The Venetian Canvas Caper, Evelyn Chambers Cozy Mysteries: Book 9

Sample Chapter

CHAPTER ONE

The café sat on a quiet side street in Brookton, Virginia, its brick exterior unchanged from the first time Evelyn Chambers had first visited. Roger Reed held the door open for her, and she walked inside, her best friend Margaret Tuttle bustling in behind her with her usual enthusiasm. The scent of fresh coffee and warm pastries greeted them immediately, and Evelyn relaxed.

The interior of the café never failed to charm her. Vintage furniture was spread throughout the room—mismatched chairs with needlepoint cushions, round wooden tables with carved legs, a velvet loveseat in one corner. Lamps hung low over the tables, and the front windows let in more than enough light from the street. Paintings depicting scenes of yesteryear adorned the walls: children playing in a park, a woman in a long dress reading beneath a tree, a horse-drawn carriage on a cobblestone street. Shelves lined one wall, displaying delicate teacups and saucers reminiscent of elegant tea parties from long ago.

Evelyn had been here several times over the past year. That first visit seemed like a lifetime ago, even though it had been the previous July. It was here, in this very café, where everything in her life had changed. That encounter with a man from her husband Henry’s past—Philip Wright—had set everything in motion. The mystery of Henry’s death, the discovery of secrets he’d kept, and eventually, the path that led to her consulting work with the CIA. And it was here, too, where she’d truly gotten to know Roger, where their friendship had deepened into something more.

The café was quieter this morning, but not empty. A few other patrons sat scattered about—a young woman typing on a laptop, an elderly couple sharing a newspaper, a man reading a thick hardcover book. The atmosphere was peaceful, a nice respite from the heat and humidity that had settled over Virginia in recent days.

Evelyn reflected on how often she’d been here lately, compared to the travel-heavy months that had preceded this period of calm. Since January, it had been Australia, Russia, St. Thomas, Mexico, and then Morocco. Each mission had pulled her away from Brookton, away from routine, away from the life she’d known. But now, in mid-June, she’d been home for nearly two months without interruption. It was almost strange, this consistency.

“There’s our spot,” Margaret announced. She pointed toward a table near the window.

Evelyn smiled. It was indeed “their” table, the one they seemed to gravitate toward whenever they came here together. The table was round, just big enough for three, with a view of the street outside and the flower boxes that lined the café’s windows.

Margaret was dressed in what could only be described as a uniquely Margaret outfit. She wore bright yellow capri pants paired with a flowing tunic top covered in enormous turquoise flowers. Her earrings were miniature birdcages, complete with tiny birds inside, and they swung cheerfully as she moved. On anyone else, the outfit might have looked costumey, but on Margaret, it simply looked right.

They sat down, their conversation flowing easily and without force. This is the comfort of old friendships, Evelyn thought. No need to fill every silence, no pressure to impress or entertain.

“You’ve been home quite a bit lately,” Margaret observed as she studied the menu, even though Evelyn suspected she already knew what she’d order. “It’s nice, having you settled.”

Evelyn felt a small flutter in her chest at the word “settled.” Was that what she was now? Settled? Would there be no more missions, no need for her skill set?

Roger, sitting beside her, said nothing. He understood more than most people ever would. With gray hair that did what it wanted, he listened more than he talked, and Evelyn appreciated that about him.

A server approached, a young woman with a bright smile and a notepad at the ready.

“I’ll have my usual,” Evelyn said. “Black coffee and a buttery croissant.”

She remembered the first time she’d ordered that croissant here, sitting with Margaret on what had seemed like an ordinary morning. The pastry had been flaky and rich, melting on her tongue, and she’d fallen in love with it immediately. Now it was her go-to order, a small ritual.

Roger cleared his throat. “I’ll have the cinnamon roll and a coffee, please. Black.”

The server nodded as she jotted down the orders.

