Stevi Mittman - What Goes With Blood Red, Anyway?

“A vibrant, funny story that wraps around your heart— Mittman makes you laugh, makes you think, makes you feel…and always makes you smile.”

—USA TODAY bestselling and RWA Hall of Fame author Jennifer Greene on Who Makes Up These Rules, Anyway?

“Don’t miss this book—it has all the heart that her historicals held, as well as Stevi’s wonderful and wacky sense of humor.”

—USA TODAY bestselling author Elizabeth Boyle on Who Makes Up These Rules, Anyway?

“Who Makes Up These Rules, Anyway? is filled with humor. Teddi jokes even while her life is falling apart, and there’s a great surprise ending. A keeper.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub Top Pick! 4-½ stars

“If any writer is going to sit on the throne so recently vacated by the wonderful LaVyrle Spencer, it just may be Stephanie Mittman. With A Kiss To Dream On, she proves that she can spin a story of real people dealing with genuine problems as love—not fantasy love, but true love—grows between them.”

—barnesandnoble.com

“One of those special books that will make your heart smile…Sit back, kick off your shoes and enjoy.”

—New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber on A Taste of Honey

Stevi Mittman is having the time of her life. She’d had a ball writing eight romance novels under her given name, Stephanie, and winning numerous awards and accolades, when she suddenly found herself going off in another direction—contemporary women’s fiction. From there it was a hop, skip and a jump to funny mysteries set in suburbia. Think Desperate Housewives meets Jessica Fletcher.

Now she likes telling people she’s left historical romance to write hysterical mysteries, which she writes under her nickname, Stevi. What Goes with Blood Red, Anyway? is her second book for Harlequin NEXT in her LIFE ON LONG ISLAND CAN BE MURDER series featuring Teddi Bayer, the reluctant suburban sleuth who has plenty of trouble of her own.

In addition to the books, Stevi is blogging on her Web site (www.stevimittman.com) while Teddi blogs on her own interior design site (www.TipsFromTeddi.com). It’s an ideal situation for Stevi, whose own home on Long Island was featured in Distinction magazine after she decorated it herself. She even plans to feature some of her own room treatments on Teddi’s site.

Stevi lives in a dream house in Ithaca, New York, with her wonderful husband and two incredibly affectionate cats, who will no doubt show up in pictures on the Web site.

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Dear Reader,

For those of you who can’t get enough of Teddi Bayer, who want to know what she’s doing between books, what that ex-husband of hers is screwing up now, who’s on her radar screen and who’s off, and for more of Teddi’s decorating tips, there’s a place you can go—www.TipsFromTeddi.com. It’s loaded with Teddi’s favorite decorating ideas, as well as links to Web sites that help you measure for wallpaper, painting tips and provide answers to your decorating quandaries.

And then there’s Teddi’s journal, in which she records dates, thoughts, her New Year’s resolutions and her suspicions about various neighbors and friends.

For more murder, mayhem and matching drapes, be sure to check out www.TipsFromTeddi.com!

Teddi’s had a great time creating it, and can’t wait for you to drop by.

Stevi Mittman

This book is dedicated to all the incredible women in my life, especially Miriam Brody, Cathy Penner and Janet Rose, who are always there for me; and to Tara Gavin, my editor, and Irene Goodman, my agent, both of whom are the best pom-pom-less cheerleaders I know.

And, of course, to the one incredible man in my life, Alan, with thanks…

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

Design Tip of the Day

The most neglected area of any house tends to be the ceiling. Look up. Now imagine what antique mirror tiles on your library ceiling could do (click here). Imagine baby-pink and apple-green circus stripes that extend down 12 inches onto the walls of your baby’s room (click here). Imagine ornate white molding against a deep blue ceiling in your dining room (click here). Imagine a field of flowers over your bed (click here) achieved simply by stapling sheets to the ceiling and running ribbon over the seams. Look up again—what do you see?

—From TipsfromTeddi.com

Elise Meyers’s eyes are staring at the ceiling I’ve designed for her new kitchen. It’s a Marrakech-bazaar tromp l’oeil sort of thing. She’s lying on the newly tiled but not-yet-sealed terra-cotta floor in a getup that men in dark theaters wearing wrinkled raincoats can only dream about, and I can’t really tell how she feels about the work I’ve put my heart and soul into.

“So, what do you think?” I ask, fingers crossed, breath held, staring up at the ceiling myself. She doesn’t acknowledge me, doesn’t even blink. I suppose she just doesn’t understand how important this is to me, that this new business I’ve started isn’t just a job. It’s security, self-respect, sanity. “You hate it. I can change it. Just tell me what you don’t like. Is it the colors? The red is a little soft with the mustardy gold. Maybe it could be deeper—”

She just keeps staring at the ceiling, ignoring me. I mean really, how can I fix things if my clients don’t tell me what’s wrong? I’m not a mind reader.

“Elise?”

I stamp my foot, trying, I suppose, to snap her out of her reverie, or stupor, or whatever it is. Only she still doesn’t blink.

And then I notice the trickle of blood.

“I should have known,” I mumble, more to myself than to Detective Harold Nelson of the Nassau County Police Department, who is taking down my statement. He is keeping one eye on me and the other on his partner, who is donning rubber gloves and kneeling over the body of the very scantily clad Elise. “Maggie May was waiting by the open door, and I thought, ‘I’ll probably find Elise dead….’”

“Maggie May?”

I gesture with my head toward a pathetic little ball of white fluff whimpering on her little red monogrammed L.L. Bean bed in the dining room. The detective appears to melt. I’d have pegged him for a mastiff man, which just shows how much I know about men.

“Right,” he says. “So you thought she’d be dead because…?”