Country Cottage Mysteries Boxed Set Page 4

  Georgie waves her off. “She’s just bitter she didn’t think of it first. Hey”—she leans in my way, and I get a whiff of that experimental patchouli she’s donned in the name of hygienic science and my sister’s bottom line—“did you hear your mother is seeing her podiatrist?”

  I can’t help but wrinkle my nose at the thought. “Sounds like a stinky situation.”

  “Ha!” Macy barks. “That’s what I said.” The smile glides right off her face. “Now who’s this hot vampire, and how much do I have to pay him to take a bite out of me?”

  Georgie slaps her on the arm. “You can’t have him. Bizzy found him first.” She looks back my way. “I bet he sleeps upside down and naked in the closet.”

  Mom scoffs. “Where did you dig this one up? A janitorial closet at the inn?”

  “You’re not far off.” I shrug. She had the part about the inn right.

  Sherlock barks at something down the way and tugs at the leash as if he’s ready to charge in that direction. I glance over and spot a loud boisterous group congregating around one of the bigger bonfires, and I recognize the girl with the kinky curls as she knocks back the contents of that oversized red cup in her hand. That’s Rissa, and those must be Kaitlynn’s friends. That’s the bonfire she pointed out to me earlier in the night.

  “Excuse me for a minute,” I say as I let Sherlock lead the way, and Georgie shouts after me, something about wanting a proper introduction to my four-footed friend when I get back.

  “Where are you taking me, boy?” I whisper as if I didn’t know, and sure enough, he slows down as soon as we near the loud crowd.

  “Hey, it’s you!” The girl with the curly hair waves me over. “It’s me, Rissa.” Her words slur slightly. She’s barefoot and staggering as she struggles to gain a solid stance in the sand. It’s dark out here, save for the glow of the towering fire and the moonlight dancing over the ocean as far as the eye can see. “I want to apologize for my little outburst. Kate and I get along most of the time.”

  My heart breaks when she mentions her stepsister, and I don’t have the heart to say a word about her recent demise.

  A tall gentleman steps up. He’s handsome in a conventional way, light brown hair, heavy tan.

  “Is this about Kaitlynn?” He tips his head my way, suddenly concerned, and it makes me wonder if he’s already been told.

  Rissa smacks him playfully on the stomach. “Never you mind.” She looks my way. “This is Chris Davidson, Kaitlynn’s fiancé—worrywart extraordinaire.”

  A breath hitches in my throat at the revelation. This poor man is going to be devastated.

  I clear my throat. “Nice to meet you. I’m Bizzy Baker. I run the inn.” Sherlock barks as if he wanted an introduction of his own. “And this is my friend, Sherlock Bones. I guess you can say I’m dog-sitting for the night.” Because his sweet fiancée is dead, and the owner of this dog just so happens to be the lead homicide detective. But I would never breathe a word. And suddenly I feel terrible for keeping such a grim secret from these people. I’d better have the sheriff’s department come down and break the news to them.

  A brunette about my age jumps over and kneels in the sand at Sherlock’s feet, and soon he’s licking her face, and if I’m not mistaken, he seems to be licking away her tears.

  “Is everything all right?” I couldn’t help but ask. It could be that the killer is right here in this social circle. Maybe even this girl who’s sobbing in front of me. Why else would she be hugging Sherlock as if her life depended on it? It’s clear she’s distressed over something.

  Rissa takes a deep breath as if she were exasperated. “That’s Sammy Walton. She had a dog just like this. They practically grew up together. She still gets emotional when she talks about him. I’m guessing you’ll have a hard time separating those two for the rest of the night.”

  “That’s so sad. I completely understand.” And here I had all but accused her of murder.

  “Seeing that you’re Kaitlynn’s boss, I feel the need to be extra nice to you.” She gives a devious smile my way. “The consensus around here is that you should give her a raise.” Her entire body shakes as she belts out a warm laugh. And under normal circumstances I would join in, but these are far from normal circumstances.

  The whoop of a siren breaks through the music, and everyone around the bonfire cranes their neck in the direction of the inn.

