Dog Days of Murder Page 7

  “What are you doing here?” Jasper grunts.

  “Bizzy invited me to inspect the ballroom once again.” Leo offers a cheesy grin without missing a beat.

  Why do I get the feeling Leo enjoys tormenting Jasper and he’s using me to do it.

  Jasper glances my way. “I’m not buying it. What are you really doing here?”

  A tiny laugh begs to bubble from me at the thought of Jasper knowing me so well.

  Leo shrugs. “You’re the one who put in a request to roam the grounds. I’m simply working my detail for the day.” His features harden. “Camila is having lunch with your mother in the café.”

  “Is she?” Jasper turns his head in that direction, and I can’t help but frown at Leo.

  What did you do that for? I snip.

  Leo’s lips expand, no smile—and he certainly doesn’t say a word, verbally or otherwise. It’s a strange trick not many people can pull off. Just the wicked ones seem to have mastered it, and I don’t mind one bit if he heard that last part.

  Jasper takes a breath, his chest expanding the size of a door. “Bizzy, I’m going to say hello to my mother. I’ll be back in less than two minutes.” He looks to poor Nessa, who’s shivering like a lamb to the slaughter. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to question you. It won’t take long. I promise.”

  Nessa gives the hint of a nod.

  I knew there would be trouble. She shakes her head as she looks out the opened doors. I should run. Better yet, I should tell the whole truth. God knows I don’t owe him any favors. If anything, he owes me.

  I glance to Leo a moment.

  Who is she talking about? I ask mostly to myself. Is she talking about Jasper?

  Leo shakes his head. She’s covering for someone.

  And I’m afraid he’s right.

  Jasper comes back and cinches a tight smile over his lips as if he were mildly guilty of something.

  I don’t bother smiling back. I’m betting Camila has cast her spell over him once again.

  Jasper leans in. “I’m sorry about all the chaos. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” He turns to Leo. “Why don’t you head over to the café and join them? You don’t have anything to discuss with anyone here.” His eyes harden with a threat.

  Okay, so I’m more than thrilled to have Jasper hovering protectively over me. And perhaps rightly so considering the fact Leo is infamous for swiping what isn’t his. Although, that’s the difference between Camila and me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m virtually unswippable.

  Leo nods my way. “I’ll see you later, Bizzy.”

  And we’ll continue where we left off, I say.

  He nods as he presses his gaze to mine. Indeed we will.

  Leo takes off, and Jasper scoffs.

  “See that? He’s trying to make me think he’s having some deep, meaningful moment with you. The guy is nuts. I’d steer clear if I were you.” It boils my blood to think of Leo trying to weasel his way into Bizzy’s good graces. What the hell did I ever do to him, anyway? He shakes his head. He could have kept Camila forever. But he can’t have Bizzy.

  He offers a meager smile. “Nessa? Why don’t we head to the ballroom where we can get some privacy?”

  Jasper leads the way with a happy Sherlock bouncing by his side, and Nessa reluctantly follows along as if he were taking her to the gallows.

  Poor thing. Peanut whines and I pick him up. She sure looks guilty, doesn’t she? He murmurs it out so Fish can hear.

  Fish traipses over and rubs her head against my arm. Oh dear, Bizzy. Our Nessa couldn’t have done this and we both know it. But it sure looks like trouble.

  “It sure does,” I say.

  I think I’d better pay Chelsea Ashley a visit.

  Trouble has come to the Country Cottage Inn once again.

  Something tells me this October will be a real killer.

  It’s already proven to be just that.

  Chapter 6

  Autumn is ablaze in all its glory as Emmie, Sherlock, and I walk along the Montgomery’s farm right after sunset.

  It turns out, tracking down Chelsea Ashley was easier than I thought it would be. Apparently, leaving breadcrumbs to where she is at all times is a part of her job as a social media influencer. And that led me right back to the Haunted Harvest Festival at the pumpkin patch. There’s not only a chill in the evening air, there’s most definitely a thrill as townspeople young and old have poured onto the Montgomery’s farm looking to soak in all that fall has to offer. The scent of cinnamon-spiced cider clings heavy in the air as the murmur from the thick crowd and the intermittent bouts of laughter explode all around us.

