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  PRAISE FOR THE KITE SHOP MYSTERIES

  “Emmy and her kite shop will blow you away!”

  —Fran Stewart, author of the ScotShop Mysteries

  “Clover Tate’s well-crafted plot soars . . . Two thumbs up for Blown Away.”

  —Christine Husom, author of the Snow Globe Shop Mysteries

  “Readers will find themselves easily invested in Emmy and her kite shop . . . [A] well-rounded story sure to appeal to many different reading preferences.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “The author takes a unique approach with Emmy . . . Her growth and development, along with that of her fellow Rock Point neighbors, promise for even more entertaining mysteries in the future.”

  —Kings River Life Magazine

  “Delightfully charming . . . This was an entertaining read and I look forward to the next adventures with Emmy and her friends.”

  —Dru’s Book Musings

  “Blown Away is a fun and delightfully cozy mystery that has me excited for more.”

  —Marie’s Cozy Corner

  “[A] solid debut novel with many elements hitting a delightful chord . . . A fun read.”

  —Mysteries and My Musings

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Clover Tate

  BLOWN AWAY

  LIVE AND LET FLY

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2017 by Penguin Random House LLC

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY is a registered trademark and BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the B colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Ebook ISBN: 9780698410282

  First Edition: December 2017

  Cover design by Sanny Chiu

  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.

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  contents

  Praise for The Kite Shop Mysteries

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Clover Tate

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  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

  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

  For Angela M. Sanders.

  I couldn’t have written this without you.

  acknowledgments

  Thank you to my amazing editor, Katherine Pelz, and agent, John Talbot. Your professionalism, kindness, patience, and support are first-class.

  I have the critique group of which other writers dream. Its members—Cindy Brown, Doug Levin, Dave Lewis, Ann Littlewood, and Marilyn McFarlane—deserve a gigantic thank-you for their flexibility, honesty, and insight. I’d also like to thank authors Lisa Alber, Charlotte Rains Dixon, Kate Dyer-Seeley, Christine Finlayson, Holly Franko, Kelly Garrett, and Debbie Guyol for all the writerly talk with which I’ve bent their ears, either in one-on-one conversations or in our Drink and Think get-togethers and Not the Usual Suspects group.

  Finally, my biggest thank-you of all goes to readers. There’s nothing so uplifting as knowing your stories entertain others and maybe even make them laugh or keep them in suspense. I am so, so grateful.

  chapter one

  “Ow!” Once again, I’d stuck myself with a needle. I pressed my thumb to my mouth and tasted salty blood.

  For two solid weeks, I’d spent every morning in the back room of my kite shop, Strings Attached, working on my entry for the kite festival. I intended it to be a masterpiece. It had to be. My livelihood depended on it.

  While tourists bought their morning coffee over on Main Street and locals dug for razor clams at the beach a block away, I was settled in the kitchen-turned-workshop of the Victorian house that held my shop, stitching ribbon-thin slips of fabric into an appliquéd portrait of the town. On the left side of the kite, the sea rolled in on waves of green and blue with tiny whitecaps. A brown fishing boat with a slip of white mast pulled up its net. The town of Rock Point rose up on the right, from the docks to the small town center and up to the homes in Old Town. I’d even sewn in a tiny replica of Strings Attached, complete with windsocks blowing from the porch. Right now, I was piecing together a sunset.

  At a sharp knock on the shop door, my fingers jolted again, this time sending the needle into my palm. Strings Attached wasn’t scheduled to open for another half hour. With a growl of exasperation, I set aside my kite and stomped through the shop, which was rippling with a summer garden of kites.

  I flung open the door. “I’m sorry. We’re not—”

  “Hi, Emmy.”

  My icy tone instantly melted, and I hugged my little sister, pushing one of her blond dreadlocks away. “Sunny! What are you doing here?”

  She slid a backpack off her shoulders and set it on the porch. “I’m moving in with you.”

  I was so stupefied that I only stared as she passed through the shop to the workroom. “Aren’t you supposed to be at college, getting ready for the semester?”

  “Yes.” She glanced at my kite, but didn’t seem to find anything there that interested her. She filled the teakettle and set it on the stove.

  “So, why are you here? You know I’m happy to see you, but this is unexpected.”

  “Do you have any coffee, or is it all tea? I had to get up while it was still dark to get to the bus.”

  “Sunny. Answer me.”

  When she turned, I saw that despite the confidence in her voice, her eyes were reddening and her lips trembled. “I can’t go back. Emmy, I can’t.” She plopped into a kitchen chair.

