Hughes launches her series with a feisty, likable heroine and a savvy group of craft hounds.”—*Romantic Times

  “A clever, crafty plot and a cast of quirky, engaging characters make Wreath of Deception a definite winner. A fun, fast-paced read.”—Maggie Sefton, author of Dyer Consequences

  “A warm and clever heroine . . . Filled with unexpected twists, peopled with entertaining characters, and sprinkled with touches of humor.”—Maddy Hunter, author of G’day to Die

  “Mary Ellen Hughes stitches together a charming mystery filled with crafty plot twists and a fun cast of characters. Read and enjoy this clever novel.”

  —Monica Ferris, author of A Killer Stitch

  “An intriguing and crafty debut.”—Tim Myers, author of A Mold for Murder

  “A quintessential cozy. The writing is top-notch, the plot well-paced . . . An altogether satisfying story readers will just love.”—Cozy Library

  “An absorbing whodunit, small-town life, the joys and trials of family and friends, and some useful crafting tips all combine to make this series debut a good read.” —MyShelf.com

  Craft Corner Mysteries by Mary Ellen Hughes

  WREATH OF DECEPTION

  STRING OF LIES

  PAPER-THIN ALIBI

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  PAPER-THIN ALIBI

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / July 2008

  Copyright © 2008 by Mary Ellen Hughes.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-436-22922-7

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  The name BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the BERKLEY PRIME CRIME design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For Suzanne and Stephen

  No mystery why

  Acknowledgments

  I am very grateful to Karlene Hicks, without whose talent and expertise Jo’s gift boxes would never have taken shape. Heidi Abend gets my special thanks as well for her encouragement and support along with giving me a peek into her very creative mind. Dr. D. P. Lyle helped greatly and generously with the medical questions I needed answers to, as did John Baker concerning photography. If I didn’t get things right, it’s my own fault entirely.

  Once again, my editor, Sandy Harding, used her amazing skills to keep these many thousands of words on track, as well as to bolster and encourage me generously. To my agent, Jacky Sach, who started the ball rolling. I’m very grateful to you both.

  Of course many thanks to Janet Benrey, Ray Flynt, Debbi Mack, Trish Marshall, Sherriel Mattingly, Marcia Talley, and Lyn Taylor, who kept me on my toes as usual with their “on-target” critiques. I could never slip anything past any of them, though I’ll probably keep on trying.

  As for Terry, “thank you” is totally inadequate for the many ways he’s helped. But—there you are.

  Chapter 1

  Jo was making good time, driving smoothly through light traffic along Route 30, just outside Abbotsville, Maryland, when a bla
ck SUV suddenly swerved in front of her. She hit the brake and immediately heard her boxes of jewelry shift behind her. Swallowing several explosive comments that sprang to mind, in consideration for her friend Carrie sitting next to her, Jo braced for the sound of spillage in the back seat, but heard, to her relief, only internal rattles.

  “All I need is a car accident along the way because of an idiot like that,” she grumbled as she resumed speed. She threw a quick glance behind her, but saw that the precious cargo, though shifted, appeared intact. “There all my hand-crafted jewelry would be, spread across the highway, tires mashing them right and left.”

  “Not to mention us,” Carrie pointed out mildly, adding a sudden, “Ah-choo!”

  “Bless you. We have seat belts and air bags to protect us. My jewelry has only flimsy boxes. Allergies pretty bad today, huh?”

  “Uh-huh.” Carrie wiped her nose with a tissue and rubbed at her itchy eyes.

  “What is it this time of year?”

  “Tree pollen. In April the trees around here are pumping out their progeny like there’s no tomorrow. This morning our car was covered with the yellow stuff. Just looking at it made my eyes tear up.”

  “Maybe it’s time for shots?”

  “Nuh-uh. No shots. Maybe a trip to the doctor’s, for a prescription. I hate to, though. Our deductible is high and it’ll cost us.”

  “Think about all those cases of tissues you won’t have to buy. Or,” Jo said, knowing Carrie’s weak spot, “consider the delectable meals you’ll feel more like cooking for Dan and the kids because you had a decent night’s sleep.” Carrie might skimp on care for herself, but she’d think twice about shortchanging her family. Carrie’s response was another sneeze.

  An overhead sign told Jo her exit was coming up, so she turned her focus back to the road and, unlike “idiot-driver,” carefully checked the adjoining lanes and put on her turn signal before moving her Toyota into the right lane. Exiting the highway, she headed up Bell’s Mill Road toward the Hammond County Fairgrounds. The Michicomi Craft Festival had set up there, one of several three-day stops in its annual cross-country tour, and Jo had managed to snag a booth to show her jewelry, a feat that pleased her immensely after sending in color slides of her work to the judges and waiting anxiously to hear their ruling.

  Michicomi, she knew, was particular about which crafters were allowed to participate. Those who made it in were professionals—potters, leather workers, artists of all kinds. The prices on their wares corresponded to their skill level, but the crowds who flocked to the festivals were usually happy to pay them, as well as the price of the ticket that allowed them the privilege of doing so. Jo was excited to be a part of it all.

  But she would need plenty of browsers to buy from her booth. Participating in Michicomi was a significant investment, a huge chunk from her tiny budget. The cost of renting a booth ran into the hundreds. Jo would need to sell a hefty amount of jewelry to cover that, as well as the costs of her supplies, and come out ahead.