  Chris, Kaitlynn’s fiancé, staggers from side to side, trying to get a better look at it.

  “Something’s happening.” He glances to his left and nods at someone in the crowd, and my adrenaline kicks in for a second time tonight at the strange behavior.

  “Eh.” Rissa shrugs as she takes another sip from her plastic red cup. “Probably just someone who got in someone else’s way. Happens to me all the time.” She knocks back the rest of her drink before dissolving into the crowd.

  A dazzling blonde steps over and brazenly picks up Chris’ hand. Judging by the way her body conforms to his, it doesn’t appear she cares too much about the fact he’s seemingly engaged—was engaged. Not that he knows it’s past tense at the moment.

  “Bizzy Baker,” I say as I extend my hand her way, and she laughs as she glides her own hand up Chris’ shirt instead.

  “Come on.” Chris plucks it out and slightly redeems himself in my eyes. “My apologies.” He nods my way. “She’s toasted.”

  They take off for a chaise lounge where she falls onto his lap.

  “He doesn’t seem to mind the attention,” I say to the girl looking longingly into Sherlock’s root beer-colored eyes.

  A dull laugh bounces from her, and I can smell a plume of vodka emitting from her breath.

  “He never does,” she says. “That was the problem with Kaitlynn. She never did understand how this crowd works.” She hops to her feet and takes off down the beach, and I’m left holding my breath at what she just said—or rather the manner in which she said it.

  I turn and stare at the girl until she’s swallowed by the crowd.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper. That girl just referred to Kaitlynn in the past tense.

  Sherlock pulls me along, and I let him until we hit the boulders at the edge of the cove. I kneel down and offer him a hearty scratch between the ears.

  “You’re a good boy. I’m so sorry you had to see that tonight.”

  His eyes lock onto mine, and there’s an ease that goes along with it. It’s that specific feeling that lets me know I’ll have no problem prying into his sweet mind.

  It was a terrible sight. The things humans are capable of never cease to astound me.

  “Hey?” I whisper. “What do think of the fact that I can hear you?”

  Sherlock gives a quick bark that quickly morphs into a howl.

  “That’s right. I can hear your thoughts as easily as if you were speaking them,” I whisper as if a cast of thousands were hovering over my shoulder, but we’re far enough from the crowd for me to be too concerned about who might see me having a full-blown conversation with a cute little pooch. Besides, half the population speaks to their pets. I’ve never had a single person call me out on my strange behavior. “That girl back there that couldn’t get enough of you. I think they said her name was Sammy. Could you tell if her tears were genuine? I mean—as far as mourning a pet goes?”

  They seemed to be. He whimpers. I could feel her grieving deeply. Those tears were wrenched from the depths of her soul.

  “Yes, but who were they for? Her old four-footed pal or Kaitlynn? I mean, was it really a coincidence that she mentioned Kaitlynn in the past tense?”

  “Excuse me?” a male voice says gently from behind and I jump up in fear, only to discover it’s an all too familiar homicide detective.

  “Detective!” My hand clasps over my chest. “You nearly scared the pants right off of me.”

  His cheek flickers. Now there’s something I’d much rather be doing.

  My mouth falls open. I don’t know whether to be affronted or giddy.
>
  “It looks like the two of you were having a great conversation.” His shoulders broaden, and it only seems to increase his masculine appeal. His lips twitch as if they want to smile, but the night and all of its sins aren’t permitting it.

  “Sherlock has some very good things to say. You should really try to listen sometime. Did you catch the killer?”

  He winces as a dull laugh bounces through him. “Not yet. But we will. We just need some time.”

  “While you were up there, guess where I was? Right in the thick of Kaitlynn’s social circle.”

  “What?” His brows narrow into a hard V, and it’s not difficult to tell he disapproves.

  “Yeah, I spoke to her stepsister and she introduced me to Kaitlynn’s fiancé. A total philanderer if you ask me. He acted as if he expected something to have happened to her, and then when he heard the sirens, he nodded to someone in the crowd. Isn’t that weird?”

  “Wait.” His hands bounce toward his temples for a moment. “Did you seek these people out? Did you happen to mention anything that just happened?”