  I sat across from her. “What’s wrong?” Although Sunny had given herself the nickname—her real name was Belinda, after my aunt—normally, it suited her. I’d always been the responsible sister, reading or drawing in my room, and she was the ebullient one. At the alternative grade school our parents had sent us to, Sunny had been chosen to lead the Maypole dance. When I had been a student there eight y
ears earlier, I’d spent my days poring over Van Gogh lithographs in the library.

  “Everything’s wrong,” she said. “I hate my major, for one thing.”

  “Feminist theater?”

  “Fermentation and digestive health,” she corrected. “Feminist theater was last year.”

  “Big deal. Everyone changes their major. Change yours.”

  Sunny erupted into tears just as the kettle started whistling. I leapt up to turn off the stove. “Honey. You’re only a sophomore. Take some of your required classes while you figure it out. Everyone goes through this.”

  “You didn’t.”

  True. I’d been set on being an artist since I cracked open my first box of Crayolas. I’d loved kites, too, ever since I flew my first one. Blending the two by designing kites had been only natural. “You can’t compare yourself to anyone. Just give yourself time.”

  She sniffed and took a wavering breath. “That’s why I’m moving in with you and Avery. I need time to think things over.”

  “You can stay for a few days, if you like. The term starts—when? A week?”

  “No. I mean I want to stay here for good. Or at least for a few months.”

  I folded my arms over my chest. “You can’t simply run away from your problems.”

  “You sound like Mom.”

  Sunny always did know how to shut me up. “You know what I mean. Besides, it’s not just up to me. Avery has a say—it’s her house, after all. And what about Mom and Dad? I can’t believe they’re letting you do this.”

  She stuck out her lower lip and looked away. “It’s my life. Not theirs.”

  “You’re joking.” I sat across the table from her. “You haven’t told them, have you?”

  Once again, she didn’t respond.

  “Good grief, Sunny. They’re paying your tuition, and you don’t even tell them you don’t plan on showing up for classes?”

  She looked earnest. “They’ll get a full refund as long as I cancel before the first week of class. If they invest that money, they can fund a few more years of their retirement.”

  Sunny? Giving Mom and Dad investment advice? “I can’t keep a huge secret like this from them.”

  “I need you to. This is my only hope to figure out what I should do with my life. I need you to help me.” Her eyes still glistened with tears. “Please?”

  I swore under my breath. If my parents found out—my mother, especially—they’d never forgive me. My mother liked to recite the Three Musketeers’ motto, “All for one, and one for all,” when referring to our family. The reality was more like, “When I’m happy, we’re all happy.” Not that she didn’t want the best for all of us, which she proved with constant phone calls, recipes for gluten-free casseroles, and quotes from Indian mystics. It’s just that there wasn’t a lot of room for other personalities when Mom was around.

  “I get it,” I said, “but this isn’t something I can hide. I won’t lie to them.”

  “You don’t have to lie,” Sunny said quickly. “Just don’t volunteer it. Besides, I’ll tell them. Eventually.” She tilted her head a few degrees to the side, just as she did every time she needed to sway me.

  “A few days, and that’s all.”

  “You’ll see,” she said, her voice all efficiency. “I’ll be a real help to you. I can work at the shop so you can make more kites.”

  She had a point. Normally Stella, a retired schoolteacher and friend, worked on my days off, but she was spending a lot of time in her studio lately, getting ready for a show of her paintings. “I suppose so.”

  “Good.” Sunny bolted to her feet, upending her mug and sending a wash of black tea toward my kite.

  I grabbed the kite’s elaborately appliquéd body, but I was too late. Dull brown soaked through its gem-toned panes.

  Please, I thought. Let this not be a sign of things to come.

  • • •

  I decided to delay opening the shop for a few hours. We walked the mile home, me pushing my bike and Sunny carrying her backpack.

  It was a gorgeous August day, with a warm breeze perfect for flying kites. On our left, the blue ocean rushed to shore under an even bluer sky. Tourists would be streaming into town any time now, knocking around the antiques mall and checking into bed-and-breakfasts. Until a few years ago, Rock Point had been mostly a fishing town without much to recommend it to tourists. But lately, its fishermen’s cabins had been snatched up by out-of-towners, and visitors had been coming to walk the beach to the lighthouse just north of Avery’s house—my home now, too—or eat at the Tidal Basin, a popular gastropub.

  “You really didn’t tell Mom and Dad?” I asked Sunny. I still couldn’t believe she’d simply skipped out on college.

  “I couldn’t.”

  We were silent a moment while a truck passed us on the mostly quiet road. It was Ace, the local plumber-slash-odd-jobs guy. I waved.