Margaret tapped her menu with one finger, her expression torn. “I really shouldn’t,” she said, “but I have to get the bear claw. It’s just so good. I tell myself every time I’m not going to order it, and then I do anyway.”

The server grinned. “It’s our most popular item.”

“I can see why,” Margaret said and handed over her menu. “And a cappuccino, please.”

As the server walked away, Margaret turned her attention back to Evelyn and Roger. “I’ve been meaning to tell you both how much the Easter Paws on Parade has helped the shelter. Can you believe that was two months ago already?”

“It was a success,” Roger agreed. “Your planning paid off.”

Margaret beamed. “The dogs looked adorable in their outfits, didn’t they? And we raised quite a bit of money.”

“You’ve been helping a lot at the shelter since the parade, haven’t you?” Evelyn asked.

“Oh, yes. At least twice a week. There’s always so much to do—walking the dogs, socializing the cats, helping with adoption events.” Margaret’s face softened. “It’s rewarding work. Those animals need love and attention, and there’s never enough staff to go around.”

“You’re making a real difference,” Evelyn said warmly.

Margaret waved a hand dismissively, but her cheeks flushed with pleasure. She looked at Evelyn with sudden curiosity. “What about you? What are your plans for the summer? Are you staying put, or do you have any trips coming up?”

The question was mild, almost casual, but it struck closer than Margaret realized. She didn’t know the real reason behind Evelyn’s previous travels, didn’t know about the missions or the danger or the secrets. To Margaret, Evelyn was simply a widow who’d been traveling more since Henry’s death—visiting old friends, attending funerals, taking trips that just happened to take her around the world.

“Nothing planned at the moment,” Evelyn said with a quick glance at Roger. His face revealed nothing. “I’m enjoying being home.”

It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. She was enjoying being home. But she also felt a small pull, a restlessness she couldn’t quite name. She hadn’t heard from her supervisor, Anthony Torres, since Morocco, hadn’t been called on for any new assignments. Part of her was relieved. Part of her wondered if she was still needed.

Roger shifted in his seat. “I was thinking,” he said, addressing Margaret, “would you mind if I come along to the shelter tomorrow? I’d like to help out if there’s anything I can do.”

Margaret’s face lit up. “Are you serious? That would be wonderful! We could always use an extra set of hands, especially someone who knows animals like you do.”

Roger had been a veterinarian before retiring, and though he no longer practiced, his love for animals hadn’t diminished. Evelyn smiled as the two of them discussed logistics—what time to meet, what tasks might need doing, whether Roger should bring anything.

“I’d love to help, but I’ve got a doctor’s appointment,” Evelyn said.

“I understand,” Margaret replied. “You always come when you can.”

As they talked, Evelyn’s mind drifted. She thought about a moment with Roger shortly after she’d returned from Morocco.

***

It had been in her living room, late morning.

She’d just returned from Morocco a day earlier, and the adrenaline had finally faded, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. She sat in her chair, and Roger was on the couch, and they were talking, the cats wandering around them like furry sentinels.

Midnight claimed the back of the sofa, his green eyes half-closed as he monitored the room. Lucky sprawled on the rug near Roger’s feet, while Butterscotch moved about with her usual confident blindness. Chance batted at a toy mouse in the corner.

Roger stared at her, and she noticed but didn’t say anything. He had a look—thoughtful, serious, but not troubled.

“There’s something I want to ask you,” he said finally.

Evelyn set down her teacup and gave him her full attention.

He took a breath, stood up, and walked over to her. Then he pulled a small velvet box from his pocket, knelt down, and asked, simply, without drama or fanfare, “Evelyn, will you marry me?”

For a second, she did nothing but take it in. She wasn’t shocked. She realized she’d been expecting this, in some quiet corner of her mind.

