Cursive, Foiled Again!

A Hand Lettering Mini-Mystery

Jessa Archer

Archer Mysteries

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

About the Author

Cursive, Foiled Again!

Local hand lettering artist Jamie Lang is an unlikely sleuth. When a friend, desperate to save an inheritance, asks for her help, she must put her hand lettering skills and powers of deduction to work.

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Chapter One

Cedar Valley, WA

Jamie Lang

My name is Jamie Lang and I've been obsessed with writing my name in different styles since I first picked up a crayon. I thank my parents for having the foresight to bless me with a name with both ascenders and descenders, and graceful, round, loopy letters, as well as strong, angular ones—everything that makes writing my name fun. As it turns out, this obsession with finding the perfect signature is a talent and my true calling, what put me on the path to where I am now. I started with the regular girlish phase of dotting the "i" in Jamie with a heart and grew to my current status as a popular hand lettering artist with a decent YouTube, Instagram, and Pinterest following.

I've been successful enough that I quit my job in Seattle and opened my own hand lettering shop, Flourish, in Cedar Valley, the small town thirty-five miles outside Seattle where I spent most of my childhood. Although suburbia is encroaching on us, Cedar Valley still has a rural small-town feel. We're known for our glamping, our hiking and biking trails, and the breakfasts served at The Cedar Valley Bakery owned by my friend Maggie. Our biggest asset, by far, is our gorgeous view of Mount Rainier.

The third Thursday of every month, I run an evening hand lettering and wine event. We drink local wines and letter a quote from start to finish. This isn't a serious class geared toward making people hand lettering pros. It's simply a class for people of all skill levels to have fun. It's an evening to socialize and make a gift for a friend, an inspirational card for a special occasion, or a bit of decoration for your home. My goal is that no one should feel insecure or shy.

Hand lettering is an art form that's all about finding joy through expressing yourself and gaining inspiration from the wisdom of the quotes of others. It's a touch of lettering, not as exacting as calligraphy, with a bit of watercolor or drawing thrown in. I look forward to this evening every month.

My classes have become popular enough that they're booked out for months. This particular evening, many of my regulars were in attendance, including my good friends Angel Russo, who owns Perk Me Up, the coffee shop Flourish is attached to, and Nora Nash, the most talented makeup artist in King County. Most of the women had finished their projects and were intent on finishing the wine, the locally sourced cheese, and the bread from The Cedar Valley Bakery next door. All that wine had loosened our tongues.

Sharon Brock wandered over to my worktable where my latest commission lay half finished. Sharon was always curious about what I was working on. Maybe it was a small-town thing, but people here liked to know other people's business.

"'Say not you know another till you have divided an inheritance with him'—Johann Kaspar Lavater," Sharon read aloud. "Isn't that the truth?" She shook her head. "What is your client going to do with this piece? Give it to someone who's screwed them over in an inheritance battle?"

"I don't know," I said. "I don't ask. My job is to create what the client wants."

Angel came over to take a look. "So true. My great-aunts and -uncles are dying off in droves. I've lost count of the number of funerals I've been to this year."

As had everyone else. Angel had been called into the city too often for my tastes, sometimes even closing Perk Me Up while she was out. Which made me grumpy. I lived on her coffee.

Angel leaned in closer. "Family fights seem to erupt before the will is hardly out of the lawyer's mouth. My cousin Greta is the worst. She has this sixth sense about when someone is close to death. Suddenly she makes herself indispensable to the dying elderly relative, playing up to them any way she can. She sits by their bedside, praying and saying her rosary, holding their hand as they slip away. It's a disgusting show of hypocrisy and greed that somehow manages to elude people on their deathbeds.

"The rest of the family thinks Greta must have a lawyer on retainer and on call. She somehow manages to end up with everything. She even got my Aunt Rosina's pearl rosary, which has been in the family for over a hundred years. We're still wondering how she pulled that off. When Aunty Rose was still in possession of her right mind, she saw right through Greta. She used to call her a leccaculo. I won't say what that means in polite company." Angel looked at me. "Who is this piece for?"

"The client's in Seattle," I said. And was too high-profile to mention. "She's giving it to her sister as a gift."

