An Amateur Sleuth’s Guide to Murder

Book 1: Bainbridge Island Mystery

by Lynn Cahoon

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Animal Cozy Mysteries; Mystery

Synopsis

New York Times bestselling author Lynn Cahoon makes her hardcover debut with an irresistible new meta-mystery series about an amateur sleuth who doesn’t just solve crimes, she writes about how to do it . . .

TIP #1: WHAT DOESN’T KILL YOU COUNTS AS WORK EXPERIENCE
Meg Gates could use a guidebook for life. Indeed, she’s faced some challenges. She dropped out of college to work for a tech startup that failed—and her fiancé just took her bridesmaid to Italy on what was supposed to be Meg’s honeymoon.

Now, at twenty-six, Meg has taken the ferry ride of shame from Seattle back to Bainbridge Island to live with her family. At least she has her rescue cocker spaniel, Watson, by her side. But it’s Meg who could use a rescue—and she’s hoping it will come in the form of a part-time gig doing research for a bestselling mystery writer.

TIP #2: WRITE WHAT YOU KNOW – OR WHAT YOU WANT TO KNOW
That’s when the lightbulb goes on: Meg will write her own guidebook—a manual on criminal investigation. But before she can impress her new boss with her pet project, the author’s manager is found dead on the rocks beneath the author’s Gothic mansion.

Now it’s time to put her guide to the test, as Meg sets out to clear her employer of suspicion and solve the crime. But there’s one important caveat she’ll have to add to her guide—

TIP #3:  BEWARE OF UNKNOWN DANGERS

Release date: June 24, 2025

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 256

Sample

Meg Gates studied her empty apartment through bleary eyes. It was her and Watson. She sank into the papasan wicker chair after moving the empty wine bottle from last night next to the other one on the floor. Meg had kept a case of Queen Anne White from the shipment that was supposed to be used to toast the happy couple at her wedding reception in two days. Instead, her father had scheduled an appreciation party for his Stephen Gates Accounting clients. He’d taken the wine, the reception location, and her caterer and charged them to his company credit card. Now her wedding failure could be a tax deduction for his company rather than another hit to his bottom line, like when she’d left college to work for that start-up. As her father always reminded her, since they weren’t related to that Gates, they had to make sure the lemons turned into lemonade. Or, more likely, imitation lemon-flavored water.

As Meg sat staring at the Space Needle and drinking water, trying to get rid of her hangover headache, she realized she was now a three-time loser. She’d failed at college, work, and now love. But who was counting? Besides her, her family, and everyone she knew?

Last night she’d sat in this same chair, listening to John Legend and Bruno and any other artist with a sad song she could find on her phone. She’d never figured out how to pair her phone to Romain’s pricy Bluetooth stereo, which was tucked on a bookshelf in the living room. All his belongings were here, surrounding her. Waiting for Romain and Rachel to return from their Italian vacation, which was supposed to be her honeymoon. Romain Evans had been her fiancé. A few weeks before the wedding, he’d changed. He’d been distant. Cold. She’d thought it had been pre-wedding jitters. It hadn’t been.

Rachel had been a bridesmaid and a sorority sister. What she hadn’t been was a true friend.

Mutual friends had whispered to her that Romain was moving into Rachel’s condo down by the sound. She hoped he tripped and fell off the dock. Maybe he could drown, too. But that seemed unlikely. Tripping on the way to happiness was more Meg’s style.

Several times last night, Meg had considered throwing the sleek black stereo over the side of the balcony, but it had seemed like too much work to commit to the failed relationship. Besides, at the time, she still hadn’t finished the task at hand, drinking the wine in her glass.

By the end of the night, or maybe sometime this morning, she had been playing Barry Manilow, Joni Mitchell, and the Carpenters, her mom’s favorites. As the music played, Meg spent the time cutting her designer wedding dress into pieces that matched her shattered heart. The lights from the Space Needle sparkled in the window and kept her company while she destroyed the dress. Worse, she vaguely remembered possibly making a few Facebook Live posts during the night.

Her eyes felt dry from all the tears and probably also the wine. Looking at the pile of chopped white lace on the floor by her chair didn’t make her feel better. She loved the dress. Destroying it was symbolic of what Romain’s betrayal had done to her soul.

Meg had been called dramatic before.

Today, she reminded herself, was the start of a new chapter. Twenty-six wasn’t too late to start over. Again. Or at least she hoped it wasn’t. She might be single, unemployed, and sans degree, but there had to be real jobs out there for someone like her. She was alive, young, and though not vibrant this morning, she could fake it.

