Rooms to Die For Read online

  Rooms to Die For

  By Jean Harrington

  Book four of Murders by Design

  Interior designer Deva Dunne finds more than fabulous furnishings on her trip to the design mall; she and her client come upon the body of one of Deva’s favorite shop owners, swinging from the atrium railing. It looks like suicide, but Deva feels sure that the purveyor of Florida’s finest antiques would never leap to his death from a tacky blue stool.

  Deva’s boyfriend, studly and stoic police lieutenant Victor Rossi, looks into it, but there’s not much to go on. He’s focusing on their future these days, and he wishes Deva would steer clear of danger.

  But everyone around Deva seems to be keeping secrets, and she’s getting some strange reactions to the designs she’s doing for a big charity event. When she experiences a mysterious attack, she knows she’s at the center of something huge—and if she doesn’t outwit this killer fast, her only future will be six feet under.

  73,000 words

  Dear Reader,

  Happy 2014! You know, I love futuristic romance, and I swear it wasn’t that long ago that I was reading books in the genre that used years like 2014 and 2015 to indicate a time that seemed really far out. Of course, I suppose I’ll be saying something similar twenty years from now, when it’s 2035. (And isn’t that a weird thought?) As it happens, in the lineup this month we have both a futuristic romance and a hero who travels from the future, and both give a unique look into a future that’s actually a little further out.

  I love the premise of Libby Drew’s time-travel male/male romance, Paradox Lost, in which a time-travel guide who takes clients to “whenever” must travel back to 2020 and enlist the aid of a PI to find a missing client. And in PJ Schnyder’s Fighting Kat, Kat and Rygard go deep undercover, posing as gladiators. In the interstellar arena, it’s all about who’s the strongest predator…

  I mentioned futuristic romance, but how about a trip to the past in Jeannie Ruesch’s historical romantic suspense, Cloaked in Danger. Aria Whitney’s life has taken her from the sands of Egypt to the ballrooms of London, but when her father goes missing, can the handsome earl with a dark secret help her find him, or will a dangerous scandal threaten both their lives?

  In Mistress by Magick, Laura Navarre concludes her fallen angel Magick Trilogy, a riveting historical fantasy romance trilogy set in Tudor times. Also wrapping up a trilogy this month is Fiona Lowe. In Runaway Groom, the third book in the Wedding Fever trilogy, can a Harley-riding Aussie guy on the road trip of his life allow an uptight and disgraced lawyer to steal his heart? The first two books, Saved by the Bride and Picture Perfect Wedding, are now available, as well.

  Debut author Anna Richland delivers First to Burn, the first book in her Immortal Vikings series with a hero straight from the time of Beowulf. Wulf Wardsen is an elite soldier whose very existence breaks all the rules—and he’s deep in the military zone of Afghanistan with an army doctor determined to do everything by the book. Meanwhile, Cindy Spencer Pape brings back her very popular steampunk romance series, The Gaslight Chronicles, with the latest installment, Ashes & Alchemy.

  This January, Heather Long delivers the start of a new series of contemporary romances. If you like your romance a little on the crazy, cracktastic side, this book is sure to please. Cinderella had her fairy godmother and Princess Mia had her grandmother, but Alyx—she gets a software magnate who knows that in his world, Some Like It Royal. And speaking of cracktastic, Kelsey Browning has another installment in her steamy Texas Nights series. Roxanne Eberly wants nothing more than to make her lingerie store a success. Enter up-and-coming attorney Jamie Wright, who’s all tangled up in Roxanne’s life...and her lingerie...in Running the Red Light. If you want to start from the beginning, pick up Personal Assets!

  Mystery fans will be glad to welcome another installment from Jean Harrington in her Murders by Design series. In Rooms to Die For, when interior designer Deva Dunne finds a body hanging from a balcony in the gorgeous Naples Design Mall, she soon learns she’s caught up in a mall drug bust gone viral.

  We’re thrilled to offer a large lineup of debut authors this month, in addition to Anna Richland. Joining us with books in the new-adult, erotic romance and contemporary genres are a new group of incredibly talented authors we’re proud to welcome to Carina Press. Elia Winters debuts with erotic romance Purely Professional. When a journalist explores the submissive side of her sexuality with her Dominant neighbor, she must confront what these encounters mean for her own sexual identity, her career and her budding relationship.

  Three debut authors bring new-adult offerings to Carina Press. Danube Adele proves the new-adult genre is more than just contemporary romance in Quicksilver Dreams. One moment Taylor was just a regular girl working two jobs to pay her bills, and the next, she was reading minds, dreamwalking and being saved from bad guys by her sexy neighbor, Ryder Langston. In Tell Me When by Stina Lindenblatt, college freshman Amber Scott begrudgingly lets Marcus Reid into her life, but she didn’t expect the king of hookups would share his painful past. And Kristine Wyllys brings us the first of two steamy, dark-edged stories full of action, vivid storytelling and emotional intensity. Don’t miss Wild Ones.