"I was right! Sister aced her out of part of her inheritance, did she?" Sharon studied my work. "One of my aunts is the culprit in my family. Every family has one, it seems. Kind of like the relative that shows up and dances on the table at family weddings. Shortly before she died, my grandma had family members put a piece of tape with their name on items they wanted after she was gone. When she finally passed, my aunt's name was mysteriously on everything of value in Grandma's home."

The horror stories of greedy relatives flew. Everyone had one. Everyone sympathized. But no one had any good advice on how to deal with them.

Wanda Paul stood by silently, listening and studying the quote more intently than anyone else. The Paul family was one of the founding families of Cedar Valley. They owned acres and acres of precious undeveloped land and many of the most valuable buildings in town. Her husband, Paul Paul, (his parents had a warped sense of humor, obviously) owned Paul Real Estate. Paul was the agent to go to if you wanted to buy or sell property in Cedar Valley.

Something was clearly bothering Wanda.

"You're very talented, Jamie." Wanda poured herself another glass of wine, looking as if she needed something stronger, and returned to her seat at the table. "Your work has magic. Some art does."

"Magic?" I blushed with pleasure. "Thank you. I try. Getting people to think and feel the art is the real challenge."

"Yes. And some art is more magical than others." Wanda's wistful, nervous expression stopped me short.

"Wait," I said. "What are we talking about? Do you mean real magic?"

Wanda shook her head. "No, I suppose not. It's just…"

"Yes?" I asked. Wanda clearly needed prompting.

"It's silly." Wanda chewed her lip. "All this talk of inheritance and greedy relatives. Maybe we're not crazy. I just can't figure out how she's doing it."

"What?" Nora said gently. "Tell us. We're all friends here. If something's bothering you, maybe we can help."

Wanda hesitated, wringing her hands. "If someone doesn't stop her, Paul's nasty cousin Karen is going to get away with inheriting all of his Aunt Sunny's nest egg when she passes away. And it doesn't seem right."

"That's what Karen is doing in town," Angel said, scowling. "She's your family's equivalent of Greta. Karen's been into Perk Me Up recently getting Sunny's favorite latte for her every morning. I wondered what the rest of you thought about that. Good deed? Or sucking up?"

Wanda nodded. "Yes, exactly. We were all suspicious when Karen breezed in. She's the bellwether for death in our family. It's just…it's impossible to convince Aunt Sunny she's being duped. If she's being duped. I mean, it could be a supernatural message, I suppose.

"Not that I care if Karen gets the entire inheritance. We don't need the money. But Paul's cousin, Terry, does. She's taken care of Aunt Sunny these past five years since Phillip passed." Wanda's face clouded. "And now, just as Aunt Sunny is set to pass on, Karen, who Aunt Sunny has never liked, is going to get it all. All because Sunny's late husband, Phillip, has been sending her messages from the grave. Or so Sunny believes. Messages to leave her money to Karen."

The room went so quiet that you could hear one of my soft-grip pens drop. And one did roll off a worktable and clatter to the floor at that very moment. Everyone jumped. The women laughed and gathered around Wanda.

"Messages from the grave? What do you mean? What kind of messages? How?" Angel passed Wanda the cheese plate, as if Wanda would need fortification to tell her story.

"Sounds like it's time to take the Ouija board away from Sunny and Karen," Nora said, dusting her hands. "Problem solved."

Her quip had a calming effect on Wanda. "If only it were so easy. It's much more complicated than that. Even telling the story makes me sound loony bins."

"Let us be the judge of what's loony bins," I said. "Start at the beginning."

"The beginning?" Wanda frowned. "Sounds easy enough, but the beginning is a bit fuzzy. It's difficult to say exactly when it all started. But I think, yes, it has to be five years ago, just before Uncle Phillip passed away. He had a quote hand lettered and framed for Aunt Sunny as a final gift from him."

The group turned to me with questioning looks.

I shook my head. "No. Not one of mine. That was before my business really got going. Go on, Wanda."

"Matilda's nickname—Sunny—is a good foil for a quote. Phillip adored her, always said she was his sunshine. Throughout their sixty-plus years of marriage, Phillip was something of a romantic. He liked to give Sunny poems and romantic cards."

Sharon nodded. "Yes, that's true enough. I remember Earleen telling me once how sweet it was watching Phillip pick out cards for Sunny. Earleen quickly got a feel for what he liked and made sure to keep a selection on hand for him at the stationery shop. Phillip liked cards with a sun or sunshine theme in particular."

