Free 1 A High-End Finish by Kate Carlisle Page A

proverbial open book. I was friendly to everyone. I didn’t drive too fast or drink too much or tell lies or party too heartily, ever. Oh, sure, there might’ve been a few wild teenage moments in high school, but seriously, they weren’t all that wild. In fact, I hadn’t done anything truly wild in years, if ever. I certainly hadn’t killed anyone, even if I’d threatened to do so the other night. In front of witnesses.
    Did that make me sound boring? Well, not the threatening-to-kill part, but the rest of it? Because I didn’t feel boring. I loved my life. I had a great job and wonderful friends. I was close to my family; I loved my house and my dog and my cat and my town. I was healthy. I had money in the bank. Okay, maybe I wasn’t
blissfully
happy, like rainbows and unicorns happy, but who was?
    “Stop it,” I murmured, scowling at myself. I was happy enough. Hell, I was downright perky most of the time.
    I turned up the radio to distract myself and cruised through downtown past the town square on my way to one of my houses a few streets north of Main Street.
    The town square was practically deserted at this time of the morning. Charming shops and cafés faced the pretty central park, where a large gazebo was set beneath sheltering trees. During the summer, free band concerts were held there on the weekends. Everyone in town turned out, carrying their lawn chairs and picnic hampers. The ice-cream shop on the corner did a bumper business on those nights. Some of my earliest best memories had taken place right here. Fireworks. Marching bands. My mom and dad holding hands. Ice cream.
    Now, though, the square was silent. I scanned the area, anyway, on the off chance that I’d catch a glimpse of one of my girlfriends opening her shop, but the only place open was the Cozy Cove Diner on the corner. The other shops on the square wouldn’t open for business for another two hours or more.
    It was just as well, I realized as I drove on. I should probably avoid the area for the next few days. I knew my gossip quotient had skyrocketed since I’d stumbled over Jerry’s body on Sunday. Everyone in town would be vying to get the inside scoop from me, but I dreaded the whispers and questions that would follow. I had to endure scrutiny and doubt from the new police chief, but not from people I’d known my entire life.
    It was a good thing I had a strong alibi for the time Jerry had died, at least according to the county coroner’s estimate. Otherwise, I would probably be bunking in the town jail by now. Despite my alibi, I had a feeling the chief would keep me on his suspect list until someone else confessed to the crime.
    After a few more turns, I found Cranberry Circle and parked in front of the work site. The house was a beautiful pale blue Queen Anne Victorian with white trim, a charming porch on the ground floor, and a rounded balcony on the second floor of the tower. It was part of a small group of homes my father had built almost twenty years ago and it was a concept he’d repeated in other areas of town. Here there were sixteen homes, all grouped around a small park and playground. With only one entrance into the neighborhood and the street circling around the park, it was safe for the kids to play and ride bikes. A small coffeehouse thrived on the corner.
    The owners wanted a new paint job, and we also needed to replace half a wall’s worth of rotted wood siding and cedar shingles. Even though the house was relatively young, it was located at the west end of the block closest to the ocean. Despite being more valuable because of its desirable location, this house had suffered more exposure to the elements than the others. The stiff winter breezes and constant salt spray had damaged some of the western-facing exterior, causing the wood and paint to fade faster than the rest of the houses on the street.
    The baby blue–and-white facade had been a popular combination twenty years ago. These days, though, many