To tide her over, her mom had hired her to work evenings at Island Books, the family bookstore on Bainbridge Island. Meg figured it was her mom’s way of keeping her out of trouble as her heart healed. Today was moving day. Moving home. One more indicator that her life was in the toilet. At least she wasn’t moving back in with her mother. Instead, Aunt Melody and Uncle Troy had let her have the apartment over the garage. She groaned and leaned back into the chair, closing her eyes. Maybe she could put moving off until next week. The hangover should be gone by then. Or at least the wine would be.

Waiting meant she’d run the risk of seeing Romain. And probably Rachel. She didn’t know if she could stop herself from throwing things at them or, worse, projectile vomiting like in that old movie. Today was as good as any day to run home with her tail between her legs.

Watson, her tan cocker mix rescue, jumped onto her lap and licked her face. He must have read her mind about the dog analogy. Watson liked sleeping in, so if he was awake, it was time to take him outside for a walk.

“You know I’m destroyed, right? Heartbroken and worthless.” She stared into his deep brown eyes as he whined his request. “If you want to be a Seattle dog, you should break free of your leash and run as far away from me as possible. Go toward the Queen Anne neighborhood. Maybe someone rich will adopt you.”

Watson patted her chest. He didn’t care about her heart; he needed to go out. She pushed him off her lap and finished the water in one gulp. Then she grabbed Watson’s neon blue leash. It matched his collar and his bed. Watson’s dog accessories were stylish and expensive.

“Don’t wear these out, buddy. For the next year or so, we’re only buying essentials.”

Watson stood at the door and whined again. He wasn’t impressed with her cost-cutting ideas.

“Fine. I’m hurrying.” Meg checked to make sure she had her keys. No one was around to come to save her if she locked herself out except for the building’s super, who usually slept until noon. She had people coming at ten to move her back home. And she hadn’t paid this month’s rent yet. She’d let Romain deal with that.

Home. She’d planned on this apartment being her and Romain’s home until they got pregnant. Then they would move out of the city and closer to his job in Bellevue. They’d buy a cute cottage with a fenced yard for Watson and the new baby. She’d become a tradwife with a side hustle, some sort of craft that would sell like hotcakes online. They’d be a perfect little family. She’d even make homemade baby food. She’d be the yoga mom who wore crazy-colored jumpsuits and Birks, except on date nights, when she would shimmer in designer dresses and heels, having magically dropped the baby weight. Romain would never even look at another woman, he’d be so in love with her.

So that fantasy had a few holes. Romain hadn’t even made it to the wedding night.

Watson did his business, and she cleaned up, using a biodegradable bag. Just like a good dog mom. She’d done everything right. So why was she being punished?

“Wishes and horses,” she said as she found a trash can on the street and deposited the bag. A homeless man leaning against the building glared at her. Her pity party was over. It was time for a new life and a new song. She sang out quietly, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

Thank God for Kelly Clarkson’s anthems.

When she turned the corner toward the apartment building—Not home, she corrected herself—she saw her moving crew. Her mom, Felicia Gates; Aunt Melody; and Natasha Jones all stood by her mom’s bookmobile van. Someone was yelling at her brother, Steve, whom everyone called Junior. His head stuck out the window of his Ram truck as he tried to parallel park on the street. Dalton Hamilton, Junior’s best friend, motioned him back near the curb. Mom’s van was parked in Romain’s spot, since his BMW was at the airport.

“Felicia, she’s across the street with Watson.” Her aunt poked her mom and pointed at Meg. She called out, “Meg, we’re here, darling. Don’t you worry anymore. We’ll have you back on the island and home in no time.”

Meg smiled, hoping she didn’t look as bad as she felt. She should have jumped in the shower, but it had felt like too much.

Bainbridge Island was a thirty-five-minute ferry ride away from Seattle in distance and more than fifty years behind the city in lifestyle. Residents and tourists hiked and had picnics in the forests that covered most of the island. Lately, large tracts of land were being sold with a single house built in the middle of the wooded land. Or on the waterside of the property. Houses that longtime residents like her parents and aunt and uncle could never imagine owning.

In Seattle Meg had lived in an apartment building where no one knew her name, including the super. She loved that freedom. Now she was moving back to the island to the apartment over her aunt Melody’s garage. An apartment where her bedroom window overlooked the backyard and her every move could be watched.

Natasha Jones met her halfway as she and Watson crossed the street, and handed her a large coffee. “You look horrible. I should have come over last night.”

“Then both of us would be hungover, and we’d have one less bottle of wine to move.” Meg hugged her friend.

“One? I’m disappointed that you think so poorly of my ability to comfort drink.” Natasha squeezed her back. “Are you sure about moving back? It’s a big step.”