“I’m not asking you to change,” Roger continued. “I’m not asking you to be someone you’re not. I’m choosing you exactly as you are. The woman who rescues cats and goes on mysterious trips and makes me laugh and challenges me. That’s who I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Evelyn reflected on his words. She thought about Henry, about the life they’d built together. She thought about the past year, about the unexpected shape her life had taken. And she thought about Roger—his kindness, his steadfastness, his acceptance of all her complications.

“Yes,” she said. Thoughtful. Honest. Grounded. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Roger broke into a smile, and he leaned forward to kiss her.

Chance pounced on Roger’s shoelace, attacking it with ferocity. The seriousness of the moment dissolved into laughter, and somehow that had made his proposal even more perfect.

It all felt right because he hadn’t demanded change. Roger wasn’t asking her to give up anything or become someone different. He was simply asking her to share her life with him.

***

“Evelyn?”

Roger’s voice pulled her back to the present. The food had arrived. Evelyn’s croissant looked perfectly golden and flaky, and steam rose from her coffee cup. Margaret was mid-sentence, talking about a dog at the shelter who’d just been adopted.

“—and the family seemed perfect for him, so that was a happy ending.”

“That’s wonderful,” Evelyn said, hoping she sounded present.

Roger’s eyes met hers briefly. He’d noticed her distraction, she could tell, but he didn’t comment. He simply reached for his cinnamon roll and took a bite.

Evelyn was both present and reflective, straddling two states of being. Here she was, in this cozy café with her friend and her fiancé, eating pastries and discussing animal shelter logistics. And yet part of her mind was still wandering, still remembering.

The contrast between her past adventures—the danger she’d faced, the close calls, the adrenaline—and this current routine was striking. Not unpleasant, just . . . different. She remembered how calm she’d been after Roger’s proposal. Not overwhelmed, not panicked. Just calm. Things were right with him, especially since he knew about her work as a CIA consultant. She didn’t have to hide that part of herself from him, and that made all the difference.

She took a bite of her croissant, and her thoughts turned to the cats waiting at home. Some people might’ve thought she was crazy, being outnumbered by felines. But she loved each one of them, quirks and medical issues and all. Her days had structure now. Morning coffee, breakfast, checking on the cats. Maybe a walk with Roger. Lunch with Margaret. Errands in town. Dinner preparations. Evening reading. It was a rhythm she’d fallen into, and she had to admit, there was something comforting about it.

“You’re looking very domestic these days,” Margaret said as she looked at Evelyn with an affectionate smile. “It suits you.”

The word “domestic” settled over Evelyn like a blanket. Was that what she’d become? Domestic?

Roger smiled but didn’t add to Margaret’s comment. He didn’t push that image onto Evelyn, didn’t try to define her by it. That was another thing she appreciated about him.

But a question lingered in Evelyn’s mind: Was she still the kind of woman who could drop everything and go?

She recognized how much she’d enjoyed the last several months with Roger. They’d fallen into an easy companionship, spending evenings together, taking day trips to nearby towns, simply being. They hadn’t set a wedding date yet. There was no rush, they’d agreed. But sometimes Evelyn wondered if her choice to marry him had changed who she was at her core.

She didn’t feel regret. That wasn’t it. But there was a thread of uncertainty, a question she couldn’t quite answer. It lingered beneath the conversation and the pleasant morning, beneath the savory croissant and the warm coffee.

Margaret was telling a story about one of her garden gnomes. Apparently one had fallen over in the garden and had frightened the mailman. Roger laughed, and Evelyn joined in, but part of her attention was elsewhere.

Then her phone vibrated in her purse.

The sensation was subtle, but Evelyn noticed it immediately. She reached for her purse and pulled out her phone, trying not to draw attention to herself. She glanced at the screen and her breath caught.

The sender’s number was one she recognized immediately, even though it wasn’t programmed into her contacts. The message itself was short and neutral.

Can you meet?

ALWAYS a great read— Evelyn Chambers. I have read them ALL!! Through her spy missions, I take a trip to somewhere beautiful and interesting and I learn things about something new – cat conventions, for example! ~Reader review