Earleen owned the stationery store in town. Her family had owned and operated it for as long as anyone could remember. She was something of a nemesis of mine.

"Phillip and Sunny loved quotes from William Arthur Ward," Wanda continued. "He was the inspirational quote man from their generation. It was natural then when Phillip commissioned a twist on his favorite quote from Ward—A cloudy day is no match for a sunny disposition. But Uncle Phillip had it say, A rainy day is no match for my Sunny's sweet nature. Love, Phillip."

"Oh. That's so sweet," Nora said.

The other women agreed.

Wanda blinked back a tear. "Yes. They were a cute couple. Sunny has never really gotten over losing him."

"Sad," Sharon said.

Wanda twirled her wine glass. "Anyway, Phillip had it framed for Sunny. Sunny hung it in her bedroom, where it was the last thing she saw when she shut off the light at night and the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes in the morning."

"I remember that quote. I dusted it many times when I cleaned house for Sunny when Bill was out of work," Sharon said. "Sunny was very kind to give me work. And very particular about how I should dust her quote. It was obviously precious to her."

Wanda smiled. "Yes, that sounds like Sunny. That quote has been hanging on her wall, an innocent quote, all this time. Nothing exceptional about it, really. Jamie could have done a much better job on it."

I smiled at Wanda. "Thanks."

"Then, two weeks ago, things changed," Wanda said. "Sunny fell and broke her hip."

"Yes, we heard," Angel said. "Outside her own home. Very sad and scary for her. Until recently, she always seemed to have such good balance. But I noticed the last few times she came in for coffee she was a little unsteady."

Wanda sighed. "Yes, she'd been getting worse and worse. A few days before she fell, Paul bought her a cane, a very cute one, but she refused to use it. If only she'd had it with her that morning…"

The women murmured their agreement.

"You know what falls do to older people. As you might have heard, she developed congestion in her lungs," Wanda said.

"She was in the hospital for a few days, wasn't she?" Sharon asked.

"Yes," Wanda said. "In Covington. When they examined her, the doctors found that not only did she break her hip, she's riddled with cancer. Her doctor sent her home to hospice care. There's nothing that can be done for her. We're just trying to manage the pain until she…passes. She's eighty-nine, but we still don't want her to go." Wanda teared up.

There were murmurs of sympathy around the group. A dozen quotes about grief popped into my head. But I kept them to myself.

Angel gave Wanda a hug. "We're never ready to let go of someone we love."

Wanda dabbed her eyes. "Where was I?"

"The message," I said as gently as possible.

"Oh, yes." Wanda sniffled. Nora handed her a paper napkin. "Aunt Sunny's room is on the second floor of her house." Wanda dabbed her nose. "She's no longer able to make it up the stairs to her bedroom. So hospice set up a hospital bed for her in her front room downstairs and moved the quote across the bed from her where she could still see it all the time. And do you know what? Suddenly, the words 'rainy' and 'sunny' started appearing highlighted, just lit up in bright blue, almost neon. They were impossible to miss. It was shocking. And creepy. They never had been there before. Everybody saw it, even the hospice nurses."

There was a collective gasp of astonishment in the room. I frowned, puzzling.

"Because of that, Sunny believes Phillip is sending her a message. She's over the moon that Phillip is finally talking to her from the great beyond. And she believes, adamantly, that he wants her to leave her money to Karen. No one can talk her out of it."

"But why would she think that?" Sharon asked. "I get the Sunny part, but what about 'rainy' means 'leave the money to Karen'?"

Wanda laughed nervously. "I told you I'm not good at stories. I've left something important out. Karen's first name is Raine. Karen is her middle name. She hates the name Raine—well, she was named for our weather, apparently. She thinks it's depressing. So she's always gone by Karen. Very few people even know what her real name is.

"Uncle Phillip nicknamed her Rainy. He was the only one she allowed to call her that." Wanda took a sip of wine. "Phillip and Sunny have no children to leave their estate to. They have just the two nieces—Karen and Terry—and a nephew, my husband Paul.

"Sunny and Phillip agreed on almost everything except who to will their estate to. You'd think they could have left it equally to all three. But it wasn't in their nature to divide things up. They didn't want any fighting. So they made a deal that whoever outlived the other could leave it to whomever they chose. If Phillip had outlived Sunny, I'm sure Karen would have inherited. I think she's always felt cheated by that.