Meg nodded, looking around the neighborhood she’d called home for the past five years. She loved it here, but she couldn’t afford the apartment on her own. Not since the start-up she’d worked at had shut down. She had applied for a job at Romain’s workplace, but she’d put off her interview until after she returned from her honeymoon in Italy. Now, that career step was totally out of the question. “It’s a big step backward, you mean.”

“Not even close. Seattle’s not good enough for you.” Natasha put her arm around her as they finished crossing the street.

Natasha had been Meg’s best friend since they’d found they had matching Malibu Barbie dolls at preschool. Natasha had warned Meg that Rachel was a player, but Meg hadn’t imagined that her sorority sister would go after Romain when she’d asked her to be a bridesmaid. Or that he’d jump on the offer. Until the day she’d got Romain’s phone call from the gate at Sea-Tac, before he and Rachel boarded their rescheduled flight. She pushed away the memory and smiled at Natasha. “Thanks for coming. I hope you haven’t started the wedding cake yet. I’ll pay you for it if you have started. We can feed it to the ducks in the park.”

“Cake isn’t good for ducks. Besides, I called the couple I’d turned down last week and sold it to them. She thought your design was beautiful.” Natasha owned her bakery, A Taste of Magic, on Bainbridge Island. She catered to the tourists who liked having fancy cupcakes to eat along with her coffee while they walked through the small town’s streets. For the past year, she’d also been making wedding cakes. “I have a check for your deposit refund in my purse.”

“I hope the cake doesn’t bring them bad luck.” Meg unlocked the door to the lobby, and the group followed her into the elevator. Finally, she unlocked the door to her apartment. As they entered, they stood around behind Meg, staring at the chaos.

Last through the door was Dalton, who’d been her big brother’s best friend since he’d arrived on the island. Before passing through the doorway, he hugged her. His arms felt safe, making her want to lay her head on his chest. After an hour or two in that position, she’d be fine. She reconsidered, since it was probably not the best look for a jilted, brokenhearted fiancée.

“He wasn’t good enough for you, anyway.” Dalton stepped back, breaking contact. Then he punched her in the arm. “Welcome back to the boonies, Magpie.”

Dalton was the only one who ever called her that. Typically, she found it annoying, but today she was so grateful for the extra help, he could call her anything. “Come on in, brat, and help me move my meager belongings home.”

She pointed out the furniture she was taking, including her grandmother’s china cabinet, her desk, and the papasan chair she’d bought in college. The rest of the furniture was Romain’s. He hadn’t liked her mishmash of yard sale furniture finds, so she’d sold most of it when they moved in together. She handed Junior a pile of blankets to protect the furniture. Especially the china cabinet. Then he and Dalton started moving the larger items into the truck.

“Mom, will you and Aunt Melody pack up the kitchen?” Meg didn’t even look up as she told them the few things not to box up. The kitchen had been Meg’s domain. Right now, she was on autopilot, and if she stopped to think, the tears would start to flow. Again. Biting her lip, she refrained from crying. Not in front of her family. “All the dishes, silverware, glasses, pots, and pans. And all the appliances except the Keurig on the counter. It’s all mine.”

Natasha went into the living room and started boxing up Meg’s complete series of Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, and the Hardy Boys titles. “I’m assuming all the books are yours?”

“Exactly. I should have realized that before saying I’d marry the guy. You can’t trust a man who doesn’t read.” Trying not to run, Meg headed to the bedroom to pack her clothes. At least in here she didn’t have to worry about someone seeing her crying. She taped up a box for her shoes, but most of her clothes fit into her three suitcases. She needed to remember to check the coat closet. She had a North Face puffer in there that she’d paid too much for to leave. As she emptied her side of the closet, she froze.

Romain’s new tuxedo hung by his suits. She ran her left hand over the smooth fabric, imagining him standing there, watching her. The engagement ring on her finger still sparkled even as pain dulled her senses. She could keep it. Wasn’t the rule if she didn’t break the engagement, she got the ring? She took off the ring, studying the marquise-cut diamond and platinum setting. He’d picked out the perfect ring. He just wasn’t the perfect man.

Meg tucked the ring into the breast pocket of the tuxedo. Romain had bought his tuxedo. He’d shuddered when she’d suggested getting a rental for the day to save money. Someday when he puts this suit on, he’ll find the ring. Meg imagined the moment when he pulled it out and realized he’d made a horrible mistake. He’d try to call her, but Meg wouldn’t answer. Romain was dead to her. Just like her fantasy of a perfect life.