  Our last debut author, Rhonda Shaw, caught me by surprise with her book, The Changeup. People who know my sports tastes know I don’t normally go in for baseball. And those who know my reading tastes know I don’t usually go for an older heroine/younger man set-up. But Rhonda’s story hooked me from the start and I’m pleased to be releasing her first book this month. I hope you enjoy this contemporary sports romance as much as I did, and perhaps find a new book boyfriend in sweet and sexy pitching phenom Chase Patton!

  I’m not one for making New Year’s resolutions, but I will make one—we’ll continue to strive to bring you a variety of fantastic books from authors who deliver stories that you’ll want to talk about. Thank you for joining us for another year of publishing at Carina Press—we’ll do our absolute best to make it an amazing one!

  We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Editorial Director, Carina Press

  www.carinapress.com

  www.twitter.com/carinapress

  www.facebook.com/carinapress

  Dedication

  To John for his witty one-liners and for much more.

  Acknowledgments

  To fellow writer Linnea Sinclair for the story of world welterweight boxing champion Arturo Gatti, whose hanging death inspired the inciting incident in this book; to attorney Carolyn Alden for her understanding of immigration law; to my friend the late pediatrician Dr. Frank Giunta for his knowledge of autism symptoms; to critique partners, writers Howard Giordano and Joyce Wells for their many valuable insights; and always to my super editor, Deborah Nemeth, for her gift of seeing.

  Contents

  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 Si
xteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  “Sometimes one is enough,” Imogene Stirling said. “Take husbands. One is plenty.” She paused to think that over. “At least at a time. Same for swimming pools. Or a Blueteeth.”

  “Tooth.”

  “Oh. Right. Well, you know what I mean.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” I stared out the windshield. Southbound cars on the Tamiami Trail were running bumper to bumper. Usually I avoided morning rush hour traffic, but Imogene wanted to tour the Naples Design Mall early so we could get back to Fifth Avenue by eleven. She had a pedicure appointment at Ten Toes and couldn’t possibly change it.

  “But with implants, though,” she went on, “you need two.”

  I tore my attention from the road for a millisecond to glance across the front seat at Imogene’s chest. “You’re fine as you are.”

  “Oh, Deva, you’re so behind the times. Nobody’s a B anymore.”

  That was news to me. I was.

  “I wanted Ds,” Imogene said. “But I only had money for one. I tried to convince Jimmy to spring for the other one, but he wouldn’t.” She half turned in her seat to stare across at me. “Don’t you think that was cheap of him?”

  “Who’s Jimmy?”

  “My ex.”

  “Oh. Well, you can’t walk around with the Alps on one side and the Calusa Indian Mound on the other.”

  While she processed that, an eighteen-wheeler whizzed past on the left, the downdraft sending the Audi into a shuddering fit. I gripped the wheel.

  “Imogene, we need to think about lighting fixtures for your kitchen and dining area. And what about overhead fans? In this climate, you have to keep the air moving.”

  “I know. But looking for stuff like that is so boring.”

  I passed a Cadillac Seville doing forty-five and cut to the right.

  “Anyway, Jimmy was so tight he wouldn’t loan me the money. Not even when I promised to pay him back.”

  “Well you know what they say. One out of two ain’t bad.”

  “Please don’t joke, Deva. I’m serious. When you’re short like I am, no one pays attention to you. I want people to see me.”

  “Two Ds will do it.”

  “Exactly! Thanks for telling me I’m on the right track.”

  Is that what I’d done? All I wanted was to sell some fixtures and get back ASAP to my shop, Deva Dunne Interiors. For the past six months, since my wonderful friend and assistant, Lee St. James, had moved to Paris, I’d been running the business single-handedly. That had to end. Soon. I simply had to advertise for a new assistant, but I kept putting it off for some reason. Actually, the reason being I didn’t think I’d find anyone who would measure up to Lee.

  But here it was a Monday, and the shop closed yet again. Though I depended on word-of-mouth advertising, not foot traffic, keeping regular hours made good business sense.

  Stifling a sigh, I exited the highway and turned right. Straight ahead, facing a circular drive studded with royal palm trees, lay the Naples Design Mall, a gorgeous white monolith of a building boasting turrets on each corner of the roof and an entrance with massive bronze doors worthy of Buckingham Palace. I pulled into the parking area that abutted the grassy circle and switched off the ignition.

  Imogene eyeballed the place and glanced away, unfazed. Her mind was elsewhere. “What really made me mad was that if my ex wanted something for himself, there was never a problem. He had every male toy in the world. Probably still does. Three cars, a motorcycle, a boat, an airplane, a golf cart.”

