Sketch a Falling Star

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Authors: Sharon Pape

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Praise for the Portrait of Crime Mysteries

To Sketch a Thief

“An enjoyable thriller…[A] fun whodunit.”


Genre Go Round Reviews

“[A] fast-paced read you won’t want to put down…This is the perfect story to “escape” into for a relaxing afternoon.”

—Dollycas’s Thoughts

Sketch Me If You Can

“Fast-paced and spirited, Sharon Pape’s mystery…introduces police sketch artist Rory McCain and her cranky, ethereal housemate, Ezekiel Drummond…Pape has a sure-handed balance of humor and action that makes her a writer to watch.”

—Julie Hyzy, national bestselling author of
the White House Chef Mysteries

“Police sketch artist Rory McCain, moonlighting as an amateur detective, assisted by the ghost of an 1870s federal marshal. Sharon Pape takes this improbable premise and makes it work—and how! Rory is memorable, her sidekick intriguing. Exceptionally well written, a standout mystery. I’m looking forward to more.”

—Susan Wittig Albert, national bestselling author of
Cat’s Claw

“A police artist matches wits with the ghost of an Old West marshal as they work together to solve a double homicide, but it’s the chemistry between this modern woman and crusty cowboy that will draw readers in to
Sketch Me If You Can
. A spirited debut!”

—Cleo Coyle, national bestselling author of
the Haunted Bookshop Mysteries

“A fun ride.”


CA Reviews

“Part mystery, part paranormal, and all spine-tingling suspense…This promises to be a great beginning to a dynamic ongoing series that both mystery lovers and paranormal fans will enjoy.”


Fresh Fiction

“Will suck you in, pull you along, and spit you out at the end after the ride of your life…
Sketch Me If You Can
is a story you won’t long forget, even after you pass the book along to your friends.”


The Romance Readers Connection

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Sharon Pape
SKETCH ME IF YOU CAN
TO SKETCH A THIEF
SKETCH A FALLING STAR

 

Sketch a
Falling Star

 

Sharon Pape

 

BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL,

England • Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin

Books Ltd.) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) • Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community

Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive,

Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) • Penguin Books

(South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

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. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

SKETCH A FALLING STAR

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / March 2012

Copyright © 2012 by Sharon Pape.

Cover illustration by Cliff Nielson.

Cover design by George Long.

Interior text design by Laura K. Corless.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or
electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of
copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

ISBN: 978-1-101-56081-5

BERKLEY
®
PRIME CRIME

Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

BERKLEY
®
PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

10   9   8   7   6   5   4   3   2   1

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is
stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the
author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

ALWAYS LEARNING

PEARSON

For my husband, Dennis.

Who needs a Mount Palomar anyway?

Acknowledgments

 

I want to thank my daughter, Lauren, for brokering many peace accords between me and my computer, thereby saving my sanity.

I want to thank my son, Jason, for “fixing” me whenever I break myself, which is more often than one might think.

Table of Contents

 

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Prologue

 

R
ory was wrestling her suitcase into the trunk of the Volvo when she was startled by a bright little voice wishing her a good morning. She couldn’t imagine who else was out and about, much less in her driveway, at six o’clock on a Sunday morning. She popped her head up so quickly that she banged it on the lid of the trunk.

“Oh my,” said the owner of the voice, an elderly woman so slight that she might have been blown there by a sudden gust of wind. She had stunning blue eyes that were caught up in a seine of wrinkles and white hair that sprouted in random tufts across her scalp. Although she was wearing a blue terry-cloth robe over yellow pajamas, her feet were bare. The lack of shoes didn’t seem to bother her in spite of an outside temperature that was straining to reach forty.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said, her forehead pleated with concern.

“That’s okay,” Rory told her, finding it hard to be annoyed with the woman, who had an open, childlike expression, in spite of the years deeply etched into her face. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m Eloise,” she said, a smile puffing up her sunken cheeks and twinkling in her eyes.

“Well, I’m Rory.” She extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Eloise gave it a firm little shake.

“Are you lost?” Rory asked.

Eloise shook her head. “I live over there.” She pointed down the block to the brick colonial owned by the Bowman family.

It was close to a year now that Rory had been living in the refurbished Victorian her uncle Mac had left her, and she knew all her neighbors well enough to say “hello,” ask after their families and presumably borrow a cup of sugar should she ever need one. But she couldn’t recall having seen Eloise before. It was possible that she’d come to stay with the Bowmans recently, as she became incapable of living alone. They probably weren’t even aware that their matriarch was out wandering the neighborhood.

Of all mornings too. Rory’s alarm clock had chosen that night to stop working, so she’d overslept and was already late leaving for the airport. Thank goodness she’d decided to drop Hobo off with her parents the night before or she wouldn’t stand a chance of making her flight. It was going to be a toss-up anyway, and not even her indomitable aunt Helene would be able to convince the airline to wait for her. Still, she couldn’t just drive away and let Eloise continue roaming around on her own. She’d have to drop her back home and see her safely inside.

She was about to coax Eloise into the car when she saw Doug Bowman come tearing out his front door with a raincoat over his pajamas and his comb-over standing on end as if he’d just rolled out of bed.

Things were looking up. She just hoped Doug wasn’t in a chatty mood.

“Mom!” he yelled, flip-flopping down the street to them in slippers that were in imminent danger of flying off his feet. “Mom, come back here. Mom!” he implored like a man who was mere inches away from the end of his quickly fraying rope. Rory understood that feeling only too well, courtesy of a certain deceased federal marshal who shared her home and her life. Judging by the desperation in Doug’s tone, this probably wasn’t his mother’s first solo flight.

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