  “No! No, God no. I figure you have to adhere to protocol, notifying next of kin and all. But, in all honesty, Rissa might just be the next of kin. Anyway, there was this girl named Sammy, and she said some really strange things—and she talked about Kaitlynn in past tense! I bet she’s your killer. She went that way.” I nod down to the opposite end of the cove. “I can help you find her if you want.”

  “I don’t want.” His eyes harden over mine, and suddenly his mind closes off like a steel trap. “This isn’t some play investigation. This is all too real. And for your sake, I don’t want or need you getting involved. There is a very dangerous killer out there, and I’m betting they’ll stop at nothing to cover their tracks.” His chest palpitates as if he were suddenly out of breath. “Look, I came down here to let you know that we need to cordon off a part of the inn. Let’s get back to the scene and you’ll do your job and I’ll do mine. I apologize if this sounds harsh, but I’m giving you a directive to stay out of my investigation.”

  Sherlock whimpers as if apologizing for the ornery human before us.

  “Your investigation.” I nod up at Jasper with a frown. “Got it,” I say as we head back toward the inn together.

  Detective Jasper Wilder.

  I think I liked him better as a vampire.

  Chapter 4

  September in Cider Cove is usually fraught with leaf peepers descending upon us from every corner of the country.

  The splendor of nature erupts in a riot of color as the leaves give way to the art of dying. The maple leaves from the embankment above the cove have already shaken loose and are tumbling down the beach in front of the café in a parade of citrine color. The ocean is a dark hue of navy as the wind has its way with it, turning the entire sea into a bevy of whitecaps. But that doesn’t stop anyone from walking along the shore, bundled as they might be in cozy sweaters and scarves, a cup of hot coffee or the requisite cider in their hands. Yes, fall is majestic in Cider Cove, and it’s always been and always will be my favorite season.

  Last night was a nightmare within a nightmare. In fact, when I pried my groggy eyes open this morning, I had hoped it was exactly that, just a very bad dream. But once Sherlock Bones hopped onto my bed and licked my face as he tried his hardest to tug me to the door, I realized last night’s horror was a very real thing.

  As soon as I got home, Sherlock chased poor Fish around for a solid fifteen minutes before Fish pounced on him from the side and walloped him with a paw to the face. Sherlock tucked his tail between his legs and promptly went to sleep on the rug in front of the fireplace, and for the most part they got along just fine after that.

  Jasper never did come by last night. Although, I didn’t expect it. He doesn’t know where I live. I’m sure he had a long night himself, so I don’t mind keeping Sherlock. I would have happily taken him to Critter Corner this morning, but seeing that I don’t have Jasper’s permission I couldn’t do it. Instead, I let him out onto my courtyard before I left and made sure he had plenty of water. I even gave him some of Fish’s cat treats so he wouldn’t go hungry and he seemed to appreciate it. Heck, he told me as much. I wish all human minds were as easy to read as animals’, but it’s rarely ever that way.

  The inn is nearly booked to capacity, and I’ve staffed the front desk so that I can officiate one of my favorite duties on the grounds, working in the café. I’ve given Fish stern orders to stay near the outdoor patio. There’s a mound of flowers, balloons, and teddy bears growing to the right, in the exact place where I found poor Kaitlynn’s body last night. This might explain the sudden spike in customers streaming in and out of the café all morning.

  Emmie finishes up at the counter and exhales hard as she heads my way. “I need to brew some more coffee. We’ve sold more pumpkin spice lattes today than we did in all last year.”

  “Tell me about it,” I say as I restock the glass shelves with a fresh supply of Danishes and croissants. There is a pumpkin roll to die for, complete with a cream cheese filling that I dream about all year once it’s taken off the menu. And now that it’s back, I’ll have to purchase an entire roll just for myself. In fact, I’d like nothing more than to lose myself in all things pumpkin rather than thinking about the awful way Kaitlynn died.