  “A golf cart isn’t outrageous. A lot of men in Florida have one.”

  “But he doesn’t play golf. Besides all that, he has a diamond pinkie ring to die for. But for something I wanted, he always found an excuse.”

  “Maybe he liked you just as you are. Why fix something that doesn’t need fixing?”

  And physically Imogene didn’t need any changing at all. Petite with luxuriant chestnut hair, startling white skin—she obviously never sat in the sun—and huge blue if somewhat vacuous eyes—she was a ten all right.

  When she climbed out of the Audi in her red mini dress and painful stilettos, I upped the ten to eleven.

  What made her think she didn’t get any attention? As we approached the massive entrance to the mall, Phil the doorman practically ripped the door off its hinges to open it for us. Well, for her. At thirty-four, actually thirty-four and a half, with frizzy red hair and freckles, I wasn’t the object of his eyeballs. Not even in tight black pants and a flowy gauze top.

  Neither was the man who ran out through the open doorway. Dressed in running shorts, T-shirt and Nikes, he darted from the building before we could step inside. “Hey, buddy, where did you come from?” Phil called. Dashing between us, the man threw him a wide-eyed look and raced out onto the circle of clipped lawn fronting the mall.

  Phil turned to us. “Sorry, ladies. You’re our first visitors today. I can’t believe I didn’t see that guy come in.”

  “Look! He’s in trouble.” I pointed across the driveway. As if he’d dropped mid-stride, the runner lay unmoving in the grassy circle, his face pressed into the lawn, the heels of his sneakers aiming for the sky.

  I ran across the drive and knelt beside him. He was out cold and smelled of sweat. I took his hand and rubbed it. Somewhere in his thirties, he had the fit, lean look of a seasoned jogger. Behind me I could hear Imogene’s spike heels hitting the driveway pavers and the clump of Phil’s shoes.

  “Is he...is he...dead?” Imogene asked, coming up behind me.

  “No. He’s breathing.” I patted his cheek. He hadn’t shaved lately. Probably out on a morning run before getting ready for the day. “Wake up, sir. Wake up,” I pleaded.

  He didn’t stir. I looked over my shoulder. Imogene and Phil stood there wearing the same what-do-we-do-now expression.

  “Imogene, call 9-1-1,” I said.

  She opened her bag and rummaged around in it, looking for her cell phone. She was elbow-deep in the tote when Phil said, “Never mind, miss. I’ve got it.”

  He retrieved a phone from his pocket and punched in the numbers. He’d no sooner done so than the runner stirred and opened his eyes. As I knelt there pressing his hand, he smiled up at me for an instant. Then, with a cry like a kitten’s mewl, he freed his hand, leaped to his feet, and raced down the driveway. A moment later as we all watched, mouths agape, he ran out of sight.

  “Great,” Phil said, disgusted. “Now I’ve got to do a bunch of explaining to 9-1-1.”

  “At least the man recovered,” I said. “I wonder what caused him to pass out?
People don’t normally keel over like that, right out of the blue.”

  Phil shrugged. “Who knows? The guy’s a weirdo. Comes in the mall every day, but usually not this early.”

  “Really? He didn’t look as though he’d be interested in interior design.”

  Phil barked out a laugh. “No kidding. He just comes in, goes to the Library—that’s our snack bar,” he explained to Imogene, “has a bottle of water and leaves. At least he doesn’t bother anybody. I guess that’s why no one’s told me to keep him from entering.”

  Besides being illegal, that would be bad PR. I was glad the runner had been left alone to do his thing, whatever it was. His fleeting wisp of a smile was probably what caused me to think so. It had made him look vulnerable somehow, like a shy, sweet kind of guy.

  Once again, Phil opened the door for us, then stood outside to call 9-1-1 and cancel the request for an ambulance. As always, at first sight of the mall’s interior, I felt a frisson of excitement. The low-ceilinged entry hall with its lighted window displays on either side was like a delicious appetizer before a banquet. The hall ended at the reception area with a desk shaped like the prow of a ship. This was the command center of Sandra, the suave lady who fielded all visitor calls and questions.

  Beyond Sandra’s station, a shop-lined atrium soared three stories high, flooded with light pouring in through a glass ceiling.

  “This is beautiful.” Imogene looked around at the showrooms, at the white leather lounge furniture centering the atrium, at the ornate metal railing encircling the second floor balcony. She tipped her head back and peered farther up—at the third-floor landing. Like the second floor, it too was lined with shops and ringed with a metal railing.

  As she stared upward, she went rigid, blinking furiously as if unable to believe what her eyes were seeing. A split second of disbelief. A split second only and then she screamed, her shrill cries bouncing off the slick surfaces and echoing throughout the gorgeous Naples Design Mall. I glanced up, a chill running down my spine. Suddenly the mall didn’t seem so gorgeous anymore.