"Which is why we're so suspicious. These words suddenly appearing at the eleventh hour is just too coincidental. But no one can figure out how Karen could possibly orchestrate it."

"The words in the picture, they appeared and stayed?" I asked.

Wanda shook her head. "Oh, no. They come and go. Randomly."

"There's nothing in common about when they show up?" I asked. "Not during a certain time of day, for instance?"

"No," Wanda said. "That's partly what's so puzzling. And if you examine the quote once they're gone, there's nothing. The highlighting vanishes into thin air."

"Wow." Nora shuddered. "Your story gives me the shivers."

"I'd like to see the work," I said.

Wanda pulled her phone from her pocket. "I have a picture." She scrolled through her photos. "Here it is!" She handed her phone to me to take a look.

I studied the picture of the framed quote. There was a glare from the glass frame that made it hard to read. But the words "rainy" and "sunny" were clearly lit up in bright blue. I handed the phone to Angel to see and asked Wanda, "Does the art still look like this? Or have the words faded again?"

Wanda shrugged. "It might?" She looked hopeful. "But it didn't last time I saw it." She sighed. "I can't figure it out. It's spooky. But I can't help but think that Karen is behind this somehow."

"I'd like to see that quote for myself. In person," I said. "Is Sunny strong enough for visitors?"

Wanda slumped with relief. "I'm going to visit her tomorrow morning when the hospice nurse is there. Karen usually uses that time to go out and run errands. Terry will be at work. You can come with me if you like."

"Perfect."

Chapter Two

Quotes can lift the human spirit, but I've never known one to convey a message from beyond the grave. Not in a supernatural way. I spent the night puzzling over what might be going on. I had a theory, but I needed to test it. Fortunately, I had what I needed—a black light I'd bought to use in the store. It was useful in detecting counterfeit money and fake credit cards. I stuck it in my purse and took it with me to Sunny's house, along with a bunch of flowers I picked for Sunny from my garden.

As I approached Sunny's house, the driveway was empty. Which hopefully meant that Karen was out. I shaded my eyes from the bright morning light as I came up the front walk.

Wanda was waiting for me on the front porch. "Whew! I'm glad you showed up. Have you thought of anything? Do you have a theory?"

She had more faith in me than I did. "I have something to try." I opened my purse and showed her my black light. "I'd like to shine this on the work to test my theory. It won't hurt it, I promise. But Sunny might not permit it. I need you to distract her for a minute so I can do my test."

Wanda nodded. "Absolutely."

I closed my purse. "I don't see Karen's car—"

"Oh, she's out," Wanda said. "Don't worry. I checked. She's at the bakery having breakfast. I asked Maggie to keep an eye out for her and keep her there for an hour or so."

"Excellent."

We rang the doorbell and were shown inside by a hospice nurse. Sure enough, Sunny was propped up with pillows in a hospital bed that had been set up in the middle of the front room. The framed quote was on the wall directly across from her on the east wall of the room. It looked perfectly normal, no highlighted words. But it was shaded now. In the late afternoon, it would be in full sun. If I was right, that was when I expected the words to show up.

I was excited and eager to inspect the lettering, but I forced myself to turn my attention to Sunny. She was pale and thin, frail. A quick glance at her and I saw that she was drugged and mostly out of it.

Wanda whispered in my ear, "Sunny's in constant pain. They keep her hopped up on painkillers. Don't expect her to be too coherent. Or for the visit to last long."

I nodded. "Sunny!" I called out to her. "I heard you haven't been able to get out in your flower garden recently. So I brought you fresh flowers from mine." I showed the flowers to Sunny and hugged her.

The hospice nurse took them from me and went to find a vase. Sunny, Wanda, and I made a bit of small talk. For someone on death's door, Sunny was surprisingly chatty.

I felt the clock ticking. I finally found my opportunity. "That's a lovely quote you have on the wall."

Sunny beamed. "Phillip commissioned it for me. From a top artist in Seattle. He spoiled me." She laughed and broke into a cough.

"It's beautiful."

"Well, it's certainly something special," Sunny said. "Did Wanda tell you? It lights up with messages from my Phillip from time to time. Of course, you're seeing it at a bad time. It's not speaking right now. But you wait. Phillip will contact me again soon."