  Emmie has her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, her olive skin looks practically luminescent, and she doesn’t wear a stitch of cosmetics to enhance her beauty because she doesn’t have to. She’s just that beautiful. And even though Emmie is essentially a goddess among humans, I’ve never felt intimidated by her beauty. Emmie is as gorgeous inside as she is out. It’s just another facet that demonstrates my best friend is impeccable at everything—even the genetics she can’t control.

  “Who do you think did it, Bizzy?”

  I frown out at that area of the sand and note a crowd gathered in the area. A couple of young girls take a moment to pet Fish. I have a tag on her collar that not only states her name and my number, but the fact she’s an employee of the Country Cottage Inn. And so far, that’s been enough to keep her out of the wrong hands. However, she’s wily enough for me to believe she can wiggle her way out of just about anything.

  “I don’t know who.” I quickly spill the strange events that occurred last night—the argument, Kaitlynn’s fiancé, and her friend’s odd behavior at the bonfire.

  Emmie shakes her head. “It sounds like the Seaview Sheriff’s Department has more than enough suspects to bring this investigation to a quick conclusion. And, thankfully, that hot vampire of yours morphed into an even hotter detective last night. He questioned every single employee—and don’t you think for a minute that every woman on staff wasn’t plotting on how to snag more of his attention.”

  “He questioned me briefly, too.” And before I can process the fact every woman here is suddenly interested in garnering his attention, Georgie and Jordy walk through the door.

  Georgie is wearing an oversized kaftan that all but dusts the floor in her wake. It’s cranberry in color and has gold and bronze thread woven throughout. Not only is Georgie an artist, but she prefers her clothes to be sort of an installation piece as well—and that’s exactly why she makes them herself. Her long gray hair is frizzy and flowing just the way she likes it, and she’s donned her signature bright red lipstick.

  “Bizzy! How was the date with the sexy vampire?” Her eyebrows waggle suggestively.

  Emmie scoffs as she pours them both a cup of coffee. “It ended in murder.”

  “Murder!” Georgie clasps her hands together. “You know what they say—

  that’s good luck.”

  Jordy frowns, looking every bit like his sister in male skin. “Nobody says that, Georgie.” He settles his eyes over mine, his expression suddenly far too sober. “What happened, Bizzy? Emmie told me that you found the body.”

  I spill it all again, minus the detail about having a rather nice conversation with Sherlock. The only person wh
o knows about my ability is Georgie, and I only told her in a fit of frustration after she accused me of reading her mind—and, of course, she was right. Georgie’s mind is pretty open, so reading it has not only been a breeze, but she’s helped me hone my skills by trying to shield her thoughts in different ways while I try to unlock it like a puzzle.

  “Geez.” Jordy takes a quick sip of his coffee. He’s got his jeans and flannel on, his usual uniform for taking care of the grounds. And since he’s a looker, he’s amassed a bit of a fan club around here. Jordy hasn’t been serious about a girl in so long, I think he’s forgotten what the parameters of a relationship should look like. It’s safe to say he’s Cider Cove’s resident playboy. “If one of her so-called friends was responsible for her death, I can’t imagine what kind of a callous heart would then go down to the bonfire as if it never happened.”

  Georgie lifts a crooked finger. “One that wanted to cover his or her tracks.”

  “You’re right,” I’m quick to agree with her. “But they all seemed like excellent suspects. And to think, I only met a handful of them. I wonder what the rest are like.”

  “Hey!” Georgie’s baby blues widen like hardboiled eggs. “Maybe it’s some cult that needed a virgin sacrifice for the upcoming autumnal equinox? I bet it was the fiancé. It’s always the fiancé. Once that sun crosses the celestial equator, who knows what he’ll be able to get that homicidal harem of his to do next.”

  Mom walks in just in time to hear that last tidbit and groans hard. She looks sharp today with her hair puffed and feathered, highlighted and coifed to perfection. She’s donned a fitted pantsuit in the perfect shade of eggplant and has a matching cardigan tied around her shoulders.

  “Georgie, Porgie, your mind is pudding and pie and filled with nonsense.” She shoots her a curt look. My mother and Georgie have a love-hate relationship at best. “It’s time for our staff meeting at Lather and Light. Are you ready to try to talk my daughter off retirement’s ledge?”