  “You’re going to have to tell them sometime,” I said.

  “I will. Just not yet.”

  Our path took us up Perkins Road, past fewer and fewer houses, then up the hill, into the woods.

  Avery was on her way out when we arrived at the house. The sun illuminated her hair like a halo. She waved and smiled. “Sunny! What a surprise. Are your parents here, too?”

  I looked at my sister. “You tell her.”

  “No Mom and Dad,” she said. “Just me. Could I—uh—stay here?”

  “Only for a few days,” I added.

  Avery followed us back into the house. “Of course. You can sleep on the sunporch.”

  The house had a sleeping porch on the second floor. Nights on the coast were cool enough that neither Avery nor I used it, but it was screened in and had a twin bed. With a change of sheets and a wool blanket, it would be fine for Sunny.

  “That’s perfect,” Sunny said.

  Avery exchanged glances with me. I lifted an eyebrow in what I hoped communicated, I’ll tell you about it later.

  “How’s the kite coming?” Avery asked.

  I thought about my kite soaking in the sink back at Strings Attached and silently groaned. “Hopefully all right. I’m almost done with the appliqués. There was a mishap—”

  “I spilled tea on it. Was that an important kite?” Sunny said.

  Bear, my family’s Australian shepherd, who was on semipermanent loan to me, came bounding from upstairs, wagging his tail so hard that his whole hind end wiggled.

  “Bear baby!” Sunny dropped her suitcase and bent to her knees to kiss the dog. “I missed you.”

  “Yeah, that kite is important,” I said.

  “Why?” She stood, a hand still on Bear’s head.

  “Because I’m counting on it to win the contest at the kite festival. If it does, the publicity will boost Internet sales over the winter. I need that income to make it past tourist season.” Strings Attached had only been open since early this summer. I hadn’t yet experienced a rainy winter, when the tourist trade—and kite flying—dropped off.

  “I thought the shop was doing well,” Sunny said.

  “It’s doing great. If it stayed warm and dry all year, we’d be eating filet mignon.”

  “I’m vegan,” Sunny said.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “It’s a big deal,” Avery told Sunny. “The honorary judge is a reality TV star who grew up in Rock Point. Jasmine Normand.”

  “From Bag That Babe,” I added. Not that I’d ever seen the show.

  “Bag That Babe? I know her. What does a dating safari show have to do with kites?” Sunny asked.

  “Got me,” Avery said. “She’s our most famous resident. I guess that’s enough. Why don’t you come upstairs and we’ll get you settled?” We followed Sunny up the stairs. “Dave told me that Jack has been obsessing over his kite.”

  I’d suspected as
much. Our friend Dave was also a good friend of Jack Sullivan, the owner of Rock Point’s other kite shop, Sullivan’s Kites. Jack had been quiet about the contest. We’d dated a bit over the past few months, and while we’d shared a lot about our backgrounds, almost by unspoken agreement we hadn’t talked about the competition.

  Sunny didn’t seem to be paying attention. “Do you own this house free and clear?”

  “Sure. Why?” Avery said.

  “Rock Point’s tourist trade seems to be picking up. Have you thought about turning this into a guesthouse? Could be a nice stream of passive income.”

  “But I live here,” Avery said. “It’s my family home.”

  “It’s not like you’d have to sell it. Emmy could buy the building Strings Attached is in, and you two could live there, upstairs, and rent out this house. That would help both of your incomes.”

  Sunny must have noticed the “For Sale” sign in front of the shop. This was another source of worry for me. My landlord, embarrassed by a crime he was associated with last spring—a murder someone else had committed, but that he’d inspired—was retiring to Palm Springs and selling his property in town. I just hoped that whoever bought the building wouldn’t jack up the rent.

  “Thanks for the advice, Sunny, but I’m staying put,” Avery said.

  “Since when did you become an investment guru?” I asked my sister.

  “Don’t make fun of me,” Sunny said. Bear jumped on the bed while Sunny gazed out the window toward the ocean. The screens let in the sound of the surf down the bluff. The sunsets would be magnificent from here.

  At the thought of sky, my mind returned to the kite contest. “So, Jasmine Normand is in town, huh?”

  “That’s what Dave says. I haven’t seen her yet,” Avery said.

  “Did you know her? Did she fly kites?” I still couldn’t believe that a reality TV star was judging the contest. A lot rode on her say.

  “Honestly, my main memories of her? Sleeping through biology class, charming boys to do her homework, and always being teacher’s pet without having to crack open a book.” Avery shook her head. “She irritated everyone I knew. By the time graduation rolled around, we were all ready to kill her.”