"The words," I said. "Do they appear at any special time of day?"

Sunny smiled, looking smug that I believed her and was interested. But I didn't want to tip my hand and have her running to Karen with what I was up to.

"No, they come when they want," she said. "Though mostly in the afternoon."

"May I?" I nodded toward the work.

"Yes, certainly," Sunny said. "I'm sure it interests you. One artist always appreciates another's work. If you could learn to make your work talk like mine, you'd be wealthy beyond your wildest dreams." She leaned back in her bed and closed her eyes, seeming to shut off, as if she'd suddenly run out of gas.

Her exhaustion was opportune for me, but I needed to work quickly. I walked to the quote and studied it as casually as possible. It was unsigned, but distinctive. I didn't recognize the style. I had no idea who the artist might be.

I pulled my black light from my bag and motioned to Wanda to block Sunny's view of me. I shined the light on the quote, particularly over the words "sunny" and "rainy." Just as my light hit the quote, a car pulled into the driveway.

My heart thumped. Wanda motioned for me to hurry. I quickly shined the light all over the painting. I'd just slipped the light back in my purse when Karen came in the front door.

"Wanda," Karen said, the irritation in her voice barely contained. "I hope you're not tiring Aunt Sunny out. I turn my back for a minute—"

I turned to greet her. Karen was smiling, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Karen, this is Jamie Lang. She brought Aunt Sunny a little sunshine. Jamie, Karen, Paul's cousin."

"Pleased to meet you," I said. "We were just leaving. Sunny's tired. I just wanted to give her some flowers and let her know I'm thinking of her."

Karen looked suspicious, but didn't detain us.

Outside on the street away from the house, Wanda turned to me. "Did you find what you were looking for? Do you know how Karen is doing it?"

I frowned. "No. Nothing. It's not what I thought. I'm still in the dark."

Wanda looked crestfallen.

I touched her arm. "Don't worry. I'm not giving up. We need to find out who did the hand lettering."

Wanda frowned too. "It's not signed. And Sunny doesn't remember who did it. I asked. She just knows it was a 'top' person."

"Text me that picture you took of it?" I asked. "There may be something I can do."

Chapter Three

That evening after work, I got online to chat with my group of hand lettering friends and ask for their help. They were some of the top hand lettering artists from the U.S. and Canada. I'd met them online, at craft fairs and craft shows, and conferences. They were a fun bunch of savvy small businesspeople. If anyone could help me, they could.

I'd spent part of the afternoon trying to tie the style of hand lettering in Sunny's quote to any of the notable Seattle hand letterers of the last ten years. But I couldn't attribute it to any artist with confidence.

I uploaded the photo to my group and explained I wanted to find the artist, giving them as much as I knew. Omitting my suspicions, of course.

My friend Chrissy recognized the style immediately. "Diane King. I'd recognize Diane's style any day. I took an excellent class from her about eight years ago. See the subtle serifs on the S of Sunny? That's Diane's thing. She works out of her shop in Pioneer Square, Chalk Lines."

The next day, I had to go into Seattle anyway to deliver that inheritance quote to the client. I could have mailed it or insisted the client pick it up, but it was a good excuse to go into the city and look Diane King up. I supposed I could have called Diane, but I wasn't exactly sure what I was looking for from her. A call from a stranger would put a person on their guard. But an in-person visit from a fellow hand lettering enthusiast usually got the conversation flowing.

Fortunately, traffic was surprisingly light and my client in North Seattle was pleased with her quote. I made it to Pioneer Square, found parking near Chalk Lines, and managed to avoid most of the homeless panhandlers as I slipped into the store. A graying, middle-aged woman working at a table much like mine at Flourish greeted me.

I admired the shop and introduced myself.

"Jamie Lang!" the woman said. "I know you! I follow you on Instagram and Pinterest."

"I'm flattered." I really was. I was always delighted, and surprised, when someone recognized me. I would be especially pleased if this woman was Diane King. It's a special kind of honor to be followed by a talented colleague. "You wouldn't be Diane King? This is her shop?"

The woman smiled. "I am and it is. Most days it's just me working here. I have an assistant who comes in on the weekends. What can I help you with, Jamie?"