  Sherlock howls as the sound of a horn goes off from a distance. This is the place to be, Bizzy! Let go of the leash. I promise I’ll behave. Just one quick lap around that pumpkin patch. He stops short as we’re about to pass the petting zoo. Are those goats? Oh, let me see the goats, Bizzy. Let me see the goats!

  “Maybe later.” I can’t help but laugh. “Keep up, Sherlock. There’s no way I want to lose you in this crowd. I don’t think Jasper will ever speak to me again if I come home shy of one Sherlock Bones.”

  Jasper hadn’t come home from work yet, so I thought I’d bring Sherlock along on tonight’s little investigative effort. Nessa volunteered to watch Peanut for me. And Fish was fast asleep as soon as I fed her that Fancy Beast cat food she lives for.

  “I don’t know, Bizzy.” Emmie shakes her head as we navigate through the crowd with our arms laden down with platters full of pumpkin spice mini muffins. “I wouldn’t want my boyfriend’s ex taking up residence at the inn. That’s just asking for trouble. I’ll bet you every one of these muffins she’s still after him.”

  “Oh, she is. She all but said so.” She thought it—and I just so happened to intercept those delusions of grandeur. At least I hope they pan out to be nothing but delusions. “But I’m not too concerned.”

  My lips twitch, the way they’re prone to do when I’m stretching the truth.

  “You’re not too concerned?” Emmie steps in front of me, causing me to nearly topple the trays in my hands.

  Emmie looks adorable with her long oatmeal-colored duster and her ripped jeans with the holes in her knees. I’ve yet to jump on the holey trend, but I’m afraid I’ll look more like a farmhand than I will anything adorable. On Emmie, even these stylish quasi-rags make her look as if she belongs on a runway. Come to think of it, with my orange and black plaid flannel and my well-worn jeans, I sort of do look as if I’ve spent far too much time on a farm.

  She squints over at me. “Liar, liar, twitchy lips on fire. You’re concerned, Bizzy. I’ve known you long enough to read you like a book. That girl is out to steal your man. She’s got her claws and her high heels out. I saw the way she looked as we left the inn this evening. She was dressed to kill—your relationship. I’m telling you, Bizzy. Your relationship had better watch its back.”

  A tiny growl works its way up my throat. “I don’t want to think about it. Besides, Jasper is busy with a brand new homicide investigation. He doesn’t have time for Camila’s head games right now. She couldn’t have picked a worse moment to try to pry her way back into his life.”

  Sherlock lets out a sharp bark. Don’t worry, Bizzy. I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep you.

  “Thank you,” I mouth his way.

  No sooner do Emmie and I put our sweet treats down at the dessert table than she elbows me in the ribs.

  “There she is,” Emmie whispers. “Suspect number one. Right over by the hot apple cider booth.”

  Both Emmie and I scoured over pictures of Chelsea before we left the inn. The name of Shelby and Chelsea’s social media site is called S&C’s Shenanigans. There was a big tribute to Shelby on the front page of their official website today. Chelsea asked her fans to bear with her while she takes some time to grieve. But at the moment, Chelsea isn’t exactly grieving. She’s busy taking pictures of herself sipping hot cider, and carefully arranging a group of tiny pumpkins on a
bale of hay and taking artful pictures of them as well.

  Emmie leans in. “There’s a hottie in the crafts booth teaching the masses how to paint the insides of Mason jars. I’ll go get crafty with the cutie. You go catch a killer, Bizzy. Find me when the dirty deed is done—unless, of course, I’m lucky enough to do a dirty deed myself.”

  “Emmie.” I laugh.

  “What? Painting is messy work.” She gives a cheeky wink. “Don’t worry. You’re still my ride home.” She gifts Sherlock a quick pat to the head before taking off.

  The moon hangs low against a deep purple sky while the stars spray out like crushed diamonds over Cider Cove tonight.

  Everywhere you look there are cutouts of witches and ghosts adorning the booths and stands. Jack-o-lanterns glow, carved in every incantation that the spooky season has to offer, and some are painted with stripes, checkers, and polka dots. Miniature barrels brimming with mums in bright yellow, burnt orange, and deep maroon are strewn about the grounds. And families abound with pumpkins in their arms. Little boys and little girls run around screaming as the night curdles with their laughter.