She ran her hand across the top shelf to ensure she hadn’t missed anything. Her fingers brushed a bundle. She pulled it down and realized it was a money clip with five hundred dollars in it. Romain’s cash stash. Their just-in-case money. She’d contributed to what used to be their fund. He’d probably forgotten to take it on vacation with him.

“You should take the money. It will help pay for your moving expenses.” Dalton stood at the doorway, watching her consider the cash. He walked inside and stood next to her. “He owes you at least that.”

Meg fanned out the money. “He does, but I’m not taking all of it.” She peeled off a hundred-dollar bill and tucked it and the money clip into the tux pocket with the ring. Then she handed two hundred to Dalton. “Share this with Junior for your time and gas money.”

Dalton stood close enough that she could smell the aftershave he’d used since he’d been a teenager. Musky and woody at the same time. Like he’d stepped out of the forest on his way to build a log cabin.

“Meg, I’m sorry about this. But he wasn’t the guy for you.” Dalton pushed a lock of hair back away from her eyes. “You deserve so much more.”

A cough made her jump.

“Hey, Meg.” Natasha stood at the doorway, watching them. “Your mom wants to know what you’re doing with the wedding gifts.”

“I’ll come and sort them. I’ll be responsible for sending back the ones from my relatives and friends, but the others, Romain’s going to have to deal with.” She stepped away from Dalton, clearing her head of his forest smell. She had work to do. “I’ll need another box.”

Meg returned to the living room and saw her mom sitting on the papasan chair, putting all the lace pieces of her wedding dress into a garment bag. “Mom, leave that.”

Mom searched the floor for the last few pieces of lace. “I’m not letting you throw this out. You paid too much for it. Maybe we can save it.”

Meg picked lace off Watson’s fur and put it with the rest of the dress. “I don’t think even a miracle could save this. I was furious last night. I’m glad the dress distracted me.”

Aunt Melody snorted, “Felicia has always believed in a patron saint of lost causes.”

Ignoring her sister, Mom zipped up the bag and headed to the front door to take the pieces of the dress downstairs to the van. Meg watched her go, knowing that she couldn’t say anything to change her mind and reeling from her mom’s guilt trip that still hung in the room over destroying the expensive dress.

It didn’t take long to sort and pack the wedding gifts, so after cleaning out the pantry and boxing up what she could save from the fridge, Meg looked around the apartment. She stepped out on the balcony to retrieve her fern, which was somehow still alive, and paused to take in the view. “I’m going to miss you, Space Needle,” she declared as Natasha joined her on the balcony.

“Bainbridge Island has views, too. Including of the Space Needle and the rest of the skyline. We can walk to the dock every time you want to see it.” Natasha hugged her. “Come on. If we’re done here, the guys want to catch the next ferry home.”

When they got settled on the ferry, Meg went up to the observation deck to get a cup of coffee and to keep Watson happy. She found a rear-facing seat at the stern and watched the city disappear into the distance. She would be living less than an hour away, but it might as well be across the world. They’d gone outside to sit, and the spray from the fog stung her face as she fought the tears. She’d cried enough over Romain’s betrayal, but now she realized, it wasn’t the man she was grieving. It was her life.

She was desperately searching for a silver lining in all this. Then it came to her. The book she’d been talking about writing since she was in high school. A real-life guide to solving mysteries. Not how to be a private investigator. But instructions for a normal person like her—a way for all people who wanted to crack cold cases or figure out who trashed the park by using a well-proven method. Or at least it had worked when they were in high school. Her mood started to lift, but then she had a thought.

She hadn’t even seen the signs of her fiancé’s betrayal. She felt a wave of depression overwhelm her again.

A man’s angry voice brought her out of her anguish.

“The woman doesn’t know what she wants or what she has, for that matter. Don’t worry about the advance. She’ll be grateful for even the part we tell her about,” the man continued, his tone even harsher as he stood by the rail near Meg, his back to her and Seattle.

What a jerk. Meg scooted closer on the bench as she wiped the tears from her face. Mom had always said the best way to get over something was to get involved in something else. Maybe she could help the woman this man was trying to cheat. Unless he wasn’t going to Bainbridge to meet with her. He could be talking about someone somewhere else. Maybe she had her mom’s love of helpless causes, as well.

“I brought you hot chocolate to warm you up,” Dalton said, suddenly appearing on the deck. He held out the cup. She turned toward him and saw the man give them both a dirty look. Like she’d been trying to listen in on his conversation. Well, she had, but he was the one who’d interrupted her pity party.

“Thanks,” she said as she watched the man go back inside the passenger cabin. She took the cup but didn’t take a drink. Hot chocolate was always too hot when you first got it. She’d learned that lesson years ago. Still, the warm cup felt good in her cold hands. It was late May, bu. . .