I almost sagged with relief. "I have an elderly friend who's, sadly, dying. Her husband gave her a special hand lettered quote before he died five or so years ago. It's unsigned, but she'd dearly love to know who the artist is before she dies. I thought from the style, it might be one of yours."

Diane looked intrigued, and pleased that I would recognize her style. "Do you have it with you?"

I pulled my phone from my pocket. "She won't let the quote out of her sight. I have a picture." I brought it up and showed it to her.

Diane's face lit up the moment she looked at the picture. "I remember that one! Yes, it's mine. A sweet old man commissioned it."

"You remember every commission?" I asked, relieved it was hers and impressed by her memory.

Diane laughed. "I wish! No, but this one was special. The old man, Phillip, was frail and feeble, but determined to have me make this quote before he died. His niece brought him in."

"Niece?" My ears perked up. "Do you remember her name?"

Diane shook her head. "No, sorry. I don't remember much about her at all. Except it was odd. She insisted that Phillip order two identical works. So there would be a spare in case something happened to one. This quote was very important to her aunt, apparently."

"What?" Wanda hadn't mentioned that there was a second copy. Which led me to believe she didn't know. Nor did Terry. That only left good old Rainy. My heart pounded. "How much would you charge for another copy? And how long would it take you to do?"

Diane laughed. "It won't take me long at all. I can have it done by lunch. And if you tell me your secret of how you get your bounce lettering so perfect, I'll give you my colleague discount."

"Deal." I grinned. "If I can watch you. I've long admired your work." Long was, after all, a relative term. The last twenty-four hours had seemed interminably long to me.

"Pull up a chair," she said.

I watched her style—the way she handled her pens, the flow of her strokes, everything I could take in. We chatted while she worked. There really wasn't anything as fun as talking shop with a fellow enthusiast and artist.

As Diane wrapped up the quote, I looked around the shop. She sold hand lettering supplies, like I did. I was hoping she carried what I was looking for. It wasn't something I normally stocked. I could have ordered it. But the sooner I got my hands on it, the better. Sunny was fading fast. Ah, she had it!

I put it on the counter. "Add this to my bill."

Diane charged me a pittance for her work and probably cost for the rest of what I bought. When I left, I told her to stop by Flourish if she was ever in Cedar Valley. She assured me she would.

I was so excited that I was trembling as I left Chalk Line. When I got to my car, I called Wanda. "I know how Karen's doing it. And I have a plan to stop her."

That night, I worked late making a few slight modifications to Diane's work. I mimicked her style as I lettered over some of her words and made a few additions of my own.

Early the next morning, Wanda stopped by and picked up the quote. I gave her detailed instructions. She left. And I waited.

It was a sunny day. That was a good omen. And exactly what we needed for my plan to work. Wanda said Sunny was even weaker today. The hospice nurse expected her to go within a few days. We had to convince Sunny not to fall prey to Karen's scheme before her body shut down and her mind failed.

Chapter Four

Wanda stopped by my house that evening to tell me the good news in person. Her eyes were bright with excitement. "You're brilliant! It worked. When the sun hit the framed quote you had me swap for the original, the words appeared exactly as you said they would. Sunny was stunned and Karen stormed out. The moment Karen left, Aunt Sunny called her lawyer and told him to tear up the new will. She wouldn't be signing it. But how did you do it? How did you know?"

I invited Wanda in. "Humor me. I need coffee first. I was just about to make a cup." I always needed coffee.

I made us each a cup while Wanda waited, fidgeting. I didn't blame her for being eager. We sat at my kitchen table. I offered her cookies from the Cedar Valley Bakery. They made delicious chocolate-dipped shortbread. I always kept some on hand.

I raised my cup of coffee with its perfect topping of velvet foam to Wanda's black pour-over. "To thwarting Karen's nefarious plans."

"To you!" Wanda blew on her coffee and took a sip. "Now, spill it. How did you know? What did you do?"

"Right from the beginning, from what you told me at the wine and hand lettering night, I suspected Karen of using photochromic ink to alter the work. Photochromic ink shows up in direct sunlight or black light, but is completely clear otherwise. It fades back to clear within five minutes of the end of the exposure to light. When you said the painting had been recently moved, I suspected Karen of tampering with it and painting over the words 'Sunny' and 'rainy' with photochromic ink.