  There’s even a mile long line to catch a ride on one of those haunted hayrides.

  A part of me wishes Jasper were here to do exactly that with. In fact, I think I’ll make it a point to have a date with him right here at the Haunted Harvest Festival. There’s nothing more romantic than sipping cider in the fall with leaves crunching below your feet and a baby-faced moon overhead. Fall has a magic all its own, and right about now, I’m craving a little magic with my favorite homicide detective.

  Sherlock jumps and barks. We’re getting close, aren’t we, Bizzy? There’s a killer nearby. I can feel it.

  “You can feel it?” I ask as I pull him close and give him a quick scratch between the ears. I’ve heard of dogs sensing earthquakes and helping detect diseases. If Sherlock could sniff out a killer, that would be quite the talent. “Try to be friendly,” I whisper as we head her way.

  Chelsea has her hair piled in a bun. She’s wearing a scarlet cardigan that reaches her knees and keeps slipping off one shoulder as she struggles to get just the right shot of the pumpkins before her, and that’s exactly when I decide to intercept her.

  “Chelsea?” My voice comes out a touch too friendly. In truth, we don’t even qualify as acquaintances.

  The girl spins my way with her eyes widening the size of dinner plates. I knew coming here was a mistake. People are going to think I’m a monster. Never mind the fact I sort of am.

  “Can I help you?” She blinks my way and her eye shadow glitters under the twinkle lights the Montgomerys have strung up around the vicinity.

  “My name is Bizzy. We met the night of—Ginger King’s lecture on how to land a man.” I wince because she knows all too well what else happened that night. “I work at the inn. I’m Nessa’s friend.” That last part comes out softer with the underpinnings of defeat. I’m not sure Nessa will score me any points with her.

  Chelsea gasps. Her mouth rounds out in a hard O and the strawberry-colored gloss on her lips shimmers as well.

  I should run. She forces a tight smile to stretch across her face, the kind you give to people you don’t really want to see.

  “Right.” She cradles her phone to her chest. “I do remember you. That was a terrible night.” Her expression dissolves to palpable grief, and this time it looks genuine. “I lost my best friend.” She sniffs into the back of her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess. I’m sure you’re wondering what I’m doing here.” She hikes her phone into the air as if she were about to pitch it. “Shel is gone, but the show must go on. I know she’d want me to keep posting. It’s what we do. It was in her blood.” She takes a deep breath. “I was just getting a bunch of shots to put out slowly over the month. I’m not posting again until after the funeral next week. Her mother has already made the arrangements. Any word on who could have done this? I mean, I heard what happened at the inn last month. You don’t think there’s a serial killer running loose in Cider Cove, do you?” Sherlock yelps and moans. “Hey.” She looks down and gives him a quick pat. “It’s okay, handsome. I think you’re safe.”

  “I’m hoping we’re all safe,” I say. “And no—the two killings aren’t related. There was an arrest made in the last homicide case. The killer was apprehended. Just like this one will be, too.”

  The whites of her eyes flash my way.

  I’m not exactly rooting for that.

  I tip my head her way, examining her features. Why in the world would she say that if she wasn’t the killer? I have to find Jasper. I have to let him know she’s all but implicated herself. Of course, I can’t do that without implicating myself in the process. Nope, I can’t do that. But I will most certainly point a finger in her direction.

  “Chelsea, you were closest to Shelby. Do you know if she had any enemies? I mean, did you think she was easy to get along with?”

  A sharp bout of laughter bounces from her. “I guess you didn’t know Shelby. Yes, she could be sweet when she wanted to be—but let’s just say she had a very sharp edge to her. Personally, I knew what to expect, so most of the time I was prepared to look the other way.” Except when I couldn’t because a prison sentence loomed in the balance. Her expression sours. “Shelby came from money. I didn’t. Life was a bit of a joke to her in that respect. I had to work hard for everything I have.” She sighs. “That’s why I felt so bad when she wanted to mess with Scout. She was our friend. She was just trying to pay her rent, and Shelby thought we should take her down a notch before she got too big for her britches.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Nessa mentioned something about that. I guess you were rivals?” I ask, trying to recall the conversation.

