The Decorator Who Knew Too Much

  Praise for the Madison Night Mystery Series

  “A sense of danger and menace pervades the entire novel, but it is lightened by Mad’s genuine likability and strength. Vallere has crafted an extremely unique mystery series with an intelligent heroine whose appeal will never go out of style.”

  – Kings River Life Magazine

  “If you are looking for an unconventional mystery with a snarky, no-nonsense main character, this is it…Instead of clashing, humor and danger meld perfectly, and there’s a cliffhanger that will make your jaw drop.”

  — RT Book Reviews

  “A terrific mystery is always in fashion—and this one is sleek, chic and constantly surprising. Vallere’s smart styling and wry humor combine for a fresh and original page-turner—it’ll have you eagerly awaiting her next appealing adventure. I’m a fan!”

  — Hank Phillippi Ryan,

  Agatha, Anthony, and Mary Higgins Clark Award-Winning Author

  “Diane Vallere…has a wonderful touch, bringing in the design elements and influences of the ’50s and ’60s era many of us hold dear while keeping a strong focus on what it means in modern times to be a woman in business for herself, starting over.”

  — Fresh Fiction

  “All of us who fell in love with Madison Night in Pillow Stalk will be rooting for her when the past comes back to haunt her in That Touch of Ink. The suspense is intense, the plot is hot and the style is to die for. A thoroughly entertaining entry in this enjoyable series.”

  — Catriona McPherson,

  Agatha Award-Winning Author of the Dandy Gilver Mystery Series

  “A multifaceted story...plenty of surprises...And what an ending!”

  — New York Journal of Books

  “A humorous yet adventurous read of a mystery, very much worth considering.”

  — Midwest Book Review

  “Make room for Vallere’s tremendously fun homage. Imbuing her story with plenty of mid-century modern decorating and fashion tips…Her disarmingly honest lead and two hunky sidekicks will appeal to all fashionistas and antiques types and have romance crossover appeal.”

  — Library Journal

  “If you love Doris Day, you’ll love Madison Night, decorator extraordinaire. She specializes in restoring mid-century homes and designs, and her latest project involves abductions, murder and vengeance.”

  – Books for Avid Readers

  “The characters in this series are really great and you laugh and cry along with them when necessary. Madison and Tex are a terrific pair, and the story will definitely keep readers entertained….and after you’re done reading you will very much want to find a Doris Day movie to enjoy as much as this book.”

  – Suspense Magazine

  “A charming modern tribute to Doris Day movies and the retro era of the ’50s, including murders, escalating danger, romance...and a puppy!”

  — Linda O. Johnston,

  Author of the Pet Rescue Mysteries

  “A well-constructed tale with solid characters and page after page of interesting, intelligent dialogue. Diane Vallere delivers a cunning plot as well as humor and romance.”

  – ReadertoReader.com

  Books in the Madison Night Mystery Series

  by Diane Vallere

  Novels

  PILLOW STALK (#1)

  THAT TOUCH OF INK (#2)

  WITH VICS YOU GET EGGROLL (#3)

  THE DECORATOR WHO KNEW TOO MUCH (#4)

  Novellas

  MIDNIGHT ICE

  (in OTHER PEOPLE’S BAGGAGE)

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  Copyright

  THE DECORATOR WHO KNEW TOO MUCH

  A Madison Night Mystery

  Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection

  First Edition

  Trade paperback edition | April 2017

  Henery Press

  www.henerypress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Copyright © 2017 by Diane Vallere

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No affiliation with Doris Day or Universal is claimed or implied.

  Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-195-8

  Digital epub ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-196-5

  Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-197-2

  Hardcover Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-198-9

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my fellow Dayniacs

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to Ramona DeFelice Long for your valuable feedback on this manuscript, Jane Feuer, for your eagle eye, Kendel Lynn for your friendship, and the whole team at Henery Press for your support of the Madison Night series. And to Josh Hickman, who didn’t think it was weird when I looked into the river on a recent vacation and said, “What if there was a dead body in the water?” Sometimes it’s nice not to be thought of as weird.

  PROLOGUE

  Tex

  Tex Allen wasn’t the sort of guy who spent Saturday nights alone. There was the natural Daddy Complex—something he’d encountered early on in his days as a cop—but the older he got, the more interesting he appeared to be to the opposite sex. The other officers in the precinct called it the Clooney Syndrome. They said the longer he indicated he wasn’t interested in a long-term relationship, the more attractive he became to the ladies.