  “Thank goodness the weather’s looking good for the next few days,” she said as she pulled through the gateway to the fairgrounds. The road leading in was paved only with crushed gravel, and the parking areas, as far as she could see, were mostly dirt with a sparse covering of tamped down weeds. “Imagine the sea of mud this would churn into with heavy rain.”

  “I don’t have to imagine it,” Carrie said, pulling out another tissue. “I saw it last August when we brought the kids here for the county fair.”

  “Really? That was just before I moved to Abbotsville. A mess, huh?” Jo saw a sign directing her to vendor parking, and drove on.

  Carrie groaned, remembering that county fair outing. “There had been thunderstorms for several nights before. Let’s just say they could have used some shuttle buses to get people around—pulled by water buffalo. Anyone selling hip boots that weekend would have made a killing. Ah-choo! ”

  “Gesundheit. Well, here we are!” Jo said, coming up to groupings of windowless, rectangular buildings, with several plastic tented stands set up near them. She pulled her Toyota into an empty space between two cars that were hitched to small trailers, the license plates indicating one had driven from Vermont and the other from Georgia. Rows of similar trailers, along with campers and vans, stretched out on either side, each with different colored plates. Transporting one’s creations to a festival like this often involved much effort. Jo was grateful the festival had come within commuting distance of her adopted town, and that her wares—necklaces, bracelets, earrings, and pins—were compact.

  “Thanks so much for helping me set up, Carrie, especially since you’re not feeling that great.”

  Carrie flapped a hand dismissively. “We’re all so excited you got into Michicomi. Most of your Craft Corner customers have never seen your jewelry designs.”

  “That’s true.” Jo had needed to temporarily suspend her beloved jewelry making with the busy-ness of setting up Jo’s Craft Corner, a venture that sprang from Carrie’s suggestion. Jo had needed to pull her life together after her husband Mike’s fatal accident at their New York artist’s loft. Carrie, a long-time friend who had settled in Abbotsville with her husband, Dan, saw an opportunity there for Jo to use her artist’s background to make a living on her own, something her jewelry work, much as Jo loved it, wouldn’t do.

  So Jo had invested Mike’s meager life insurance into the shop and shifted her life from big city to small town. The adjustment hadn’t always been smooth but had proven satisfying, especially because of the new friends she had made, who had been extremely supportive at critical times.

  Many of these friends had participated in her craft workshops, where Jo demonstrated the ins and outs of crafts like scrapbooking, wreath making, and beading. But few were familiar with the fine jewelry Jo could put together. This would be her first chance to display it all, and it would be like introducing her new friends to a beloved relative, an important part of her life they had heard about but never met. She was happily looking forward to it.

  “Okay,” Jo said, pulling out the letter of acceptance she’d received from the Michicomi organizers, along with her identification badge. “My booth is number 188 in building 10. I hope Dan found it all right this morning when he came to set up the display cases. Building 10 is that one over there.”

  Carrie studied it thoughtfully. “I think that might be where the hog pens were during the county fair.”

  Jo rolled her eyes. “Let’s hope it’s been thoroughly deodorized since then, particularly the area around booth 188. Grab a box from the back, and let’s find out.”

  Jo and Carrie reached into the disarranged boxes in her back seat and loaded up with as much as they could carry. As Jo led the way along the row of parked cars, she noticed a black SUV. Surely it couldn’t be the one that had raised her blood pressure out on Route 30? Then the car’s vanity license plate caught her eye: LW-GEMS.

  LW? With New York plates? Could that be . . . ? No, no way, she thought again, shaking the whole idea off and continuing on to the building. She stopped to have her credentials checked by the security guard stationed near the entrance, then pushed along with Carrie through the clear plastic curtain that served as a door in the open-air, unheated structure. The place was a beehive of activity as other vendors worked at setting up their wares in the few remaining hours before the festival opened. They walked past one man carefully hanging panes of stained glass from hooks, and a middle-aged couple arranging their shelves with hand-tooled leather bags and wallets. Jo breathed deeply of their rich scent, and if she’d had a spare hand would have loved to touch as well. A collection of beautiful handmade sweaters and vests caused Carrie to slow, while passing a booth of unique metal sculptures brought sad-sweet flashes of Mike to Jo’s mind.

  Jo checked overhead numbers as they progressed and saw they were getting close. She came to a booth filled with colorfully painted wooden toys with a “187” above it, and just beyond was hers: number 188.

  “
Here we are!”

  Jo had contracted, because of cost considerations, for the smallest-size booth available—ten feet wide and eight feet deep. She’d then asked Carrie’s husband, Dan, a professional home remodeler, to build display cases for that space. There they were, deftly fitted into place.

  “Wow, Dan did a great job!” she said, setting her load down carefully on a Plexiglas surface. Made in sections that fit together in an L shape, the cases, she saw, provided the greatest amount of display area while allowing her customers to step out of the crowded aisle and partially into the booth to examine and try on their selections. “I’m so glad Dan suggested this arrangement. I owe him big time.”

  “Dan feels we still owe you, you know,” Carrie said, sliding her own box next to Jo’s, “as do I. If it weren’t for you, who knows how his business would have survived that Parker Holt situation in January.”