"When I saw the spot it was hanging in now, I was absolutely convinced. The art was placed perfectly to catch the evening light and illuminate the words. However, if the day was cloudy or rainy, the words wouldn't appear. Not enough light. That's why I brought the black light—to test the picture and my theory. I was stunned when I was apparently wrong. No words appeared when I ran the light over it."

Wanda shook her head and reached for a second cookie. They were addictive. "That was a setback. I was pretty despondent."

"So was I," I said. "The picture was unsigned. I couldn't place it. It seemed like a dead end. Fortunately, my hand lettering friends came to the rescue and recognized the artist—Diane King. When I visited Diane at her shop in Pioneer Square, she remembered Phillip and said his niece had come with him to order the quote. She also remembered them because they'd ordered two copies, which was very odd. When I heard that, I knew exactly what Karen had done."

Wanda sighed. "Ordering two quotes in anticipation. It's so diabolical. Karen certainly plays a long game."

"Patience is her lone virtue, it would seem," I said. "When she realized Phillip was failing and would likely die first, she came up with the plan, her ace up her sleeve. I wouldn't be surprised if she was the one who selected the quote."

"Nor would I." Wanda eyed the cookies.

They really were delicious, and solving crimes stimulated the sweet tooth. Plus, cookies absolutely go with a good cup of coffee.

I pushed the plate toward her. "I have to hand it to Karen—it was ingenious to alter one of the quotes with photochromic ink and swap it for the original when the time was right. And to make sure it was placed in a spot that got direct sunlight for a short time during the day so the words would come and go. And to think far enough ahead to swap it back for the original, untainted work after Sunny got the message. If she hadn't done the swap, I would have found her out the first time I visited Sunny."

"Should we be worried that Karen will try switching the pictures again?" Wanda bit into her third cookie.

"You mean engage in a war of picture swapping?" I laughed. "I think we're safe. She knows we have her number. We haven't exposed her yet. But if she pushes us…" I winked. "I wish I could have seen her face when the picture lit up with the word 'rainy' in bright blue and the word 'not' above it."

Wanda laughed. "That was one for the books, all right. I think she almost had a heart attack."

"And Sunny? What did she think?" I asked.

"She said it was just like Phillip to be selfish at first, but get it right in the end."

I laughed. "Good." I paused. "It was the only way to do it, you know. We could have told Sunny and showed her how the trick worked. But I think we would have needed Karen's tainted copy as proof. And we didn't have it. Or we’d have to taint ours in the same way. And I'm not sure Sunny would have believed us. She was too entrenched in her fantasy."

"No! Absolutely not. You did the right thing. We did the right thing. Let Aunt Sunny go to her grave believing Phillip was talking to her at the end. She'd be devastated to find out it was a hoax."

"Will you tell Terry?" I asked.

"I don't think there's any need," Wanda said. "She's smart. She'll figure it out."

"I hope she enjoys the money," I said.

"I'm sure she will," Wanda said. "She's already planning to use some of it to fix up Sunny's house once she inherits it. No, this will be excellent for Terry. She's struggled for so long. You've given her a secure future now."

I grinned. My heart was overflowing. And I was pleased I was a good enough forger to mimic Diane's style. For a few words, at least. Optimism and sunniness really did win out over Rainy this time.

* * *

NEXT UP: Jamie is accused of murder. She has to solve the case before scandal and suspicion kill any Flourish she has left.

Get WHO SHOT THE SERIF? The first full-length novel of the Hand Lettering Mystery series.

* * *

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About the Author

Jessa Archer writes sweet, funny, warm-hearted cozy mysteries because she loves a good puzzle and can't stand the sight of blood. Her characters are witty, adventurous, and crafty in the nicest way. You'll find her sleuths hand lettering inspirational quotes, trying to lower golf handicaps, enjoying a scone at a favorite teashop, knitting a sweater, or showing off a dramatic side in local theater.

Jessa's done many things in her long career, including a stint as a journalist and practicing law. But her favorite job is spinning mysteries. She loves playing small town sleuth and transporting readers to a world where the scones are delicious, wine pairs with hand lettering, and justice always prevails.

If you want to know when Jessa's next book will be available, visit her website, www.jessaarcher.com where you can sign up for her newsletter.

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Copyright © 2019 by Jessa G. Archer

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, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Cover Design: Amy Queau

Interior Quote Design: The County Flair

Who Shot the Serif?/Jessa Archer. — 1st ed.