  The ladies, he thought with a chuckle. A couple of years ago, he would have thought of them as chicks or, worse, girls. That was before he’d met Madison Night. He didn’t admit it to most, but ever since the day he’d found her and her Shih Tzu by the edge of the parking lot of Crestwood pool, after finding a corpse under the back tires of her Alfa Romeo, he’d been a changed man. But Madison had started a relationship with Hudson James. Tex wasn’t the type to hold anybody’s past mistakes against him, but he couldn’t help feeling jealous when he thought about Madison shifting from a life she shared with her dog to one she shared with her handyman.

  He poured the rest of his beer into his glass and clicked through the channels. No games, no James Bond movies, no Deadliest Catch marathons. There was an open invitation for him to join the off-duty Lakewood PD at Jumbo’s Strip Club, but he’d been there and done that. He was approaching fifty and, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, lately he’d found himself thinking that maybe life was passing him by. Who knew a woman his age in a polyester suit from the sixties would be the one to make him rethink his lifestyle.

  Tex finished off his beer and got another. Downtime had been more and more like this: one beer too many, falling asleep in the recliner in front of the TV. As long as the morning pot of coffee got him going before he headed in to work on the latest homicide, he was fine. He’d added in kickboxing and extra rounds at the shooting range so he’d have an outlet for stress. He even sent Christmas cards to his remaining family members this year. And then there was
Peter Randall, his one-on-one basketball buddy, who just so happened to also be his psychiatrist. Now instead of going through the motions, he found himself thinking about opportunities lost and doors that had closed. Instead of focusing on doing his job every day, he questioned whether or not he was happy.

  Yeah, life for Tex Allen had taken a turn somewhere in the recent past and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

  When he returned to the living room, he found that TCM was running a Doris Day marathon. Fine, he thought. I’m man enough to watch a Doris Day movie. He finished off his new beer faster than expected and tipped the chair back to a more comfortable angle.

  He woke up the next morning with a crick in his neck and a desire to paint the kitchen yellow.

  Yep, meeting Madison Night had changed him. For better or worse? He still wasn’t sure.

  ONE

  If Hudson had gotten his way, I wouldn’t have known about the trip to Palm Springs until we arrived at the airport. Perhaps it was the fact that I’d already experienced the frustration of traveling with a suitcase filled with someone else’s clothes thanks to a baggage mishap at the airport a few years ago, or that there are some things you’d just rather do for yourself. Either way, his romantic notions of whisking me away with already packed suitcases were thwarted by my naturally inquisitive nature.

  “It was a nice idea,” I said. “Impractical, but nice.”

  “It was supposed to be a surprise.” Hudson bent down and grabbed my bag from the conveyor belt.

  “Maybe I don’t like surprises,” I said.

  “Who doesn’t like surprises?”

  The kind of person who had lived through more than her share of them.

  Hudson James had been my contractor for five years and my leading man for five months. I’d resisted the attraction for as long as I could because his talents had become vital to the success of my decorating business, Mad for Mod. But there was more to life than business, and I’d been pleasantly surprised by how easily we’d merged the various aspects of our individual lives. If only his cat and my dog got along as well as we did, we’d be golden.

  “That’s all of the luggage,” Hudson said.

  “Check the tags.”

  “Madison, exactly how many vintage turquoise Samsonite suitcases do you think are floating around in the world?”

  I smiled. “You’d be surprised.”

  He flipped over the black luggage tag, exposing my pink, yellow, and blue business card. Madison Night, Mad for Mod.

  “Satisfied?”

  “For now.”

  While Hudson adjusted the stack of suitcases on the rolling cart, I let Rocky out of his carrier and attached his leash. He looked up at me with his large brown eyes. He was a Shih Tzu, small enough that he was allowed to ride in the airplane cabin with the rest of us, but he wasn’t used to being cooped up for quite so long. I scooped him up, kissed him, and then set him down. He immediately ran over to Mortiboy’s carrier and sniffed. A lazy black kitty paw stretched forward and swatted at Rocky’s nose. Mortiboy was under the influence of a veterinarian-prescribed sedative, but that didn’t mean he would let Rocky get the wrong idea about which one of them was in charge.

  The Palm Springs International Airport was easy to navigate. Within minutes our bags were stacked in the back of a Jeep that had been left in short-term parking. Our trip to Palm Springs was only part getaway; Hudson’s brother-in-law owned a construction company and had recruited us to work for him for the next two weeks. The Jeep was part of his fleet of vehicles, and he’d mailed the spare key to Hudson before we left Texas. It was yet another detail that I’d gotten out of Hudson during the three-hour flight. The top to the Jeep was off and it was safe to speak for all of us: in what felt like ninety-degree temperature, the passing breeze was welcome, despite what it did to our hair.