  Chelsea rolls her eyes as the twinkle lights reflect off her face. “Hardly. She was just getting started, amassing followers, taking the best pictures she knew how. She just started to dabble in video. Anyway—Scout said she would have a meet and greet for anyone who was up for it at the pier. She said she’d bring each person who came a Mason jar filled with love and light.” She averts her eyes. “That’s sort of her thing—blue Mason jars filled with tiny lights and paper butterflies. Only about thirty or so people said they could make it, and she wasn’t expecting a huge crowd to begin with. Shelby thought it would be hilarious to have our own followers RSVP.”

  “Oh no,” I say, pressing my hand to my chest in anticipation of how this might have played out. Even Sherlock cowers as if he had a hunch it wasn’t good.

  Chelsea nods. “Oh no is right. We got close to two thousand local fans to RSVP. Poor Scout went ahead with it. She ordered thousands of Mason jars. She filled them with those pricey battery-operated lights and cut out all the butterflies herself from glittery paper that I’m told cost a fortune. Anyway, per Shelby’s orders, our fans didn’t show up after all. Scout not only took a big financial hit purchasing all the supplies for the event, but she was humiliated all over the Internet. She was a laughing stock. There are pictures of her with crates of Mason jars just sitting alone on the waterfront. Her career as an influencer was over before it really began. But, Shelby being Shelby told Scout to grow up and get over it. She’s the one that suggested Scout go into PR. And then she hand-fed her Ginger King. Ginger and Shelby go way back. And apparently, Shelby has some magical pull with her because Ginger agreed to hire Scout even though she didn’t have a drop of experience in the PR arena.”

  “That’s an interesting turn of events. It almost sounds as if Shelby wanted Scout to succeed at something after all—just not the very thing she was doing herself.”

  She shakes out her bun and her blonde locks fall to her shoulders. “You nailed it. But believe me, Scout wanted revenge. Shelby might have thrown out a peace offering by way of Ginger, but Scout’s blood was still boiling.”

  “You don’t think Scout was capable of hurting Shelby like that, do you?”

  “I don’t know.” Her gaze flits to the woods just beyond the festivities. “She
was angry, yes. But she seemed to have moved on. I think Ginger was probably closer to pegging the killer when she accused Nessa. I’m sorry, I know you work together, but that girl is a real mess. She started sending Shelby these hate-filled texts and harassed her every chance she got. It was getting really bad these last few weeks. I guess her family is in a lot of trouble with that loan they took out.” She shrugs as if offering a third party apology.

  “How would that be Shelby’s fault?” I shake my head, trying to wrap my mind around it.

  “It wasn’t.” Chelsea smacks her lips. “Okay, so maybe it was a little. Shelby never really thought that much of Nessa. I did hear her say something about telling her dad he could make a lot of money off those idiots.” She says idiots in air quotes.

  My stomach sinks when she says it. I’ve known Nessa and her sister, Vera, for as long as I can remember. Vera might be a proverbial mean girl, but Nessa and I have always gotten along. And their parents are good, honest people. It burns me to think Shelby would call them idiots.

  “Look”—Chelsea pulls her cider close and takes a sip—“I’m sorry to have said any of that. I’m still reeling from the fact my best friend is dead.”

  Sherlock runs his forehead over my knee. Nessa said Shelby did something to this girl, too. Get the story out of her, Bizzy.

  I nod quickly his way. “Chelsea, it sounds as if Shelby had a bit of a dark side. Did she ever do anything to you personally?”

  Her expression hardens to flint as her eyes grow cold.

  A heavy sigh expels from her. “She did. And you know what? She made me promise to never tell.” A dull laugh presses from her. “A part of me wants to give her that. Besides, if I tell the truth now, people will simply think I’m trying to save face and ruining Shel’s reputation at the very same time.” She shudders. “I guess the window has closed on that opportunity and I’ll have to live with it.”

  Sherlock groans, That sounded morbid. Whatever it was, it was something big, Bizzy. Big, I tell you.