  I’d recently acquired the estate of an eighty-nine-year-old woman who’d spent her youth as a fit model for a couple of companies that produced sewing patterns. To hear her daughter tell it, Mom had been hired to try on completed garments to make sure the measurements on the patterns were accurate, and part of her compensation was the opportunity to buy said garments at annual sample sales. Hidden amongst the various blankets and sheets sets in her linen closet were deep plastic bins of items that appeared to have been worn once, if at all. Each perfectly coordinated outfit had been packed in a sealable plastic bag with the corresponding pattern. Today’s ensemble was Simplicity 6013, a sleeveless A-line tunic with high slits on either side and coral, mint green, and white striped Bermuda shorts underneath. I paired it with coral canvas sneakers, my footwear option of choice.

  “Tell me again about the project that brought us to Palm Springs in September? It’s not exactly tourist season.”

  “That’s part of the reason why we’re here,” Hudson said. He grinned. “You never did strike me as one to do the expected.”

  “If you can take it, so can I.” I reached my hands up and pushed my blonde hair away from my face. “Give me a day to adjust and then I’ll be fine.”

  He slowed for a red light and kissed me on the cheek. “I love your adventurous spirit.”

  “Is that what you call it? I call it a job,” I said playfully.

  “The job. Right.” He laughed. “It should have been a vacation. You need one. This was the only way to get you out of town.”

  I reached over and took his hand. Hudson was right; I had a tendency to throw myself into work and the past few months had been no exception. When he’d first mentioned his sister’s husband was working on a mid-century modern-inspired project in Palm Springs, it had been my curiosity, not my need for a paying, out-of-state job, that interested me.

  “You said your brother-in-law has been planning this for a long time—something about a themed strip mall? What is it we’ll be doing?”

  “This has been Jimmy’s dream. He’s been acquiring wreckage from old buildings around the outskirts of Palm Springs for a couple of years now, and he just bought a parcel of land that he plans to develop into a strip mall. We’re talking stuff that’s been laying around since the fifties. When he first got the idea, it was to buy signs and fixtures cheap and resell to developers, but so much of Palm Springs is rooted in mid-century style and the Rat Pack era that he invested in his own properties. We’re here to help him build and renovate what he bought. When we’re done he’ll rent them out.”

  “Isn’t that a little backward? Don’t most rental companies rent out space and allow their tenants to fixture and sign them as they see fit?”

  “That’s exactly his selling point. His strip mall will be totally cohesive. He’s hoping to make it a destination spot by incorporating history into his design. He filed a petition to remove some of the old, weathered external signs from abandoned businesses in Salton Springs and they’re going to restore them and use them here. I’m going to help him with the building and construction, and you can help with the decorating.”

  “So it’s going to be authentically mid-mod but new.”

  “That’s the idea. Palm Springs has always been a tourist town. It’s in the middle of the desert. Why would you come here? To get away. Real estate is pretty cheap, but a lot of people only live here November to April because the temperature gets to be too hot the rest of the time.”

  I fanned myself with my hand. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Jimmy thought we’d be able to take it because we’re used to living in Texas. The temperature is the same there as it is here.”

  “I don’t know if I’ve gotten used to living in Texas.”

  “Come on. I thought you said you were adaptable.”

  “You’re right. I think the heat gave me temporary amnesia.”

  Hudson consulted some directions he’d written on a sheet of printer paper and turned left onto a narrow road. He slowed significantly and we crawled along, passing ranc
h house after ranch house. I forgot about the temperature, absorbed in the architecture around us. Mid-century style—decorating, clothing, cars, and architecture—was my passion. I’d fallen in love with the look thanks to a steady diet of the Doris Day movies my parents had bought me on my birthday every April third. The actress and I shared more than a birthday. After my parents died in a car accident while I was in college, I’d turned to Doris Day as a role model. She’d experienced her own share of adversity, but remained positive and charming through it all. I’d never once heard of her viewing herself as a victim, and that was the way I wanted to live. So Doris became my guide, and I set about creating the kind of world that she lived in.

  In a world that was growing ever more casual, I knew that dressing in sixties vintage made me different, but truth was, I was more comfortable in a polyester skirt suit than if I’d worn jeans and a tee. I could hardly remember a time when I looked like everybody else. It had started with a miniskirt here, a capelet there. It wasn’t a stretch to see how her style had morphed into mine.

  I’d built my whole decorating business around the aesthetic I saw in her movies too. Through the slightly morbid business model of reading the obituaries to identify estates that were likely filled with the kind of items I’d need, I amassed a collection of original (though sometimes in need of TLC) inventory to use in future jobs. Buying estates in whole had the secondary benefit of giving me first dibs at vintage clothes and accessories, which suited my lifestyle.